Emily wasn’t there.
Spencer rushed to Emily’s side of the bed and patted it, but the lump of pillows and blankets wasn’t concealing a girl. She slid open the closet door—apparently, after Jordan died, Emily had taken to sleeping in her closet—but Emily wasn’t there, either. Spencer spun around the room, breathing heavily. Something was off. Where could Emily have gone this early in the morning?
And then she saw it.
A stark white piece of paper, folded, on the desk. Spencer, Aria, and Hanna, it read in Emily’s handwriting. Spencer snatched it up, ran to the bathroom, and turned on the light. She unfolded the paper with shaking hands. There, in messy scrawl, were four terrible sentences.
I just can’t do this anymore. You guys are much stronger than me. Please don’t come after me. I’m sorry.
The note fluttered from her hands. Spence rushed back into the room and grabbed her flip-flops, shoved them on her feet. “Oh my God, oh my God.”
Aria shifted sleepily. “Are you okay, Spence?”
Spencer didn’t answer. Staying here, explaining—it would take too long. “I’ll be back,” she blurted, then darted out the door and dashed down the motel stairs.
It was just getting light outside. The first place Spencer checked was Hanna’s car, but it was still in the parking space; Emily wasn’t inside. She ran to the pool; the surface was windswept, but no one was swimming. She gazed up the sidewalk, then in the other direction. The streets were empty. Clearly the storm was rolling in early; most people had probably left. No one would be on the beach on a day like today.
And then it hit her.
Spencer raced around the side of the motel toward the beach path. She scrambled up the steps and down them again, tripping over the dunes. When she saw Emily’s clothes in a jumbled heap near the stairs, she let out a choked, muffled cry. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.
“Spence?”
Spencer whipped around. Hanna and Aria were behind her, still in their pajamas. Both were pale. “What’s going on?” Aria croaked fearfully, staring at Spencer like she’d gone crazy. “Why are you down here? Where’s Emily?”
“She’s . . . ,” Spencer said, but then she noticed the look on Hanna’s face. Hanna was looking past them at the water. She extended a shaky finger, and Spencer whirled around to follow her gaze. There, beyond the breakers, very visible, was a girl’s sleek, dark head.
“No!” Spencer screamed, tearing down the beach toward the water. Emily floundered in the waves, her arms extended. A wave pounded over her, and she vanished.
Spencer turned to her friends, who’d run down, too. “She’s going to die out there!”
“We should call 911,” Hanna said, pulling out her phone.
“There’s no time!” Spencer whipped off her shorts. “I’m going after her.”
Aria caught her arm. “You’ll die, too!”
But Spencer had already kicked off her flip-flops and was sprinting toward the foamy water. There was no way she could let the ocean swallow Emily up. This was her fault: She’d seen how out of it Emily was. She knew how hard this Ali stuff had hit her, and she’d sensed the turbulent storms that were brewing in Emily’s head. Emily had attempted suicide once before—of course she was going to try again. Spencer should have stayed up all night to watch over her. She should have known Emily was going to do something like this. They all should have.
The water was cold, but she pressed forward into the depths, barely feeling the temperature on her feet and calves. The first wave knocked her sideways, almost to the sand. Spencer glanced over her shoulder at Hanna and Aria on the shore. Hanna was yelling something into her phone. Aria had her hands cupped around her mouth, probably calling for Spencer to come back in. Spencer turned back around, catching sight of Emily’s head in the distance. “Em!” she screamed, wading toward her. She thought Emily heard her, because she turned and seemed to stare in Spencer’s direction. But then a wave crashed over her head, and she vanished.
“Em!” Spencer screamed again, diving under the next wave. The current knocked her sideways, and she did one full spin before spluttering to the surface. She peered at the horizon again. There was Emily’s head, bobbing above the breakers for a split second. “Emily!” Spencer roared, paddling out. Another wave dragged her under. The force of it shoved Spencer to the very bottom, tumbling her without popping her up. Suddenly, she had no air left in her lungs. She clawed and groped, but the current was too strong. Oh my God, she thought. I really could die.
She finally made it to the surface. Breathing hard, she peered into the distance. Was that Emily way out there? Spots formed in Spencer’s eyes. She was already exhausted. She couldn’t swim that far. The others were right: This was a terrible idea. She had to go back in.
But when Spencer turned for the shore, her friends seemed so far away. A rip current had pulled her far out to sea. Spencer’s mind scattered. You were supposed to do something to get out of a riptide—but what? She started to paddle for the shore, but the current shoved her back. She tried again—no luck. Her muscles burned. Her lungs ached. The waves pounded over her head, and her eyes stung from the salt.
Hanna and Aria looked more and more frantic on the shore. More people had gathered, too, their hands clapped over their mouths. Spencer paddled hard, knowing that if she kept trying, she would get in. But when the next wave crashed over her head, her body sank like a stone. Her arm twisted awkwardly behind her back, slamming into the ocean bottom. She blew out through her nose and tried to fight for shore, but her arms wouldn’t work anymore. The current tossed her back and forth.