by Sara Shepard
Emma slumped on the bench. Awkward. The clock on her phone now said 6:20. She clicked onto her NEW MESSAGES folder, but there was no text saying I’M LATE, BE THERE SOON! Uneasiness began to filter through her body, poisoning everything. Her stomach felt like it was eating itself. All of a sudden, the surroundings didn’t seem quite so magical anymore. The hikers making their way back down the mountain looked like twisted, dark monsters. There was an acrid odor in the air. Something felt very, very wrong.
Crack. Emma’s head whipped around at the sound. Before she could see what it was, a small hand covered her eyes and yanked her to standing. “Wha?” Emma called out. A second hand pressed against her mouth. Emma tried to wrench away, but a hard, cold object pressed between her shoulder blades. She instantly froze. She’d never felt a gun at her back before, but this couldn’t be anything else.
“Don’t move, bitch,” whispered a husky voice. Emma felt hot breath on her neck, but all she could see was the inside of someone’s palm. “You’re coming with us.”
I wished I could see who “us” was, but that was a little wrinkle in this being-dead thing: When Emma couldn’t see, neither could I.
Chapter 5
SHE IS ME
Emma’s feet tripped beneath her, dragging on the ground. The gun dug into her skin. Dark, blurry shapes fluttered through the blindfold someone had quickly tied around her eyes, and the sound of traffic roared in her ears. She let out a panicked whimper. The freaky strangling film flashed through her mind like whirling ambulance lights. Those hands pulling that necklace taut. Sutton slumping over lifelessly.
I thought of the same thing. Terror filled me.
Someone pushed Emma across the road. A horn blared, but then Emma’s foot hit the curb on the other side. As she staggered across the sidewalk, the sound of cars yielded to loud, throbbing bass. The aroma of grilled hamburgers and hot dogs and cigarettes drifted into Emma’s nostrils. There was a loud splash. Someone giggled. Someone else cried, “Love it!” Emma’s hands twitched. Where was she?
“What the hell?”
Suddenly the scarf was ripped from Emma’s eyes. The world lit up for me again at exactly the same time. A familiar girl with long, reddish hair, pale skin, broad shoulders and a thick waist hovered in front of Emma. She wore a short blue dress with lace around the neck. Charlotte—the name came to Emma. “She’s learned her lesson already, don’t you think?” Charlotte snapped, throwing the blindfold behind a potted cactus.
Someone freed Emma’s hands from their confines behind her back. She no longer felt the gun pressed between her shoulder blades either. Emma whipped around. Three pretty girls in party dresses and sparkly makeup stood before her.
The tallest one had dark hair, jutting collarbones, a deconstructed ballerina bun, and a tattoo of a rose on the inside of her wrist. Madeline Vega, the girl in Sutton’s Facebook profile photo. Next to Madeline stood two girls with Crayola-maize hair and pale blue eyes. Both girls held iPhones. One was preppy, in a polo dress, a white headband, and wedge sandals with grosgrain ties. The other looked like she’d stepped off a Green Day video—she wore lots of eye makeup, a plaid dress, high boots, and a stack of black jelly bracelets around her wrists. They had to be Gabriella and Lilianna Fiorello, the Twitter Twins.
“Gotcha!” Madeline gave Emma a weak smile. The Twitter Twins grinned, too.
“Since when did we get all eco?” Charlotte sighed loudly behind them. “Recycling is not part of our rules.”
Madeline pulled the short, white A-line dress she was wearing down her thighs. “It wasn’t technically a repeat, Char. Sutton knew it was us the whole time.” She raised a tube of lipstick into the air, then pressed it between Emma’s shoulder blades again. “My mom’s Chihuahua would’ve known this wasn’t a gun.”
Emma wrenched away. The tube of lipstick had definitely fooled her. Then, she realized something else—Madeline had called her Sutton, just like Charlotte’s dad had. “Wait a minute,” she blurted, struggling to find her voice. “I’m not—”
Charlotte cut her off, her gaze still on Madeline. “Even if Sutton knew it was you, it’s still poor form. And you know it.” She had a sarcastic voice and a penetrating stare. Although Charlotte wasn’t the prettiest in the crowd, she was clearly the alpha. “Besides, since when do we do things like that with them?” She pointed at Gabriella and Lilianna, who lowered their eyes sheepishly.
Madeline fiddled with the leather strap of her oversized watch. “Don’t be such a hater. It was spontaneous. I saw Sutton and just . . . went for it.”
Charlotte stepped a tiny bit closer to Madeline and puffed up her chest. “We made up the rules together, remember? Or do those tight buns you wear to ballet class cut off the circulation to your brain?”
Madeline’s chin wobbled for a moment. Her big eyes, high cheekbones, and bow-shaped lips reminded Emma of a figurehead on a ship. But Emma noticed Madeline slowly massaging a hot-pink rabbit’s foot on the key ring of her bag, as if all the beauty in the world hadn’t brought her luck. “It’s better than your too-tight jeans cutting off the circulation to your butt,” Madeline shot back.
I reached out to Madeline, but my fingers slipped through her skin. “Mads?” I called out. I touched Charlotte on the shoulder. “Char?” She didn’t even flinch. Nothing new about them came back to me. I knew I loved them, but I really didn’t know why. But how could they stand there and think Emma was me? How could they not know their BFF was dead?
“Um, guys,” Emma tried again, staring across the wide avenue. The entrance to Sabino Canyon glowed beckoningly in the sunset. “There’s somewhere I need to be.”
Madeline gave her a duh look. “Uh, yeah? Nisha’s party?” She looped her arm around Emma’s elbow and yanked her toward the small wrought-iron gate that led to the backyard of the house whose driveway they stood in. “Look, I know you and Nisha have issues, but this is the last party before school tomorrow. It’s not like you have to talk to her. Where have you been anyway? We’ve been calling you all day. And what were you doing sitting in front of Sabino? You looked like a zombie.”
“It was freaky,” Lilianna piped up.
“Super freaky,” Gabriella agreed in an identical voice. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small prescription bottle. Popping off the cap, she shook two pills into her hand and pushed them into her mouth, washing them down with a swig from a Diet Coke bottle. Party girl, Emma thought warily.
She stared at the four girls. Should she tell them who she really was? What if it really was dangerous? Suddenly she felt her shoulder and realized that she’d lost her duffel bag in the fake kidnapping. When she looked across the street, it was still there. She’d slip away and get it as soon as she could. And if Sutton showed up, maybe she’d see it and know Emma had been there.
“Hang on a second.” Emma stopped short next to a large flowering barrel cactus. She wriggled her arm from Madeline’s grasp and pulled her phone out of her pocket—at least it wasn’t in the duffel, too. No new messages. She shaded the screen with one hand and composed several new texts to the cell number Sutton had given Emma in her Facebook reply last night: Your friends found me. I’m at a party across the street. They think I’m you. I didn’t know what to tell them. Txt me with further instructions, K?
Emma typed quickly—she knew the third-place finish in the speed-texting contest in Vegas two years ago would come in handy someday—and pressed SEND. There. Sutton could meet her here and straighten out who was who . . . or Emma could meet her later and just pretend she was Sutton for the duration of the party.
“Who are you writing to?” Madeline leaned over Emma’s phone, trying to get a look at the screen. “And why are you using a BlackBerry? I thought you got rid of that thing.”
Emma slipped her phone back into her pocket before Madeline could see. Sutton’s Facebook posts flitted into Emma’s mind. She straightened up and gave Madeline the same coy look she’d seen her sister make in the YouTube videos. “Wouldn’t you
love to know, bitch.”
As soon as she’d finished saying the words, Emma clamped her mouth shut and sucked in her stomach. She wouldn’t have been more surprised if a bouquet of daisies had popped out of her mouth. Comments like that ended up on her CISS list, not in her day-to-day conversation.
Madeline let out a haughty sniff. “Fine, ho beast.” Then she whipped out her iPhone. A big sticker of a ballet dancer on the back said SWAN LAKE MAFIA. “Smush in!”
Everyone pressed together and smiled. Madeline held the phone outstretched. Emma stood on the end, grinning weakly.
And then they started down the driveway. The night air had cooled significantly, and the jumbled aromas of the charcoal grill, citronella candles, and cigarettes wafted into Emma’s nostrils. Gabriella and Lilianna walked and tweeted at the same time. As they bypassed the front door to cut around the stone path on the side of the house, Charlotte pulled Emma back so they were walking alone.
“Are you okay?” Charlotte straightened her flutter-sleeved dress so that her thick bra strap didn’t show. Her arms were dotted with thousands of freckles.
“I’m fine,” Emma said breezily, even though her fingers still trembled, and her heart banged madly against her ribs.
“So where’s Laurel?” Charlotte pulled a tube of lip gloss from her purse and smeared it over her lips. “I thought you said you were going to drive her here.”
Emma’s eyes darted back and forth. Laurel. That was Sutton’s sister, right? She wished she had a Wiki-Sutton application on her BlackBerry or something. “Uh . . .”
Charlotte widened her eyes. “You ditched her again, didn’t you?” She wagged her finger playfully in Emma’s face. “You’re a bad, bad sister.”
Before Emma could reply, they stepped into the backyard. Someone had strung a banner that said GOODBYE, SUMMER! across a salmon-colored storage shed. Girls in long, flowing maxi dresses and boys in Lacoste polos filled the patio. Two muscled guys in drenched HOLLIER WATER POLO shirts stood in the pool with two skinny girls in bikinis on their shoulders, poised for a chicken fight. A girl with curly hair and long feather earrings laughed way too loudly with a younger, hotter version of Tiger Woods. There was a long table filled with Mexican hot dogs, vegetarian burritos, sushi rolls, and chocolate-covered strawberries. Another table held a bunch of bottles of soda, fruit punch, and ginger ale, and two big jugs of Beefeater and Cuervo.
“Whoa,” Emma couldn’t help but blurt when she saw the liquor. She wasn’t much of a drinker—she and Alex had once drank too much playing a Twilight drinking game and took turns puking in Alex’s mom’s Zen rock garden. And she never knew what to do at parties either. She always felt shy and reserved, the freak foster kid with no home.
“Right?” Madeline murmured, sidling up to Emma. Her gaze was on the table, too. “Casa Banerjee has gone downhill since Nisha’s mom died. Her dad’s so oblivious these days, Nisha could probably have crack pipes as door prizes and he wouldn’t notice.”
Someone touched her arm. “Hey, Sutton,” called a tall, buff, captain-of-a-sports-team type. Emma smiled broadly. A petite dark-haired girl waved at Emma from the drinks table by the French doors. “Your dress is so pretty!” she cooed. “Is it BCBG?”
Emma couldn’t help but feel a tiny twinge of jealousy. Not only did Sutton have a family, but she was wildly popular, too. How come Emma had gotten such a crappy life and Sutton had gotten the great one?
I wasn’t sure about that, considering Emma was alive and I wasn’t.
More kids passed by, brightening when they saw her. Emma grinned and waved and laughed, feeling like a princess greeting her loyal subjects. It felt freeing and almost . . . fun. She understood why sometimes the shyest kids could climb onstage in school plays and completely lose their inhibitions.
“There you are,” growled a sexy voice in Emma’s ear. Emma whirled around to see a handsome blond guy in a gray fitted polo and long khaki-green shorts. A familiar Facebook photo shimmered into her mind: Garrett, Sutton’s boyfriend.
“I haven’t heard from you all day.” Garrett handed Emma a red plastic cup filled with liquid. “I called, I texted . . . where have you been?”
“I’m right here!” I wanted to scream. Brief flashes of kisses, hand-holding, and prom slow dances with Garrett flitted in and out of my brain. I distinctly heard the words I love you. A longing feeling struck me hard.
“Oh, around,” Emma answered vaguely. “But someone’s got to cut the cord a little, don’t you think?” she added, poking Garrett lightly in the ribs. It was something Emma had always been dying to tell every overprotective boyfriend she’d had in the past, the kind who texted her nonstop and freaked if she didn’t immediately reply. Plus it sounded like something Sutton might say.
Garrett pulled her close and stroked her hair. “Good thing I found you.” His hand moved from her hair to her shoulder, then dangerously close to her boob.
“Um . . .” Emma jerked away.
I was so happy she did.
Garrett raised his palms in surrender. “Sorry, sorry.”
Then her BlackBerry vibrated against her hip. Her heart leapt. Sutton.
“Be right back,” she said to Garrett. He nodded, and Emma wove through the crowds of people toward the house. When Garrett turned to talk to a tall Asian guy in a World Cup jersey, Emma crouched low and darted to the side gate.
She turned to glance at the party once more and noticed someone staring at her from the large teak table across the patio. It was a dark-skinned girl with big eyes and a tightly drawn mouth. She wore a yellow wrap dress and a gold cuff on her bicep. It was Nisha, from Sutton’s tennis team photo. This was her party. She stared at Emma as though she wanted to hoist her by the scruff of her neck and throw her out on her butt.
Even though every ounce of Emma’s be-nice-and-don’t-make-trouble being wanted to wave and smile, she steeled herself, thought of Sutton, and shot Nisha a bitchy look. Outrage flashed across Nisha’s face. After a moment, she whipped her head around, her ponytail smacking the face of the girl behind her.
A cautious feeling flitted through me. Nisha and I clearly had issues—big issues.
Not that I had a clue what they were.
Chapter 6
WHO CAN RESIST A BROODER?
Nisha’s driveway was quiet and peaceful. Crickets chirped in the bushes, and the air was cool against Emma’s bare skin. Bluish light from a TV flickered in the window of a house a few doors down. A dog barked behind a block-wall fence. Emma’s pulse began to slow, and her shoulders slowly fell from their crunched position by her ears. She pulled out the BlackBerry and stared at the screen. The message was from Clarice: GOT YOUR NOTE. EVERYTHING OKAY? LET ME KNOW IF YOU NEED ANYTHING.
Emma deleted the message, then refreshed her inbox again. No new messages. Then she looked across the broad highway. A big floodlight shone across the Sabino parking lot. Emma gulped. The park bench was now empty. Had someone taken her stuff? Where was Sutton? And what was she supposed to do when this party ended? Her wallet had been in her bag. Now she had no cash. No ID.
Swish. Emma turned around and faced Nisha’s house. No one was in the driveway. Then, a stiff thwock echoed through the air, a soda can opening. Emma pivoted again. A figure stood on the front porch of the house next door. There was a large telescope by his side, but he was staring straight into Emma’s eyes.
Emma backed away. “Oh. Sorry.”
The guy stepped forward, his prominent cheekbones catching the light. Emma took in his round eyes, thick eyebrows, and closely shorn hair. His mouth was drawn into a straight, tense line that seemed to say back off. He was dressed more casually than the boys at the party, wearing frayed hiking shorts and a threadbare gray T-shirt that showed every contour of his well-muscled chest.
I recognized him, but of course—I should’ve been getting used to this by now—I didn’t know why.
Giggles emerged from Nisha’s backyard. Emma glanced over her shoulder, then back at the boy. She was intrigued
by his sullen slouch, and by the fact that he didn’t seem to care that a party was raging next door. She’d always been a sucker for the brooding type. “Why aren’t you at the party?” she asked.
The guy just stared at her, his eyes two huge moons.
Emma walked down the sidewalk until she was right in front of his house. “What are you looking at?” She gestured to the telescope.
He didn’t blink. “Venus?” Emma guessed. “The Big Dipper?”
A small noise escaped from his throat. He ran his hand against the back of his neck and turned away. Finally Emma pivoted on her heel. “Fine,” she said, trying to sound as breezy as possible. “Hang out by yourself. I don’t care.”
“The Perseids, Sutton.”
Emma turned back to him. So he knew Sutton, too. “What are the Perseids?” she asked.
He curled his hands around the porch railing. “It’s a meteor shower.”
Emma crossed toward him. “Can I see?”
The guy stood motionless as Emma walked through the yard. His house was a small, sand-colored bungalow with a carport instead of a garage. A few cacti lined the curb. Up close, he smelled like root beer. The porch light shone down on his face, revealing striking blue eyes. A plate containing a half-eaten sandwich was on the porch swing, and two leather-bound books were on the ground. The tattered cover of the first book said The Collected Poetry of William Carlos Williams. Emma had never met a cute guy who read poetry—not one who’d admit it, anyway.
Finally he looked down, adjusted the telescope lens to Emma’s height, and stepped out of the way. Emma stooped to the eyepiece. “Since when did you become an astronomer?” he asked.
“Since never.” Emma tilted the telescope to the big, full moon. “I usually just give the stars names of my own.”
