“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 p**n o?”
“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.”