Sara Shepard - Burned

Aria wrapped her legs around him, feeling weightless and free. They kissed for a long time, the chlorine-filled water brushing against their bodies. In the bowels of the ship, the New Age Cirque du Soleil music started to play.

“Let’s see your swim technique,” Noel said when they broke apart.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Aria waded into the deeper end until her feet no longer touched the bottom. Then her legs flailed wildly. Her arms slashed this way and that. After a while, she settled into a swim stroke that Mike called the Aria Paddle.

When she finally made it to the wall, she turned around. Noel looked horrified. “You really didn’t ever take swim lessons as a kid.”

Aria shook her head. “Mike did, but my parents never insisted on it. I always took sculpting. Or drama. Or hip-hop dance.”

“We should probably teach you the basics,” Noel said. “Do you know how to do the dead man’s float?”

Aria winced at the name. “Uh, no.”

Noel led her back to the shallow end. “This will help you in case you ever get stranded at sea.”

Aria gave him a crazy look. “Thanks, but I don’t plan on that happening.”

“No one ever does.” Noel put his hands on his hips. “Lie facedown in the water. I’ll hold you up.”

Aria did as she was told. She felt Noel’s hands prop her up under her waist. “Stretch out your arms!” he said. “Now totally relax!” It was weird not to thrash around to stay afloat—she kept thinking she was going to sink. But after a moment, she went with it and opened her eyes underwater. The bottom of the pool had diamond-shaped tiles. She could just make out Noel’s blurry feet.

She turned her head to breathe, then plunged under again. Her limbs felt heavy, but buoyant. It was Zen, like she really was dead.

Tabitha’s body floating in the waves flashed in her mind. Then came a voice: You did that. You’re going to be punished . Instantly, her focus shattered. She breathed in a mouthful of water and came up sputtering, staring at Noel as if he’d seen into her thoughts.

“What happened!” Noel cried, oblivious. “You were doing great!”

Aria wiped water out of her eyes. “I got scared,” she muttered. It wasn’t a lie.

Over the next hour, Aria learned how to tread water with the flutter and frog kicks. She struggled with sculling, but had a pretty decent first try at the elementary backstroke. By the time the sun came out again and a few kids appeared on the pool deck, Aria felt exhausted but almost successful. She and Noel retreated to the hot tub and shared a pitcher of lemonade.

“You do make a pretty good teacher,” she told Noel, kissing him on the cheek. “It’s romantic, too. Both of us almost naked, you holding me up …”

“Want to make it a regular thing?” Noel sipped his drink. “If you knew how to swim, we could surf together. You’d love it. It’s addictive.”

“I don’t think I should surf quite yet,” Aria said, shutting her eyes and letting the hot tub jets massage her legs. “But sure. We can do more lessons.”

“How about later? I could take a day off surfing.”

Aria opened her eyes. There was such a tender look on Noel’s face that she hated to let him down. “I can’t,” she said regretfully. “I have to meet Graham.”

“Oh.” Noel looked disappointed. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry.” Aria felt genuinely bad—Noel looked so upset. “We’re just friends.”

“I know, I know. He likes you, though. A dude can tell.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Aria said quickly. “He’s this close to making a date with Tori. They ran into each other at dinner last night, and she invited him to sit at her table, but we’re not really counting that as a date because it wasn’t planned.”

Noel snickered. “You really like playing Cupid, don’t you?”

“Definitely,” Aria said. “It makes me feel good.” She meant that in more ways than one.

Someone turned on a radio, and a Shakira song played. Caterers began to set out a buffet, and a few kids got in line. Noel lifted the locket that hung around Aria’s neck. “I’m glad you’re still wearing this.”

“It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever given me,” Aria murmured.

Noel dropped the necklace back to her chest, and she stared at it again. There was something so familiar about it, something she couldn’t place.

Something next to her towel caught her eye. Her cell phone screen had lit up. She climbed out of the hot tub and looked at the screen. One new text .

She turned her back so Noel couldn’t see. After she read it through, she pressed DELETE and, luckily, the note vanished. But she wouldn’t forget the message for a long time.

Clownfish are pretty,

Starfish are pale.

Will Aria’s boyfriend

Visit her in jail?

—A

An hour later, Emily stood with Aria and Spencer in a secluded corner near the shuffleboard deck, grass skirts around their waists. She listened to the beginning bars of the Hawaiian hula sound they’d chosen for the talent show swell through the portable iPod speakers. After a moment, she counted off. “Five, six, seven, eight …”

They all waved their hands gracefully and started wiggling their hips. About thirty seconds in, Aria stopped and stared at the others. “We’re all making our hands go in different directions for that part,” she said. “We all need to swish to the right first, then the left.”

“I’m doing the best I can, considering the fact that my ankle is killing me.” Spencer held up her left foot, which had an Ace bandage wrapped around it. She said she’d slipped in baby oil earlier.

“And we talked about adding that waddling-like-a-duck move,” Aria said as she paused the song. “Does anyone remember exactly how to do it? Ali was definitely the best at it.”

“I’m so sick of Ali,” Emily mumbled angrily under her breath.

Spencer and Aria’s heads snapped up. “What was that, Em?” Aria asked.

“Nothing,” Emily said stiffly, smoothing down the grass skirt. One of the blades pierced her thigh, and she winced. “Does anyone else think these skirts suck?” she snapped.

Spencer leaned against the railing, looking worried. “Are you okay?”

Emily sighed. “I just don’t feel in the mood to do this anymore. I mean, what’s the point?” She shoved her flip-flops back on her feet, keeping her eyes averted from her friends. “We’re being tortured by A. We’re practically wanted by the police. Don’t you think doing a talent show routine is a little ridiculous? How are we going to ride a Vespa in jail?”

“It’s a nice diversion,” Spencer said quietly.

“Did something happen, Em?” Aria pressed. “Something with A? Something with that girl you saw on TV yesterday? Is she really on the ship?”

Emily looked away, biting her lip. She regretted that her friends had been there to witness her CNN Preppy Thief meltdown. She didn’t want to drag them into the scandal. “She got off the boat yesterday,” she lied—although, for all she knew, it was true. There had been no trace of Jordan when Emily got back to her room the day before, and she hadn’t heard from her since. “And let’s never talk about it again, okay?”

There was a long, awkward pause. “Okay,” Spencer said, concern in her voice.

“Good,” Emily said perfunctorily. But when she shut her eyes, all she could think about was that news broadcast. The Preppy Thief . Jordan being led to jail in an orange jumpsuit.

Google had provided a hundred links with all the awful details. Jordan—or Katherine DeLong, or whatever her name was—didn’t come from a poor family, as she’d told Emily, but a very wealthy one from outside New York City. There were pictures of her at society events in Manhattan and debutante parties in the Hamptons. She’d been stealing boats, cars, planes—basically, anything she could get her hands on—for two years now, jet-setting across the world to attempt bigger and more daring heists. She had finally been arrested and thrown in jail near Philly a few months earlier, when she was caught driving her father’s law partner’s Ferrari. Now the FBI was after her.