Then again, the air smelled like a mix of mustiness and ammonia. Fluorescent lights buzzed loudly over Emily’s head, and everything from the slamming doors to Emily’s footsteps to the sound of one guard’s furious gum-chewing had a hollow, lonely echo. Haggard Tina Fey gestured for Emily to follow, and they passed through a series of unadorned halls with puke-green cinder-block walls. As they passed one door, Emily caught a whiff of what she could only describe as rotten mashed potatoes. Jordan had once told her that her family was so well-off and she was left alone for so much of the time as a girl that she usually ordered takeout from the five-star French restaurant down the block. How on earth was Jordan surviving?
The guard punched a set of numbers into a keypad, and after another loud buzz, the latch gave way. They walked into a large, windowless room peppered with tables and chairs. A water fountain sat in one corner. A door to a bathroom was on the far wall.
A burly, red-haired girl in an orange prison jumpsuit was sitting at a table with a girl in a denim jacket and a hood pulled tight around her head. Both stood up as soon as Emily arrived and rushed in opposite directions. The hoodie girl used the door through which Emily had just come; a frizzy-haired guard took the redhead’s arm and led her toward an interior door, presumably back to her cell. But before she made the turn into the hall, the redheaded prisoner pivoted and stared at Emily, her eyes moving up and down her body. She was eyeing her up, maybe . . . or checking her out. Emily wasn’t sure she liked either prospect.
“Sit.” Emily’s guard pointed to one of the tables. Emily did, and the guard crossed the room to a second interior door. Then, a familiar figure stepped through. Emily drew in a breath. Yes, Jordan was in an orange prison uniform, and yes, her hair looked a little greasy and her face was a little drawn, but she was still the beautiful girl Emily remembered.
All sorts of memories rushed back at once. The two of them floating on that stolen boat in the San Juan harbor. Snuggling in the bed in their stateroom as the cruise ship drifted toward another port. How good it felt to kiss her. How wrenched she’d felt when Jordan jumped overboard.
Jordan met Emily’s eyes and smiled. Emily shot to her feet, unable to control her excitement. She never thought she’d see Jordan again. She never thought Jordan would want to see her. And here she was. It was just so . . . incredible.
“Fifteen minutes,” Haggard Tina Fey said gruffly. “Time starts now.”
Jordan rushed over to Emily. “H-hey,” she eked out, her mouth wobbling. Up close, she smelled like soap. The same tiny freckles were sprinkled across her cheeks. Emily wanted to touch each one. “You’re . . . here.”
Emily let out a choked laugh, so overjoyed to hear Jordan’s voice. “I’m here,” she answered, caressing Jordan’s shoulder. “I’m so glad to see you.”
Jordan’s eyes widened, and she glanced nervously at Emily’s hand. “We’re not supposed to touch,” she whispered, pulling away slightly.
A lump formed in Emily’s throat, but she tucked both hands in her lap as she sat down. Jordan sat across from her, her hands on the table. It took everything in Emily’s power not to grab them and never let go.
“So,” Emily said once she found her voice. “I—I missed you.”
Jordan swallowed hard. A tear ran down her cheek. “I missed you, too.”
“I’m so glad you wrote to me.” Emily smiled at Jordan so hard her cheeks hurt. “I mean, all I do is think about you.”
“Same.” Jordan stared bashfully at the tabletop.
Emily’s heart did flips. I’m so glad you don’t hate me, she wanted to say a thousand times. “Are you . . . okay?” she asked instead, then wanted to slap herself. Of course Jordan wasn’t okay. She was in prison.
Jordan shrugged, twisting her mouth in that adorable way Emily remembered. “I’ve been better. But it’s not that bad.” She leaned forward a little. “What about you? I had no idea what you were going through, Em. It sounds awful. You’re okay now, right? Everything’s good?”
Now it was Emily’s turn to look down. A lot of people had inked their initials into the wood, including someone who called himself or herself FlameGirl. “Not exactly.”
Jordan’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
Emily winced. She hadn’t planned on getting into this in the limited time she and Jordan had together, but now Jordan was staring at her plaintively. Emily had no choice but to explain how Ali had attacked her at the pool. She left out a lot of the details—like how Ali had said Say you still love me!—but by Jordan’s stunned expression, it was clear she got the gist.
Jordan’s jaw dropped when Emily finished. She gestured to the bruises on Emily’s neck. “Is that what those are from?”
Emily nodded miserably. Her parents had asked a lot of questions about the bruises, too; she hadn’t known what to tell them.
“Did you go to the police?” Jordan asked.
“We did, but they don’t believe us. They still think she’s dead.” She sighed and stared at the ceiling. The lights in the room were so bright they hurt her eyes.
“So what are you going to do?”
There was a tinny taste in Emily’s mouth. Just rehashing the attack brought all her feelings of frustration, fear, and rage to the surface. This needed to end. “Find her,” she whispered savagely. “And kill her.”
Jordan paled. She glanced across the room at the guards. Both women didn’t seem to be paying attention, but suddenly, Emily felt wrong-footed. What was she doing talking about murder in a prison?