He padded across the sand, holding the squash-shaped bottles in his hands. The girls shaded their eyes when he approached. They accepted the drinks and unscrewed the tops. Graham squatted down and said something to Elf Girl, and Elf Girl giggled.
Yes, Aria thought, taking a swig of her Orangina. She felt like Cupid.
Suddenly, her phone chimed from inside her bag. She reached for it. One new text message. The sender was a jumble of letters and numbers.
A shiver snaked up her spine. Two tourists wearing fanny packs stared confusedly at a map across the street from the beach. A beautiful black woman in an island-print bikini spread out her towel on the sand. A girl approached the drinks cart and asked for a limeade. When she moved out of the way, Aria locked eyes with her. It was Naomi. Her blue eyes didn’t blink. There was a nasty smile on her face, and she held a cell phone tightly in one hand.
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
12
DUETS
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?”