Hanna brightened. “What’s up?”
“Hey, girl,” Naomi chirped. “Good to see you here.”
Hanna smiled but didn’t answer, not wanting to seem too eager. It still baffled her that Naomi was being nice. They’d hung out at the welcome soiree a little and had gotten breakfast this morning, which had instantly upped her cool-girl cred—a few girls had said hi to her in the corridors afterward. Naomi had even asked if Hanna wanted to tan this afternoon, but Hanna had had her jewelry-making class. Hanna kept waiting for Naomi to prank her, ditch her, or laugh in her face, but so far, so good. Naomi had finally woken up and realized Hanna was cool.
“I don’t know how you dance in those shoes.” Naomi pointed to the high, strappy gladiator heels on Hanna’s feet. “They’re incredible. Are they from Salt and Pepper?”
Hanna flinched. Actually, the shoes were from Salt and Pepper, but the store was in the slightly down-market section of the King James Mall—definitely uncool. The only reason Hanna shopped there was because their knockoffs were so good people often couldn’t tell the difference.
“Um, my mom bought them for me,” she mumbled. “I don’t know where she got them.”
“C’mon, Han,” Naomi said in a knowing voice. “I saw those in the store window.” Then she leaned closer, a conspiratorial look in her eye. “I almost bought them myself, actually. Shopping there is my little secret. It’s such a great store, but everyone would make fun of me if they knew. Look—I’m wearing Salt and Pepper shoes, too.”
She lifted her foot to show off a pink kitten heel that Hanna did, indeed, recognize from the store’s shelves. “It is a pretty great store.”
“Are you kidding? It’s the best!” Naomi’s eyes gleamed. “We can’t tell anyone about it though—it has to be our little secret. Otherwise everyone will go, and there will be nothing good left.”
“Definitely,” Hanna said in a mock-haughty voice, secretly thrilled that she and Naomi were in on something together.
“Not even Riley,” Naomi went on. “And definitely not your stepsister. Got it?”
“Got it.” Hanna ran her fingers over the plastic ridges on her cup, feeling triumphant. Naomi and Kate had been BFFs since Kate had started at Rosewood Day. Hanna and Kate had been getting along lately, and Kate had told her she was in a fight with Naomi. The way Kate had put it, though, Naomi was the one at fault.
Naomi propped her elbows on the railing and stared back in at the party. “Zelda Millings looks pretty good in that halter dress, don’t you think?”
Hanna studied the pale blond girl who’d snubbed her the day before across the room. “Eh,” she said, feeling triumphant that the tables had turned. “It makes her boobs look really small.”
“True.” Naomi nodded sagely. “But at least that color doesn’t make her look like an albino.”
“She’s going to have a wicked sunburn at the end of the week,” Hanna mused.
Naomi twisted her mouth. “You know who I wish would get wicked sunburns?”
“The girls from Villa Louisa?” Hanna blurted out.
“Yes!” Naomi whooped, then touched Hanna’s arm. “Oh my God, don’t you think they’re so annoying?”
“Absolutely.” Hanna felt a rush of satisfaction. It felt good to bash the Villa Gorillas. “Did you know Emily Fields is rooming with that Erin Bang Bang girl?”
Naomi winced. “She’s the worst. I got stuck working in the administration offices on the boat because I was really lazy about signing up for something else, and she works the shift with me. That bitch didn’t say one word to me the whole time.”
Hanna frowned. “Wait, you’re working in the admin office? So am I!”
“With Vera?” Naomi asked.
“Oh my God, Vera!” Hanna giggled. “What’s with all those sappy love songs?”
“And those barrettes?” Naomi added, holding in a laugh. “She looks like a poodle!”
“Doesn’t that office have the weirdest smell?” Hanna pretended to gag.
“Yeah, like a mix of feet, wet dog, and old lady,” Naomi groaned.
“It could be worse, though,” Hanna said. “I heard some people who signed up late are on cleaning duty. They have to scrub the boys’ toilets.”
“Ew!” Naomi shrieked.
Hanna grinned as she sipped her drink, feeling light-headed and free. She felt like she’d just discovered a new clothing designer whose jeans and tees and dresses fit her perfectly—and her name was Naomi. That Naomi was giving Hanna the same Where have you been all my life? look made her feel even better.
Then Naomi shifted her weight. “I’ve wanted to ask you something for a while. Did you ever get help for … you know. That eating thing?”
Hanna bristled. A million years ago, Mona-as-A had forced her to confront Naomi and Riley last year and admit she had an eating disorder. Hanna glanced through the door, considering running away.
“The only reason I ask is because I wanted to get a referral,” Naomi added when Hanna didn’t say anything.
Hanna frowned. “For who?”
Naomi looked down. “For myself,” she murmured quietly.
Hanna almost laughed out loud. “You binge? Yeah, right.” Naomi was a size 0. Hanna had barely ever seen her eat.
Naomi lowered her eyes. “With exercise. It’s something I’ve struggled with on and off for years. I’ve wanted to talk to you about it, actually—you’re the only person I know who’s suffered with it, too. It’s not like I can talk to Riley or Kate about it.”
“I don’t really do it anymore,” Hanna said cautiously.
“I didn’t, either.” Naomi traced her finger around the lip of the glass. “Until last summer. Some weird stuff happened, so I started again.”
Hanna blinked hard. “I’m really sorry,” she said softly, still not quite believing what she was hearing. But Naomi’s expression looked earnest and guileless. Hanna had yearned to talk about bingeing with someone who’d been through it as well, but so far she hadn’t come across anyone who’d admit to it.
“If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here,” she offered after a moment. “I know how hard it is.”
“Thanks,” Naomi murmured, reaching across and squeezing Hanna’s hand.
Just then, Mason Byers stumbled out onto the patio. His hair was mussed, and he was wearing a gold Rosewood Police badge on his lapel. “The name’s Officer Byers, ladies,” he slurred. “Are you two old enough to drink?”
“Of course we are,” Naomi winked.
“Can I see some ID?” Mason demanded.
Mike stuck his head out, too. “We’re making up a strip card game that uses everyone’s fake IDs. Wanna play?” He waved his own fake ID in the air.
“Let me see that.” Hanna stepped back into the room and grabbed for it. Mike had bragged about a new fake ID, but he’d been cagey about showing it to her. She burst out laughing. Quincy Thomas, the name on the card, had a blond crew cut and glasses. The description said he was six foot ten, almost a foot taller than Mike was.
She tossed it back to him. “No one’s going to think that’s you!”
Mike held it protectively to his chest, his cheeks blazing. “All right, smart ass, let’s see yours.”
Hanna reached into her purse and pulled out her own fake ID, which she’d bought last year online and which featured her own picture and stats. Mason offered up his ID, too, which he’d gotten in New York City. Other kids added their IDs to the pile. One girl had a very convincing-looking Japanese passport, even though she herself wasn’t Japanese. Erin Bang Bang used her own photo for her fake. The picture was so arresting and model-gorgeous that Hanna guessed no bouncer or bartender would even bother to look at her birth date. Bitch.
“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
9
PRETTY LITTLE STOWAWAY
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?
