Free Burned by Sara Shepard Page B

Naomi murmured, reaching across and squeezing Hanna’s hand.
    Just then, Mason Byers stumbled out onto the patio. His hair was mussed, and he was wearing a gold Rosewood Police badge on his lapel. “The name’s Officer Byers, ladies,” he slurred. “Are you two old enough to drink?”
    “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