Page 60 of Reckless Girls
Robbie’s bag. The one he’d thrown on shore that day. It had been black like this. Canvas, the zipper broken.
I feel like Bluebeard’s wife as I pull it out into the light.
As soon as it’s in my lap, I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s not the same bag. This one is too new, branded with the Tumi logo, and when I try the zipper, it slides open just fine.
God, this place is making me paranoid.
I’m closing up the bag again when I notice an oddly shaped piece of plastic protruding.
Whatever is in the bag is heavy, and I have to use both hands to pull it out.
It’s cash.
Alotof cash. Stacks of it, tightly bound together, and wrapped in plastic. American dollars, euros, British pounds, the colorful face of the queen smiling genteelly up at me.
My heart is pounding as I shove the money back in the bag, only to realize there are more plastic-wrapped parcels inside. Oneis cash, but two are thicker, heavier, and I realize, in numb disbelief, that they’re bricks of hash.
So: not just cash, but drugs, too.
Nico had asked Jake and Eliza what they did, how they made a living, and Jake had been vague enough that I’d just assumed he was another rich kid with inherited wealth—he didn’t have to actually make money, it just existed for him. And after hearing that they grew up together, I figured Eliza was the same.
But clearly, there’s more to it than that.
Is that why they’re here, on this deserted island? Are they running from the law?
Suddenly, I realize just how little I actually know about Jake or Eliza, or Brittany or Amma for that matter—or fuck it, maybe even Nico. These people are basically all strangers to me, and I am alone with them in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. My head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, and my mouth has gone dry, and all I can think is I have to put all this shit back, exactly as I found it, quickly shoving it into the bag like the canvas will burn me.
That’s when I hear footsteps on the stairs leading into the galley.
I turn to see Eliza standing there, looking down at me.
Smiling.
“So,” she says, folding her arms, sun-bronzed and beautiful and remarkably calm. “Now you know our little secret.”
TWENTY-ONE
“You’re gonna be cool about this, right?” Eliza asks after a long pause, and I nod almost automatically.
This is something Eliza is good at, I realize: phrasing a statement as a question, so that your only option is to agree with her.
Stepping forward, she leans down and takes the bag from me. “It’s not that big of a deal,” she goes on. “It’s just some pot. We don’t deal in the scarier stuff, you know? Just the fun shit.”
She flashes that sparkling smile, and I nod robotically.
“Right, hash is nothing, really,” I hear myself say, wondering if there’s more hidden on the boat, and where.
Eliza can clearly read my mind. “I know, it looks like a lot, and yes, we’d be completely and utterly fucked if we got caught with it, but you know how it is—big risk, big reward.”
“Totally,” I say, nodding even more manically, and Eliza laughs, coming over to hug me.
“Oh, Luxy,” she says. “Don’t tell the others, but you’re my favorite.”
And it’s so stupid and silly, but my whole body seems to flushwith pleasure. How does she do it, make you feel like her approval is so important, so vital?
Then she looks right at me. “But something’s wrong, isn’t it, love?”
Before I can stop myself, it pours out of me. “I caught Nico and Amma. In bed.”
