Sara Shepard - Burned

Aria spun away fast, almost walking into a moving car. Then she looked down at her own phone and pressed READ.

Good for you for helping him get back in the game, Aria. Everyone needs a little “push,” don’t they?—A

Late that afternoon, after her Caribbean jewelry-making course finished, Hanna plopped down at a bistro table with Mike and perused the big leather menu the waitress had just delivered to them. Mike sniffed the air and made a face. “ Ugh . Something smells like goat poop. I think it’s me.”

Hanna snickered. “That’s what you get for working on the on-board organic farm.” Naturally, the cruise ship had its own chicken coops, alpaca pens, and greenhouse, and Mike had signed up for volunteer duty. “What possessed you to work there, anyway?” she asked. “You should have asked to be on the gym staff or something.”

Mike shook his head woefully. “When I saw hydroponic and greenhouse in the description, I thought it was a pot farm. I didn’t know I’d have to spend two hours milking goats. Do you know how badly those things reek?”

Hanna poked him. “Well, you’d better take another shower, stinky. Otherwise you’re sleeping on the floor tonight.”

Mike sat up. “So does that mean you’re staying in my room again?”

Hanna stared absently at the shuffleboard tape marks on the deck. “Is that okay?”

“Of course it is,” Mike said emphatically. “But c’mon, Hanna. Squeezing into a twin bed isn’t really your thing. Did you and Naomi have a fight?”

Hanna pretended to be fascinated with the ice cubes in her glass, not wanting to meet Mike’s eye. Though it was really cozy to snuggle in bed with Mike, she was the type of sleeper who thrashed around at night, needing a lot of space. She’d woken up several times last night on the verge of falling out of the bed. Besides that, Mike’s room smelled kind of like a wet dog, and his roommate, a kid from Tate, farted in his sleep.

“It seemed like you guys were getting along at Mason’s party,” Mike added.

Hanna winced as she relived the moment when she’d clapped eyes on Naomi’s fake ID. “It doesn’t matter.”

Mike buttered a piece of bread. “I don’t get you girls and your stupid feuds. You know what I think you and Naomi should do? Strip down, have a good old-fashioned mud-wrestle, and pretty soon you’ll work out all of your problems!”

“And then we’ll kiss, I suppose?” Hanna deadpanned.

Mike’s eyes lit up. “Only if you want to!”

Hanna smacked him, then gave her order to the waitress. She knew Mike wanted a better explanation, but what could she say? I’m afraid to be around Naomi because I crashed her cousin’s car and left the girl for dead, and now I’m worried that Naomi either just found out or that she’s always known and is torturing me as A. Sorry I never told you any of this until now!

She really, really didn’t want Naomi to be New A, especially because of how they’d bonded at the party. Things had felt so natural between them, like they were long-lost friends. And what about all that stuff Naomi had said about exercise bingeing? Had she made that up simply to gain Hanna’s trust, so she could carry out her diabolical plans?

It did make sense that Naomi was A, though—at least one of the As. She could have effortlessly eavesdropped on so many secrets, what with her fast friendship with Kate. And she could have trailed Hanna to the photo session with skeevy Patrick, who had wanted to post her slightly inappropriate pictures online. Naomi had been at the flash mob when Hanna met Liam Wilkinson, her father’s rival’s son—she could have spotted them making out in the alley. Gathering dirt on Hanna’s little Colleen-stalking mission would have been a piece of cake, too.

And she had plenty of motive. How many dirty looks had Naomi and Riley given Hanna and the other girls after Ali invited them into her brand-new clique? How many times had Naomi tried to take Hanna down—and failed? Okay, so Jamaica didn’t really make sense—but maybe she was working with someone else, someone who’d recruited her onto the A-Team once Madison died. If Naomi knew Hanna had been the driver, had potentially hurt Madison while moving her, and then had abandoned her—well, that would push anyone to seek revenge.

It wasn’t like Hanna had meant to crash the car, though. She’d actually thought she was being a good Samaritan for driving Madison home. At the end of the night, it was clear Madison was in no state to drive—she had been slurring her words and practically falling asleep on the bar. Hanna had looked at Jackson, the bartender. “Do you have numbers for cabs?”

Jackson propped his elbows on the counter and chuckled, as though this were a frat party. “Yeah, she’s pretty wasted, huh?”

“No cabs!” Madison crowed. “I’m fine!” She twirled the key ring around her finger, but it flew off and skidded under a video poker machine. When she bent down on her hands and knees to retrieve it, the whole bar got a view of her pink thong.

“That’s it,” Hanna had said, slapping down a twenty to cover Madison’s bill. She gathered Madison’s purse from under the stool and yanked the girl to her feet. “I’m driving you home, okay? Where do you live?”

“I can drive, Olivia,” Madison whined, using the fake name Hanna had given her. “I’m serfectly pober ! I mean perfectly bober ! I mean …”

And that was when she turned green, bent at the waist, and puked on her Coach flats. Patrons backed away, looking disgusted. Jackson wrinkled his nose. “Come on,” Hanna said, dragging Madison out the door before she could vomit again. She felt a tiny spiral of worry as she took Madison’s keys—she’d had a drink, too. But it was hours ago, and she’d nursed it. She’d drive a few miles under the speed limit to make sure no cops would stop her.

Now a bunch of girls rushed to the side of the ship, pulling Hanna from her thoughts. “Are those dolphins?” someone cried.

Mike rose to see, but Hanna remained in her seat, her thoughts still churning. It seemed so unlikely that Naomi could have found out she was the driver that night—not unless Madison woke up and remembered, which would have been impossible if she’d died. Had she seen the crash happen from her new house, taking in everything through the trees? But that didn’t make sense, either—if she’d watched, surely she’d seen that car come out of nowhere and run Hanna off the road.

“ There you are!”

Hanna looked up. Naomi stood above her, dressed in a green Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress and raffia sandals. She held a glass of grapefruit juice in her hand and smelled, as usual, of Kate Spade Twirl.

“I just heard the best gossip about that Erin Bang Bang girl,” Naomi said conspiratorially.

Hanna blinked, unnerved by Naomi’s approach. “What was it?”

Naomi plopped down in Mike’s seat. “Apparently, someone heard her talking on the phone with her mom. And get this—she was pretending like she was a complete angel, saying how she was praying every morning, spending a lot of time with her classmates, and avoiding parties and boys. Can you believe it?”

Hanna eyed Naomi carefully. Her eyes were twinkling, and she had a sweet smile on her face. She seemed so harmless, not like a malicious killer. But this was probably part of her plan as A. Still, Hanna thought about the strategy Spencer had suggested to earn Naomi’s trust and figure out if she was A. She could fake-friend her. All of a sudden, it seemed feasible. Maybe Hanna could even figure out if Naomi really knew about the accident with Madison, too.