They took their places in line. Aria perused the ice cream choices—they hadn’t changed since she was a kid. When she closed her eyes, breathing in the salty air and feeling the hot sun, she almost felt like a kid again—like that gangly, insecure girl who let her best friend tease her about how no boys liked her because she was so pale.
She’d go back to that day in a heartbeat—anything was better than what lay ahead. She’d even suffer through the sunburn.
5
EMILY TAKES THE PLUNGE
Emily lay perfectly still on the crinkly mattress in the hotel double bed. Hanna was by her side, sleeping on her stomach, a satin mask over her eyes and headphones in her ears. Aria and Spencer were crammed into the other double bed, breathing softly. The air conditioner rattled in the corner, and the alert light on someone’s phone blinked on the desk.
The wind had begun to howl, and Emily could hear the crashing waves even from up in the room. It sounded like the storm was rolling in earlier than predicted. Last year, Emily had watched footage of a hurricane like this one. In one video, a man was stranded in his rowboat out at sea. The camera stayed on him as he tried to fight the current again and again, fruitlessly paddling. Rescue helicopters hadn’t been able to reach him. No lifeguard dared to swim in, nor could a rescue boat get close. And still the news kept their cameras trained on him anyway, until the bitter end. Emily had basically watched a man die on television.
Didn’t like that, did you, Em? Ali giggled in her head.
Emily glanced at the clock: 5:03 AM. She couldn’t stop thinking about Ali. It’s a trick, Spencer had said about the vanilla. But was it? Was it really?
Emily ran her hand along her bare stomach. They’d gotten ice cream that afternoon, then treated themselves to a fish fry that evening, even finding a place where the bartender would serve them margaritas. But Emily had barely tasted any of it. She felt like her head was clouded with fog, reacting a split second too late to what her friends said, completely missing jokes, taking too long to even blink. Em, are you okay? her friends kept asking. But it was like they were talking to her underwater; she could barely hear them. She’d felt herself nod, she’d felt herself try to smile. The fish-and-chips she’d ordered had been too hot, but when she’d bitten into them, she barely registered that she’d burned her tongue.
Maybe she’d never taste again. Maybe she’d never feel again. Then again, perhaps that was a good approach to take for prison.
Damn right, Ali agreed.
Emily thought again about the vanilla smell. Ali had been in that house—she knew it. Maybe she’d ordered a Klondike from that same ice-cream truck. Strolled down to the beach, relaxed on the sand, gone for a swim. Slept peacefully, soundly, waking every morning to read more bad news of Emily, Spencer, Hanna, and Aria. Emily could only imagine the satisfaction Ali was getting from knowing that the four of them would soon be locked up forever. She’d probably thrown her head back in laughter, thrilled she’d finally won.
But Ali would only win if Emily dutifully marched off to prison, like she was supposed to. There was another way. Another darker, scarier answer. Another path Emily could dare to walk down.
Should I? She pushed back the covers and swung her legs to the carpet, feeling a twinge of déjà vu. She pulled on her swimsuit and her shorts. Paused to listen to the wind as it howled violently, shaking the windows, creaking the walls.
Then she looked at her friends. Hanna turned over. Spencer kicked in her sleep. Emily felt a guilty twinge. She knew this would devastate them, but it was the only option. She set her jaw, pulled out a piece of motel stationery, and scribbled down the words she’d been mentally composing. Then, she slipped out the door, not bothering to take a key. With any luck, she would be gone before her friends woke up.
The hallway smelled like beer. She felt along the walls until she reached the outdoor stairs, then carefully navigated down. A gust of wind slammed her from the side, pressing her against the railing. She stood there a moment, bracing herself, thinking again of her friends and the anguish they’d soon feel, before she continued walking to the sidewalk. From there, she fought her way to the beach path, the wind pushing her back with every step. The sun was just rising, the sky a streaky mix of dark blues and pinks. A foreboding red flag indicating that swimming was strictly forbidden had been staked atop the lifeguard stand. The wind was making quick work of tearing it to shreds.