Sara Shepard - Burned

Reefer held the door to the stairwell open for her. “Would you mind some company? I mean, I only got certified last year, but I’m a quick learner, I swear. And I bet you’re a pretty good tour guide.”

Spencer put a finger to her mouth, coyly pretending to contemplate the offer. “But what if I wanted those dives to be private? What do I get in return for bringing you along?”

Reefer paused on the staircase, his eyes sparkling playfully. “How about my most cherished 1977 Grateful Dead concert T-shirt?”

Spencer gave him a skeptical look. “The one you bought off eBay that still smells like pot after all those washings? No thank you.”

“It doesn’t smell like pot!” Reefer urged. “It smells fine. I wear it to school all the time and no one questions me, I swear.”

Spencer secretly felt thrilled at the idea of wearing a T-shirt that Reefer had worn, too. It seemed so … boy-friendly .

They’d reached the door to the Seahorse Gym, the site of the first scuba class, by then. Elliptical machines, stair climbers, and treadmills lined the window wall, and about thirty folding chairs stood on the mats. Kirsten was in the front row, filing her nails. Quite a few kids grabbed coffee and bagels from a catered tray in the back. Tim, the instructor Spencer had met at the Activity Fair the day before, stood over a couple of cardboard boxes, sorting through oxygen tanks and wetsuits.

Spencer faced Reefer again, feeling a tingly, excited rush. Reefer was smiling at her, too.

Then she was suddenly gripped with a wonderful idea. She touched Reefer’s arm. “Let’s ditch.”

Reefer widened his eyes. “ Class? ”

“We both already know how to dive. Why not?”

Reefer, clapped a hand over his mouth, feigning shock. “Aren’t you the girl who’s gotten the Perfect Attendance award every year?”

Spencer shrugged. “I’m on vacation.” She could just picture it: grabbing Reefer’s hand and pulling him down to one of the lower lounges, which were probably empty at this time of morning, and sitting in a back booth. They’d gossip about people on the boat, plan outings for after their dives, and then their heads would move closer together, and then …

“ Raif? ”

It was coming from someone inside the classroom. Reefer turned. His eyebrows shot up, and he took a step through the door.

“It is you!” a girl whooped. “Oh my God!”

“Wow!” Reefer said. And then he was hugging her. Really hugging her. Spencer stood in the doorway, feeling like a forgotten child’s toy tossed out a car window.

She cleared her throat a little more loudly than she meant to, and Reefer turned around, his dreadlocks bouncing. “Oh, Spencer. Sorry. This is—”

“Naomi,” Spencer blurted, staring at the girl who had stepped into view. She gave Spencer a haughty, threatening look.

“Hi, Spencer,” Naomi chirped. “You’re taking scuba, too?”

“Uh, yeah,” Spencer mumbled, eyeing Naomi’s fingers, which were grazing Reefer’s. She glanced at the door, considering ditching without him.

But suddenly, it didn’t seem like a very fun idea at all.

That morning, Aria and about thirty other kids stood in the shade of the giant pink waterslide on the top deck of the cruise ship, eagerly awaiting the start of the Eco Scavenger Hunt. The air smelled like wood-floor cleaner, spicy deodorant, and boat fuel that the captain had insisted was totally eco-friendly, though Aria had her doubts. Everyone fanned their faces, applied high-powered sunscreen to ward off the punishing Caribbean sun, and chattered excitedly about what the activity was going to entail.

Finally, the activity leader got off her cell phone and turned to the group. “Welcome!” she cried, her freckly face breaking into a smile. “My name is Gretchen Vine, and you guys are in for a treat. Think of this hunt like The Amazing Race —we give you clues and cash to get to your destination, and the first group to figure out all the riddles wins.”

“Wins what?” a brunette girl whose string bikini straps peeked out from underneath her shirt asked.

Gretchen smiled and unveiled two white gift certificates to the Apple Store, and everyone oohed. “They’re worth a thousand dollars each.”

Then Gretchen passed out little red wallets that said ECO TREASURE HUNT on the front. “Carry your clues in here,” she instructed. “You’ll need to show me what you found at the end of each day.”

“Will we get to do any camping? Extreme hikes? Role-playing?” a boy called.

Gretchen frowned, fiddling with her necklace. “Well, we need you to return to the ship every night—otherwise we’d have to send out a search party. The hikes take you over a lot of terrain, but I wouldn’t call them extreme. And I’m not sure what you mean by role-playing—perhaps you can elaborate?”

The speaker, a guy with longish brown hair and thick eyebrows, waved his hand dismissively. “Forget it.”

Gretchen told them they would have to scour beachheads, traipse over dunes, bushwhack through tropical rain forests, and navigate busy city streets to extract information that would lead them, ultimately, to the prize. Aria exchanged excited glances with kids next to her. There were quite a few couples holding hands in the group, and she felt a longing pang. Maybe Noel would have chosen the scavenger hunt if he had known about the prize.

“Okay, the first thing I need you guys to do is split up into groups of two,” Gretchen said after she’d called roll.

The couples paired up. Other kids turned to people they knew. Aria spun around, but everyone from Rosewood Day had already found partners. Even her roommate, a sweet, quiet girl named Sasha who’d also signed up for the scavenger hunt, had paired up with another bookish-looking girl from her school. As more and more people grouped together, she felt a self-conscious twinge. Years ago, when kids at Rosewood Day teamed up at recess, formed partnerships in art class, or picked groups for an English project, goofy, friendless Aria was often the last to be chosen. Is it because I have a pink stripe in my hair? she would wonder. Or is it because of some innate, loserish quality that I don’t even know I have?

“Those of you who don’t have a partner, raise your hands,” Gretchen announced.

Aria sheepishly lifted her palm a few inches. Several other kids did, too.

Gretchen matched those who didn’t have partners with one another. When she got to Aria, she pointed her toward the guy who’d just asked about camping and role-playing. “You two okay to work together?”

The boy looked at Aria and shrugged. “That’s cool.” He extended a hand to Aria. “I’m Graham Pratt.”

“Aria Montgomery.” She smiled at him. He had pretty hazel eyes and wore gray Toms shoes, beaten-up Army-surplus shorts, and a faded T-shirt with what looked like a shield on the front and a small hole in the shoulder.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” she asked. He seemed familiar, but she couldn’t quite place him. “Do you go to a school on the Main Line?”

Graham’s brow crinkled. “No, I go to school in Philly.” Then he brightened. “Wait. Are you in SCA?”

“What’s that?”

“Society for Creative Anachronism!” Graham grinned.

Aria hid a smile. Her cousin Stewart was in SCA, and he talked about it nonstop. It was like a year-round Renaissance Fair, where people role-play parts in a medieval society. He’d met his wife there, in fact—she’d been a kitchen wench, and he played the guy who collected dead plague victims in a wooden cart.

“Uh, no,” Aria answered after a moment. But then, in an attempt at diplomacy, she added, “But it’s always sounded really cool.”