Sara Shepard - Burned

“Hey, yours is pretty good,” Mike said to Naomi as she dropped hers on the pile. “She even looks like you.”

“That’s because it’s my cousin’s,” Naomi explained. A strange look came over her face. “It’s not like she needs it anymore.”

Hanna glanced at the photo, then did a double-take. Even though she’d seen the girl for only one night, the face was unforgettable. It was like a ghost staring back at her.

Madison.

She backed away, tripping over an upended suitcase and nearly falling on her butt. As she righted herself, her hands were suddenly shaking so badly she had to shove them into the folds of her dress. The room felt hot and close, and so many people were staring at her, Naomi included.

“Um, I have to …” Hanna fumbled past everyone to the door.

She ran to the end of the hall, desperate to catch her breath. Then she noticed a French door that led to a small, open-air courtyard. She slid it open and staggered to a shuffleboard court, leaning over onto her knees.

Madison was Naomi’s cousin . And what did Naomi mean when she said she didn’t need the ID anymore? Was she dead?

Beep .

It was Hanna’s phone. She pulled it out of her purse, figuring it was Mike. But then she looked at the screen. One new text message from Anonymous .

“No,” she whispered, scanning the dark courtyard. Then she looked down at the screen. With shaking fingers, she pressed READ.

Be careful who you hit and run, jailbird. See you on the Fiesta Deck!—A

Tuesday evening, Emily and Jordan sat on the bed in Emily’s room. Empty potato chip wrappers from the vending machines were strewn around them, and Jordan had made them virgin banana daiquiris from some drinks she’d found in the mini bar. One of Emily’s swimming mixes was playing through her portable iPod speakers, and Discovery, the only channel that had a signal besides CNN International—which Jordan said she hated—was airing a show about Yosemite Park in the background, though neither girl was watching it.

“Okay, I need a verb,” Emily said, staring down at a book of Mad Libs she’d found at the bottom of her bag, left there from an overnight swimming trip.

“Um, kissed ,” Jordan said after a moment, popping a chip into her mouth.

Emily wrote kissed into the space. “Next I need a noun.”

“ Boobs ,” Jordan said quickly.

Emily laid down her pen and looked at the other words Jordan had chosen. Sexily, tongue, humping , and sensual massage . “You realize this is a kid’s game, right? Not a porno?”

“What can I say?” Jordan snickered. “I’m inspired by the spirit of Erin Bang Bang. Even I’ve heard rumors about how many guys she’s been with.”

Emily shuddered. “Every time I see her, she’s with someone different.”

Jordan glanced at the door. “Are you sure she’s not going to mind me staying here?”

Emily shrugged. “I doubt Erin’s going to be back for the rest of the trip, to be honest. And if she does come in, we’ll just say you had a fight with your roommate. You can even sleep in my bed if it makes you feel more comfortable.” Her cheeks reddened a little at the suggestion, but surely Jordan knew she meant it in a friendly way, right?

Jordan gave Emily a relieved smile. “You’re a lifesaver, you know that?”

Emily rolled her eyes. “You’ve only told me that a zillion times.” Then she stared back down at Mad Libs. “Okay, I need an adverb.”

“ Lustily ,” Jordan spouted quickly, and they both dissolved into laughter.

After Emily penned it in, she breathed in the sudden scent of freshly popped microwave popcorn. Someone must have made some in the kitchen at the end of the hall. “That’s one of my favorite smells,” she mused.

“Mine too,” Jordan said, clutching a pillow. “You got any others?”

Emily thought for a moment. “Rubber balls and gasoline, I guess. And the smell of my old best friend’s bedroom.”

“Alison’s?” Jordan asked.

Emily nodded. She’d told Jordan about Ali almost immediately. It was one of those things she just had to get out of the way when she made new friends these days—everyone had seen Pretty Little Killer , the docudrama about what Ali did to them, anyway. “I used to sneak into her bedroom during sleepovers,” she admitted, blushing. “Her room smelled like flowers and powder and just … her .”

“You really loved her, huh?”

Emily cast her eyes downward. That was something else she’d admitted to Jordan right away: There was no use in hiding her attraction to girls anymore. It was easy to tell Jordan things, though—she was so accepting of everything that came out of Emily’s mouth. She’d just smiled faintly and said that was fine with her.

She cleared her throat and looked up at Jordan. “I meant to ask you. Do you need to call your parents? I have a phone card you can borrow. They’re probably wondering where you are, right?”

Jordan shrugged. “I said I was staying at a friend’s house for a while. They won’t check up on me.”

“Are you sure ? For a whole week ?”

“They probably don’t even notice I’m gone.” Jordan fiddled with her velvet headband. “My parents are way more concerned with their own lives. They don’t really have time for me. Add in the fact that I’m not the perfect daughter they always wanted, and they’d probably rather I was just gone for good.” She said it nonchalantly, finishing with a sarcastic laugh, but the pain was obvious in her voice.

Emily drew a squiggle in the margin. “Sometimes I think my parents want me to disappear, too.”

Jordan looked up at her, clearly waiting for Emily to say more. “I’ve done some stuff to make them really mad,” Emily said vaguely. Even though she’d shared a lot, she wasn’t ready to get into that .

But suddenly, Jordan’s face had moved closer. The air smelled heavily of jasmine perfume. “I don’t know why anyone would want you to disappear,” she blurted. “No matter what you did.”

Emily held her breath, noticing for the first time that Jordan’s eyes were the color of tourmaline gemstones. Then her cell phone let out a few sharp bleeps. She groaned, rolled over, and looked at the screen. Hanna had sent a text.

A is on the boat. Meet me near the tiki bar now.

Emily turned the phone over so Jordan couldn’t see the message. “I-I’ll be back,” she whispered, and was through the door before Jordan could ask what had just happened.

Ten minutes later, Emily stood at the tiki bar, a steady rain pelting the awning above her head. Naturally, the deck was empty. Somewhere down below, she could hear the strains of New Age music from a late Cirque du Soleil performance in the theater.

The elevator doors opened, and Spencer and Aria walked out. They spied her and jogged over, shielding their heads from the rain.

Hanna emerged up a staircase wearing a long sundress, high heels, and an incongruous oversized white hoodie that stretched to her mid thighs. Her eyes were wild, her face was pale, and she held her phone tightly in her right hand. “The bitch somehow made it on board with us,” she snapped when they approached.

She thrust the phone at the girls. Emily stared at the text message on the screen. Be careful who you hit and run, jailbird. See you on the Fiesta Deck!

Aria squinted at the note. “Hit and run? What is A talking about?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Hanna said. “The accident on Reeds Lane? That horrible night in the rain? A knows.”