Noel turned back to Aria. He looked at her for a few beats, waiting. Aria turned away. “Never mind,” she said. There was no way she could blurt it all out now.
He gave her a big hug, then pulled away and touched her collarbone. “Where’s your necklace?”
Aria’s mind scrambled for an excuse. “I must have lost it in the water.” She hoped she sounded convincing. “I guess it wanted to be returned to the sea.”
Noel nodded slowly, not seeming that distressed. “I guess it’s better you lost it than I lost you.”
He gave her a final hug, then headed toward his room. Aria stepped back on the elevator—her room was two flights below Noel’s. Every muscle in her body felt twitchy and charged. That very well might be the last hug she and Noel would ever share. Would he even speak to her after he found out she was a murderer?
Suddenly, just as the doors were closing, a man in a police uniform walked by, his posture stiff, his gaze straight ahead. Aria stabbed the DOOR OPEN button and slipped into Noel’s hall once more. The cop walked to the end of the hall, then entered an open door on the left. Aria was almost positive that was Graham’s room. She remembered where it was from when she’d picked him up to go mini-golfing. It seemed like so long ago now.
She watched as Noel strode to his room, inserted his key into the door, and walked inside. Then, taking a deep breath, she started down the hall, too. She passed Noel’s door, heading to the end of the corridor to the door the cop had entered. It was definitely Graham’s—Aria recognized the knight sticker on the marker board.
She peered inside, bracing to see Graham, but instead only the cop and Jeremy were there. Their heads were close, and they spoke in heated tones.
“How long has he been unconscious?” the cop asked, hands on his hips.
“Since the evacuation,” Jeremy murmured. “I’m not sure how bad his injuries are—the doctors aren’t telling me much. His family is flying in soon.”
Aria blinked. Was Graham in the hospital?
The cop made a wry face. “Unconsciousness is an easy way not to talk, huh? The security footage reveals two people, one of whom is him.” He gazed at a cell phone. “He has a lot to be afraid of right now.”
“Have you identified the second person?” Jeremy asked.
Aria held her breath. But then the cop shifted his weight and said, “We still can’t get enough facial characteristics on the second person. We think it’s a male, though.”
Aria frowned, confused. She ran her fingers through her long hair, then stared at her sinewy, feminine fingers, each one painted a glittery coral color. She’d been mistaken for a lot of things over the years, but never, ever, a guy.
Suddenly, the two looked up and saw her. Jeremy’s eyes widened. The cop looked angry. “Yes?” he barked.
“Um, I’m looking for Graham?” she said, surprised at how weak and timid her voice sounded. “Do you know where he is?”
Something flickered across Jeremy’s face for a split second, then submerged. “You need to pack up now, okay?”
An alarm bell went off in her head. “Is Graham … okay?” she asked, her voice squeaking.
Jeremy frowned and stepped toward her. “Seriously. If you don’t get everything out of your room in the next half hour, we’re not letting you back on for it.”
The contours of his face had sharpened, making him look older and menacing. Aria turned and walked quickly back to the elevator, feeling that she’d just seen and heard something she shouldn’t. An uncomfortable feeling came over her, but before she could think too clearly about it, she sped up, wanting to be away from the room that had possibly been A’s once and for all.
33
EMILY GETS HER WISHES
The next day, the shuttle van pulled into Emily’s driveway, and the kind driver, who’d talked Emily’s ear off the whole drive about his sixteen-year-old son who would be just perfect for her, trotted to the back and grabbed Emily’s bags.
“Looks like no one’s home.” He squinted at the Fieldses’ blue colonial. The windows were dark, the shutters were drawn, and there were windswept weeds and branches all over the porch.
Emily shrugged. Her dad had sent her a terse text shortly before she landed at Newark Airport saying he couldn’t pick her up after all and had arranged for the shuttle. He didn’t offer an excuse, and Emily wondered if it was just because he didn’t want to be stuck in the car with her for two torturous hours. Apparently, he didn’t sympathize with the fact that she’d had to escape the ship on a lifeboat.
She gave the driver the last twenty-dollar bill in her wallet as a tip, then punched in the garage code and watched as the door slowly rose. Sure enough, both her parents’ cars sat quietly in the garage. She walked around them and opened the side door.
The familiar smell of her house, a mix of slightly stale potpourri, bleach, and the musky cologne her dad always wore, made her throat tighten. For a few hours, she had thought she’d never have to come back here. And after everything that had happened, she hadn’t had time to prepare to return to this life.
All of a sudden, her legs wouldn’t move. She couldn’t endure another sidelong glance from her parents, another heavy sigh. She couldn’t tolerate the heavy, disappointed silence, her mother’s closed bedroom door, those horrible dinners with her father where neither of them spoke. And it would only get worse once she and her friends confessed.
She stood in the laundry room, one hand on the top of the washer. Maybe she’d turn around, walk out the door, and stay at a hotel for the night. They were going to call the police tomorrow—she’d probably be in custody within twenty-four hours. Why not spend the remaining hours of freedom somewhere peaceful and relatively calm? Why torture herself by being around people who hated her?