“Sure. And now the prank’s over, so let it go. It’s bad enough you’re wearing those knockoff Jimmy Choos. Don’t think you can get away with knocking off my genius pranks, too.” Emma tossed her hair over her shoulder and looked at both girls with maximum Sutton attitude. After a moment, they shrank back into their chairs.
The bell rang. Frau Fenstermacher paced the front of the classroom, occasionally slapping a wooden pointer against her palm for emphasis as she led them through their conjugation exercises. Emma felt Celeste’s eyes dart toward her during class, but she kept her eyes on her own textbook. “Kennen,” she said, when the teacher asked her the verb “to know.” “Ich kenne, du kennst, er kennt, wir kennen, sie kennen.” I know, you know, he knows, we know, they know.
WHERE ARE YOU? Emma texted Ethan under the desk. He was supposed to be in German, and wasn’t one to skip class.
HOME SICK, he answered.
OH NO! MY PARENTS WANTED TO HAVE YOU OVER FOR DINNER ☹ WE’LL DO IT ANOTHER TIME!
ARE YOU KIDDING? FOR YOU, I’LL DEFINITELY BE BETTER, he answered.
“Sehr gut!” exclaimed Frau Fenstermacher, and Emma quickly slid her phone back into her bag. The frau still watched Emma with suspicion after she answered a question correctly—as if waiting for the teufelkind to reemerge, the demon child everyone knew Sutton Mercer to be. But when she handed back their graded quizzes, Emma’s had a silver star stuck to the top of the page, and an exclamation point scrawled after the “100%!”
When class was finally over, Emma shoved her textbook and her pencil bag into her messenger bag. Celeste was waiting for her near the door.
The girl’s face seemed less luminous than usual, her eyes tired and red. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said, gesturing back toward the seat Gretl had occupied. “But thanks.”
Emma opened her mouth to speak, but Celeste held up her hand. “Listen, I’m sorry if I was being weird about the aura stuff. I promise you I won’t ever say this again. But I just want you to know that I wasn’t pretending.” Her voice wasn’t its usual breathy tenor, but low and intense. “I really do get feelings about these things, and I can’t shake the sense that you’re in real danger. I only hope I’m wrong.”
A chill raced across Emma’s scalp. Of course Celeste was right—but it wasn’t like her weird prescience was telling Emma anything she didn’t already know. She’d been in danger since stepping off the bus in Tucson. Maybe Celeste did have some kind of supernatural instinct, but unless it could lead her to her sister’s killer, it was no good to her.
Just then Garrett appeared in the doorway and threw an arm protectively over Celeste’s shoulder. “I can’t believe what you did, Sutton,” he said. The way he emphasized her twin’s name sent a shiver down Emma’s spine, almost like he knew it didn’t really belong to her. “Watch your back.”
Emma’s phone vibrated in her purse. She glanced at the screen; it was Nisha. She hit IGNORE—but not before Garrett saw the screen, too.
“So you and Nisha are best friends now, huh?” Garrett laughed once, a harsh, angry sort of laugh. “Well, I guess you do have one thing in common—me.”
“Come on, Garrett,” Celeste interrupted, pulling his sleeve and shooting Emma an apologetic glance over her shoulder.
Emma stood there in confusion. Then she shook her head and turned out of the classroom. And walked smack into Thayer Vega.
She grabbed his arm to steady herself. She hadn’t seen him since the party, since the kiss that had lasted too long. Her lips burned at the memory.
Thayer was looking a bit worse for wear. His eye was bruised and shiny, and his lip was split down the middle where Ethan had punched him. “Oh my God,” Emma whispered. She reached up toward his cheek to touch it, but he recoiled from her hand. She winced. She deserved that. “Thayer, I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged. “You’ve got Calc next, right? I’ll walk you.”
They moved through the hallways together in silence, a trail of whispers in their wake. “Are those two back together?” one girl asked another, loud enough for Emma to hear. Emma just kept her eyes straight ahead. Let them think she was some kind of man-eating bitch if they wanted. She had bigger things to worry about, a murder to solve. The people who really mattered knew the truth about her.
Her phone vibrated in her purse. She glanced at the screen, then hit IGNORE. Nisha could wait a few minutes.
“Come on,” Thayer said, leading her into a narrow hallway that connected the math wing and the arts wing. There weren’t any classrooms in the corridor—just a janitor’s closet, a pair of bathrooms, and the photography darkrooms. They were alone except for a pimpled marching band couple making out against the wall under an army recruitment poster.
“I need to talk to you,” he said, stopping next to a fire alarm. His lips were pulled into a serious line. The bruise on his eye looked almost green under the fluorescent lights.
Emma laughed nervously. “Okay. What’s up?” Her phone vibrated again and she glanced at it. Nisha. Take a hint, she thought, hitting IGNORE again.
He grabbed her arm. Her gaze shot up to meet his, his touch seeming to scald her.
“There’s something different about you,” he whispered angrily.
Emma’s heart skipped in her chest. She pulled away from him and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Of course there’s something different, Thayer. Look, we’re not together anymore. You shouldn’t have kissed me. I’m not the girl you used to date, not anymore.”
Her phone rang again, and Thayer gritted his teeth. “Do you need to get that, or what?”
“No,” she said shortly, hitting IGNORE. She looked back up at him. He was searching her features, like he was trying to solve a puzzle and couldn’t figure out which way to turn the piece.
He shook his head. “Something’s going on with you. It’s not just Landry. There’s something … off. I don’t care what you say, Sutton. I’m going to find out what it is.”
Emma tossed her hair flippantly, even though her entire body had gone cold. “Are you off the wagon? Because you’re acting totally high.”
Thayer gave her a long, piercing look. She had to get away from him, had to hide from his gaze before he saw something in her that he shouldn’t. She pushed his shoulder playfully. “Now I’m going to class, Mr. Conspiracy Theory. Hurry up or you’ll be late to English. Mr. Abernathy isn’t going to let you off the hook a third time.”
With that she spun on her heel and walked away, feeling his eyes boring into her back as she strutted down the hallway.
I’m right here, I whispered to Thayer, before my attachment to Emma tugged me forcefully along after her. Even though I didn’t want Emma’s cover blown, my heart swelled. At least Thayer had finally noticed that Emma wasn’t a perfect Sutton replacement. Had finally sensed that I was gone.
Emma looked at her phone again. CALL ME ASAP, I HAVE SOMETHING TO TELL YOU, Nisha had texted her. But before she could dial, the bell rang. Kids disappeared into the classrooms up and down the hall. She turned off the ringer and put the phone back into her purse. Nisha would have to wait until tennis practice.
35
CALL ME MAYBE
Later that night, the Mercers sat at the patio table in their backyard, waiting for Ethan to arrive. Despite Emma’s insistence that he really didn’t have to come, Ethan had been determined to make the effort, saying he felt much better. Citronella candles flickered around them to keep the bugs off. Mr. Mercer had put a jazz record on the outdoor sound system, and even though Emma muttered that it was “so lame,” she secretly liked the effort they’d put in for her boyfriend.
Ethan had texted her to tell her he was running late: SORRY, MOM STUFF, BE THERE SOON. Ever since Ethan had told her that Mrs. Landry had defended her abusive husband and called the cops on her own son, Emma had found it difficult to feel charitable toward Ethan’s mother. Of course it was terrible that she was sick. But Ethan was trying so hard to take care of her, and she treat
ed him like dirt.
Emma picked at the chips and salsa, fiddling with her phone. Nisha hadn’t been at tennis, and she was a little worried. She’d called and texted her friend a dozen times since school got out, but there was no answer.
Laurel eyed her over the table while Mr. and Mrs. Mercer wrestled with a stubbornly corked wine bottle.
“Everything okay?” she asked softly.
“Um, yeah,” said Emma. She couldn’t very well tell Laurel that she felt perched on the verge of exposure. Thayer suspected she wasn’t who she claimed to be. She kept thinking about the look on his face when he’d said he would find out what she was hiding. He’d meant it. The question now was, what would he do next?
The doorbell rang, and Emma jumped up to answer the front door. Ethan stood on the step, holding a bouquet of lilies and roses. He wore a sports jacket that she’d bought with him at Nordstrom a few weeks earlier, and his usually disheveled hair had been neatly styled. She leaned up and kissed him softly on the cheek.
“You look great,” she said. He looked her up and down.
“So do you,” he said. She’d changed into a short coral-colored shirt dress, casual enough for a patio dinner but still splashy enough to get his attention. He picked up a lock of her hair and smoothed it back.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Much better, now that I’ve seen you.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I’m so sorry to be late for your parents. I had to get a refill on one of my mom’s medicines at the last minute. I just wish she’d told me earlier.”
For a moment she thought about telling him what Thayer had said to her, asking what he thought they should do. But she didn’t think bringing up Thayer right now was a great idea. She didn’t want a fight right before dinner with her family. They could discuss it later, when they were alone.
“Hi, Ethan,” Mrs. Mercer said brightly as Emma led him out to the patio. She wore a lemon-yellow apron over her silk button-down shirt. She’d been to the salon just that afternoon, and her dark hair hung in perfect waves around her shoulders. “You’re just in time. The enchiladas are ready.”
“They smell terrific,” he said, handing Emma’s grandmother the bouquet.
“You shouldn’t have!” Mrs. Mercer exclaimed, breathing in the smell of the flowers. “I’ll run in and get a vase.”
“Suck-up,” Emma muttered at Ethan. He grinned.
Mr. Mercer took a sip of his wine, watching Ethan warily over the top of his glass. “Well, Ethan,” he said, clearing his throat. “How’s school going?”
Emma stifled a giggle—whenever Mr. Mercer talked to Ethan he unconsciously adopted a stern, paternal air, a don’t-you-dare-hurt-my-little-girl tone of voice.
Ethan fidgeted nervously under his stare. “It’s going great.” He smiled shyly at Emma. “I was going to tell Sutton in private, but now’s as good a time as any. I actually got my early admission letter from UC Davis today. A full ride and everything.”
Emma squealed loudly, her hands flying to her lips. “Ethan! That’s awesome!”
“Well, congratulations, son,” Mr. Mercer said, setting his glass down. “Did Sutton tell you that’s my alma mater?”
Emma looked at her grandfather, surprised. She hadn’t known that. He was smiling warmly at Ethan now, his lecturing tone melted away.
“No, she didn’t,” Ethan said, glancing at Emma.
“It’s a great school,” he continued. “You’ll fit right in there, Ethan. And you won’t find a better education anywhere.” He lifted his glass again. “This calls for a toast, I think.”
Emma picked up her iced tea, raising it high. She was so proud of Ethan.
“To the future,” said Mr. Mercer. “To past and future Aggies.”
“Hear! Hear!” cried Emma, laughing. They all clinked their glasses together over the table. Emma rested her foot against Ethan’s under the table.
“So I guess the science fair stunt didn’t hurt you too much after all,” Laurel said, winking at Ethan. Emma flinched. She didn’t know the whole story, but she knew that Sutton and the Lying Game girls had ruined Ethan’s chances for a scholarship a few years earlier through some kind of prank.
Ethan just laughed. “No, but I’ll hang on to it, anyway. I need something to hold over her head.” He squeezed Emma’s hand, and they shared a private smile.
Soon their plates were heaped with blue corn enchiladas, Spanish rice, and avocado salad. Emma sipped at her tea, listening to Mr. Mercer reminisce about his years in college. Ethan listened eagerly, asking questions about the town and the school. Their laughter rang out in the cool fall evening, the stars bright overhead. Right now, in this moment, everything was perfect.
Then Mr. Mercer’s ringtone, the shrill old-fashioned jangle of a rotary phone, broke through their conversation. He pulled it out and looked down at the screen. Mrs. Mercer cleared her throat. “We’re eating, dear.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I have to take this—I’ll be right back.” He rose and stepped into the house. “Sanjay, calm down,” Emma heard him say before he slid the door shut behind him. She stopped eating and looked toward her father, watching him through the sliding glass door. Sanjay? That was Dr. Banerjee’s first name. Had something happened to Becky?
Emma strained her ears to try to catch what Mr. Mercer was saying on the phone, but she couldn’t hear anything. His face had gone very white. She made out the words “You found her where? Are you sure?” Emma’s stomach clenched and she pushed the rest of her enchiladas away across the table. It had to be Becky. After all that, Becky hadn’t even made it out of town. Ethan’s eyes flashed questioningly at her.
The door slid back open. Mr. Mercer stood helplessly in the doorway. His face was twisted with grief. When Mrs. Mercer looked up and saw him there, she rose to her feet automatically. “Ted … what is it?”
Mr. Mercer licked his lips. In the porch light his face was heavily shadowed.
“That was Sanjay Banerjee,” he said in a low, broken voice. “He just found Nisha facedown in their swimming pool. She’s dead.”
EPILOGUE
My family stares at one another over the round table filled with steaming dishes and wine glasses smudged with lipstick and fresh flowers springing out of their vase. Laurel’s hands have flown to her mouth and frozen there, while Mrs. Mercer sits in mute shock. Ethan’s eyes are wide with horror. And Emma—who is no stranger to violence by now—clenches her phone in one hand. The screen shows all the phone calls from Nisha she’d ignored. They’d stopped abruptly that afternoon, right after school.
Could she have saved Nisha’s life if she’d just picked up the phone?
As I watch my family grieve, I wonder where Nisha’s soul has gone. If she has attached herself to someone else, hoping to wrap up her unfinished business. Will I be able to see her if she’s there, or will she be as invisible as I am to the people at this table right now? I look around, half hoping to see my old nemesis. It would be a relief to have someone to talk to, even if I’m not sure what I’d say. So, death sucks, right? I’m glad you and my sister became friends. But there’s no sign of Nisha in the yard. Emma sobs suddenly, a sound like an awkward hiccup, and Ethan pulls her into his arms.
Was Nisha’s death a suicide? An accident?
Or did she find out something my murderer didn’t want her to know?
A vague memory of Nisha at a junior high day camp comes back to me. The rest of us spent our afternoons splayed out in deck chairs working on our tans, but Nisha couldn’t seem to stay out of the water. She swam like a fish. She beat everyone at the end-of-summer races that year and got a fake gold medal during the camp’s closing ceremony.
No, it hadn’t been an accident. Deep down, Emma and I both knew it. Nisha had something she wanted to tell Emma. Whatever it was, my murderer somehow found out that she knew it—and made sure she was silenced, permanently.
Emma’s investigation unearths as many questions as it does answers. Emma and I have another
sister somewhere, who may or may not know anything about us. Becky’s illness has brought Emma and my dad together, but Mrs. Mercer still doesn’t know they’ve been in contact with my birth mother. And no one seems to know about Emma’s existence, much less that she’s taken my place.
Now there are even more questions to add to the list. What happened between Nisha’s last call to Emma and Dr. Banerjee’s grisly discovery in the pool? What had she so desperately wanted to tell Emma?
My killer is still out there, clearly willing to kill again. Emma needs to find my killer, fast, before the cracks in her performance start to show. Thayer’s already onto her. And if she’s exposed, she’ll either be blamed for my death—or she’ll be next.
Celeste’s warning drifts back to me. You’re in real danger.
Time is running out. Emma needs to make the next move soon, or my killer will make one for her.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Huge thanks as usual to Lanie Davis, Sara Shandler, Josh Bank, Les Morgenstein, Katie McGee, and Kristin Marang from Alloy Entertainment—such a great Lying Game team! Also to Jennifer Graham—I don’t know what I would have done without you. Much appreciation to Kari Sutherland and Farrin Jacobs at HarperCollins. Thanks, too, to all of the readers of this series and viewers of the show, and a huge good-luck to all of the great people I met at the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators conference in Los Angeles this August. Love to MS, MG, CM, SC, AS, and CC. You all rock!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo by Austin Hodges
SARA SHEPARD is the author of the #1 New York Times bestselling series Pretty Little Liars. She graduated from NYU and has an MFA from Brooklyn College. Sara has lived in New York, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, and Arizona, where the Lying Game series is set.
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The Lying Game #5: Cross My Heart, Hope to Die Page 21
