Yet again, there was a long, awkward silence. Mr. Mercer dabbed at his mouth with his napkin, and Mrs. Mercer fiddled with the Chanel bangle around her wrist. Emma wondered what subtext she was missing here.
I racked my foggy memory for an answer, but I couldn’t come up with anything. Grandma definitely had it in for me, though.
Mrs. Mercer looked around the table, then shut her eyes. “I forgot the pitcher of water and the glasses. Girls, can you go inside and get them?” She sounded weary, as though Grandma had drained her of strength.
“Sure,” Laurel said brightly. Emma rose, too, eager to get away from Grandma. They made their way into the Spanish-tiled kitchen. The dark soapstone countertops gleamed, and pineapple-themed dish towels hung neatly from the oven handle. Emma was just grabbing the water pitcher when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Sutton,” Mr. Mercer said in a hushed voice. “Laurel.”
Laurel froze with a tray of ice-filled glasses in her hand.
“I heard Thayer is coming back to school tomorrow,” Mr. Mercer said, shutting the patio door. The sound of Grandma critiquing Mrs. Mercer’s choice of salsa music for the party instantly evaporated. “Just because he’s out of jail doesn’t change anything. I want you two to keep your distance.”
Laurel set her mouth in a line. “But Dad, he’s my best friend. You didn’t have a problem with him before.”
Mr. Mercer’s eyebrows shot up. “That was before he broke into our house, Laurel. People change.”
Laurel lowered her head and shrugged. She didn’t, Emma noticed, make any mention of going on a date with Thayer yesterday.
“Sutton?” Mr. Mercer stared at Emma next.
“Um, I’ll stay away,” Emma mumbled.
“I mean it, girls,” Mr. Mercer said sternly. He stared straight at Emma when he spoke, and once again, Emma wondered what subtext she was missing. “If I find out that you’re hanging out with him, there will be consequences.”
And then he turned on his heel and marched back to the patio.
As soon as he shut the door, Laurel faced Emma. There was a sickly smile on her face. “That was smart to not mention seeing us last night,” she said icily.
Emma made a face. “If Thayer means that much to you, you should have said something. Convinced Dad not to worry.”
Laurel flicked her blond hair off her shoulder and stepped closer. Her breath smelled like spicy barbecue sauce. “We all know Dad can be overprotective. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your mouth shut. Got it?”
Emma nodded faintly. After Laurel turned toward the patio, Emma crumpled against the island, suddenly exhausted. If you know what’s good for you. Was that…a threat?
I didn’t know either. And I wasn’t eager to find out.
3
VOLLEYING WITH THE ENEMY
By the time the Mercers finished dinner, the sun had set, the frogs had started croaking, and there was a chill to the air. Emma had a pile of German homework, but being in the same house as Laurel without being able to make any headway on the investigation filled her with restless adrenaline. Though she was still aching from practice, she found herself slipping on gray leggings and taking off for the tennis courts down the block. She didn’t plan on hitting the ball very hard.
The courts were empty. Only a few people were out walking their dogs on the trails, and a couple was talking quietly by a Mini Cooper in the parking lot. Emma selected the far court, which had a solid wall for solo play, and dropped three quarters into the meter that turned on the overhead lights. A pop sounded as she pried open a new container of fuzzy yellow balls. She bounced one on her racket a few times before lobbing it gently into the wall, the previous aches and pains from the grueling practice melting away.
It felt good to hit the ball over and over, losing herself in her thoughts. Could Laurel have killed Sutton? Emma didn’t have any proof, but she also didn’t have proof that Laurel didn’t do it, either. If only she could find something personal of Laurel’s, like a diary—or her cell phone. Laurel guarded the thing with her life, but maybe there was a way to get her hands on it.
Of course there was one other way to figure out if Laurel had an alibi for that night: asking Thayer if she’d stayed with him at the hospital. The idea of talking with Thayer was nerve-racking. Emma had fooled everyone except Ethan into thinking she was Sutton, but Thayer and Sutton had major history; they’d been in love. But the same reason that made it scary made it intriguing—Emma was so curious about Sutton, and Thayer knew her better than anyone.
I’d give anything to see Thayer as much as possible, even if I couldn’t touch him. On the other hand, if Thayer didn’t realize Emma wasn’t me after spending time with her, well, I wasn’t sure I could deal with that.
Suddenly, the overhead lights snapped off, leaving Emma in darkness. She bent over her legs, breathing hard, letting the ball bounce off the wall and roll to the other end of the court. Footsteps rustled in the grass beside the court, and she stood up, tensed.
“Hello?” Emma called. “Ethan?” The tennis courts had been Emma and Ethan’s meeting place since her arrival in Tucson, though they hadn’t planned to get together that night.
There was no answer, but she heard rustling sounds in the underbrush surrounding the courts. Her eyes not yet adjusted to the darkness, Emma inched closer to the backboard and felt her way along the smooth wood. The toe of her sneaker touched the chain-link fence, making a clink sound. She froze, knowing she’d just given away her position. A second later, the electricity powered back on, flooding the court with light and illuminating a figure standing at the edge of the court.
Emma screamed.
The figure whipped around and screamed, too. But then Emma saw who it was: Nisha Banerjee, Sutton’s rival and tennis cocaptain. Emma collapsed against the fence, pressing her hands to her eyes. “Nisha! You scared the shit out of me!”
“You were the one lurking on the court in the dark!” Nisha cried. For a moment, she looked furious, but then she dissolved into giggles. “God. We both screamed like six-year-olds who just saw their first horror movie.”
“I know.” Emma breathed out, willing her heart to slow down. “We’re pathetic, huh?”
Nisha took a few steps toward her. She was wearing a red Adidas tennis dress and matching wrist sweatbands. Her pristine sneakers were tied with tiny bows and her black hair was tucked behind a violet-colored headband. But even though she looked perfect, her eyes were glassy, and her fingers trembled ever so slightly. Nisha was not someone who liked being even the slightest bit out of control.
“You playing solo?” Nisha asked.
Emma nodded.
“Oh. I was going to do that, too,” Nisha said. She ducked her head and tucked her racket under her arm. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”
But then she gave Emma a long glance. Her brown eyes looked tired, and there were sloping circles beneath them. Emma softened. She was so used to sparring with Nisha, but right now, the girl looked weary and a little bit shy.
She looked different to me, too. It was strange seeing people from such a removed perspective, like everything I’d once thought to be true about them was nothing more than a carefully constructed facade.
Emma cleared her throat. “Why aren’t you playing at the courts closer to your house?” Nisha lived near Sabino Canyon, and Emma had seen a court at the entrance to her neighborhood.
Nisha shrugged. “It was crowded. And I felt like being alone.”
Emma spun her racket in her hand. “Well, since we’re both here, do you want to volley?”
Nisha’s jaw twitched. Emma could tell by the tiny flutter of her eyelashes that Nisha had wanted her to ask exactly that. “Um, sure,” she said, playing it cool. “If you want.”
“I do,” Emma said, realizing it was true. She had never seen the girl look vulnerable, and something about it struck a chord. But there was something else she’d thought of, too: Nisha had been Laurel’s alibi on August t
hirty-first, the night Sutton went missing. She’d told Emma that Laurel had been at her house the whole night, when Laurel definitely hadn’t. Had Nisha lied? Or had Laurel snuck out after Nisha had fallen asleep?
They strolled to opposite sides of the court. Nisha adjusted her tennis skirt, and Emma snickered. “I have to say. Only you would dress like Serena Williams on a dark and abandoned court, Nisha,” she teased, tossing the ball high in the air and whacking it hard.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Nisha said as the ball whizzed toward her. She slammed the ball hard. Emma lunged for it, but it flew past her, clanking against the chain-link fence.
“Fair enough.” Emma laughed. “Love-fifteen,” she said, trotting over to retrieve the ball. This time she hit a mild shot over the net, which Nisha easily returned, setting the tone for a friendly volley.
They played a few rounds, both of them remarking how amazing it was that they still had energy after today’s grueling practice. After Emma hit a backhand into the net, Nisha took a break to drink from her water bottle. “I hear you’re dating Ethan Landry.”
“That’s right,” Emma said, blushing a little.
Nisha wiped her mouth. “So he actually talks, then?”
“Sure he talks. A lot.”
“That’s news to me.” Nisha placed her water bottle on the bench. “My mom used to call him Silent E. We took the same bus, and he never said one word to me—or anyone—the entire eighth-grade school year.”
“He’s just shy,” Emma mumbled, having forgotten that Nisha and Ethan were neighbors. It hurt to hear about Ethan’s quiet days. She hated that he hadn’t had many friends.
“Well, shy’s cool.” Nisha swung her legs, then gave Emma a jealous glance. “And he’s certainly gorgeous.”
That was more like it. “I know,” Emma said, shivering with pleasure, thinking about the kisses she’d shared with Ethan at the planetarium last night. “What’s going on with you and Garrett?” Nisha had shown up with Sutton’s ex at the Homecoming Dance a few weeks ago, looking very pleased with herself.
Nisha shrugged. “Nothing really.” Then she took another sip of water and changed the subject. “Remember when we were little, and we used to count how many shots we could get back and forth before one of us messed up?” she asked. “Our own world records,” she went on, deepening her voice to sound like a sports announcer.
Emma smiled to herself. For as many items she’d put on the Ways I’m Not Sutton list, there were so many quirky things they did that were just the same. She’d counted volleys with her Russian foster brother, Stephan, when they’d played endless rounds of ping-pong in the basement. Even now she often found herself counting in practice and matches out of habit.
“That feels like an eternity ago,” Nisha went on. “I always liked it when you and Laurel included me.” Then her lips tightened, like she’d said too much. She took a hard pull from the water bottle. “Anyway,” she said toughly. “Ready for me to whip your ass some more?”
But Emma didn’t move. “It’s lonely to be an only child,” she said softly.
Nisha looked at her sharply. “It’s not like you’d know. You have Laurel.”
Emma bit her lip and looked away. She’d been talking about herself, of course—even with all of her foster brothers and sisters, she still felt adrift and alone. She’d longed for a brother or a sister—family of some kind. It was one of those moments where she wanted to tell Nisha about her experience, but couldn’t.
Then Nisha sighed. “But you’re right, it is lonely. Especially now that my mom is…gone. I love my dad, but he’s not exactly great company.”
Emma nodded. She knew that Nisha’s mom had died over the summer, but Nisha had never once mentioned it. Right now, though, it seemed like she wanted to talk about it. Like she wanted someone to listen.
“You guys were really close, huh?” Emma asked.
A cloud passed over the moon. A roadrunner darted across the parking lot. Nisha traced the Nike logo on her water bottle. “We loved to cook together and make these massive Indian feasts. My mom thought I was too thin. She was always trying to fatten me up.”
“That seems to be a mom thing,” Emma said, thinking of Grandma Mercer and her son. “Do you still…talk to her?”
Nisha gave Emma a strange look, her face reddening. “How did you know?”
Emma stared at the white net in the middle of the court. “It was just a guess. I talk to my birth mom.”
Nisha raised an eyebrow. “But you’ve never even met your birth mom.”
“I know,” Emma said quickly. “But I know she’s out there. And I wonder about her all the time. When things get really hard, I talk to her. She always listens.” She smiled wryly. Imaginary Becky was much more attentive than real Becky had ever been.
Nisha rolled the tennis ball under her palm. “I talk to her while I’m in the car,” she said quietly. “Talking to her in my house seems risky—I don’t want my dad to hear. But when I’m driving to school or wherever, I have whole monologues with her. When I pause at stoplights, still talking to myself, I can see people looking. They probably just assume I’m on a Bluetooth or something, not talking to my dead mother.”
Suddenly, she drew back and stared at Emma as though she’d forgotten Emma was there. “You probably think that’s super-freaky, huh? Are you going to tell your friends about this?” she asked, blinking rapidly.
“I won’t!” Emma placed her hand over her heart. “I swear. Your secret is safe with me.” When Nisha still looked worried, she lightly touched the girl’s shoulder. “I’m glad you told me. I think it’s great you talk to her. Honestly? It would be weird if you didn’t.”
Nisha fiddled with the sweatband around her wrist, still looking embarrassed. “Well, I should get going. That English term paper is calling my name.”
“Yeah, I have about ten minutes before my dad calls the police. He’s been running a tight ship these days.” Emma packed up her bag. As the two girls walked off the court toward the street, matching each other step-for-step, Emma realized she’d forgotten all about asking Nisha where Laurel really was the night Sutton died. Instead, she’d been too busy bonding with Sutton’s sworn enemy. And it had been kind of…nice.
I was all for it, as long as Emma kept her head. Nisha had always been a thorn in my side, and I didn’t see her changing now. Still, you know what they say: Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. Especially when that enemy might know the truth about where Emma’s number-one murder suspect was the night I died.
4
THE UNGIVING TREE
On Tuesday morning, Emma pulled into the lot of Hollier High, which was set in the hills of Tucson. Hundreds of cacti, some spiny, some flowering, served as the landscape. The mountains rose up behind the school, red and majestic. The lot was bustling with students. A Jeep full of jocks drove past, an old Dave Matthews song blaring over the speakers. A group of pretty girls in matching leather jackets swapped lip glosses next to a vintage convertible. School buses huffed around the corner, the track team did a final loop around the field for their morning practice, and a bunch of kids were huddled near the spiny shrubs, trying to hide that they were smoking.
As Emma got out of the car, two girls in miniskirts walked by, gossiping loudly about Thayer. Today was his first day back at school. Rumors about his absence had been swirling for weeks: that he’d spent time in jail, that he’d been working on a major Hollywood movie, that he’d had a sex change. Only the first was true: He’d been in jail for a couple days the other week for trespassing on the Mercers’ property and resisting arrest.
Emma heard a door slam next to her. Sutton’s two closest friends, Madeline and Charlotte, emerged from a black SUV. Madeline, who had sleek, black hair and a heart-shaped face, was in high-heeled boots, and her slim-cut jeans seemed like they were made specifically for her dancer’s body. The inside of her wrist was tattooed with a single red rose bud, and on the back of her iPhone was a sticker that sai
d SWAN LAKE MAFIA. Emma still wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. Charlotte, who was slightly pudgy but had beautiful, creamy skin and thick, red hair, slung an enormous monogrammed Louis Vuitton bag over her shoulder just as a white SUV pulled into the space next to them. The Twitter Twins, Lilianna and Gabriella, whose only matching features were their blond hair and blue eyes, tumbled out. All of the Lying Game is present and accounted for, Emma thought, thinking about Sutton’s pranking clique. Well, almost all of the Lying Game—Laurel had evaded Emma’s offer to take her to school today, saying she had “made other arrangements.”
Lili clicked over to Emma on her black stilettos. “The administration should just reserve these parking spots for us permanently,” she trilled, placing a hand on her punkish chain-link necklace. Lili and Gabby had only become official members of the Lying Game a few weeks ago, and they brought up their newfound status as often as possible.
“I can just see it now,” Gabby jumped in. “‘Reserved for Gabby.’ That would look awesome on a sign.” She pushed a lock of straight blond hair behind her ear. She was Lili’s opposite, wearing a pale pink cashmere shrug, a preppy green polo, skinny jeans, and patent-leather flats with bows on the toes. She looked ready to go to a croquet match.
Madeline’s phone beeped in her cavernous suede bag. She smiled when she pulled it out. “My brother is such a dork,” she said, rolling her eyes happily. Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she crafted a response.
“Where is Thayer?” Gabby looked around, like he might be hiding behind Madeline’s SUV.
“He’s coming in a bit later,” Madeline said. “The principal didn’t want him to create a stir before school. He just texted me that he’s hanging out in his room, bored out of his mind, playing Mario Kart.” She snickered. “He hasn’t played that since he was about nine.”
The first bell rang in the distance, signaling that they had ten minutes before classes started. “Is Laurel with him?” Emma blurted. She hadn’t meant to say it, but where else could Laurel be? She’d disappeared this morning with no explanation.
The Lying Game #4: Hide and Seek Page 3
