by Sara Shepard
“Neither am I,” Emma shouted over the music. “But no one here knows us, so who cares?”
She grabbed his hand and spun him around. He spun her back with a laugh, and they began dancing together, jumping and shimmying to the music.
When the No Names finished their set, Emma was exhausted and covered in sweat, but she felt light as a silk dress.
“There’s something else I want to show you,” Ethan said, pointing to an emergency-exit door and directing her through a dark, dripping hallway beyond it. A heavy metal door off to the side said OBSERVATION DECK. Ethan nudged it open and they climbed up a narrow stairwell.
“Are you sure we’re allowed in here?” Emma asked nervously, her shoes echoing on the metal risers.
“Yep,” Ethan said. “Almost there.”
At the top, they pushed through another heavy door and emerged into the open air. The observation deck wasn’t much more than a flat roof with a couple of ratty teak chaises and end tables, a trash can overflowing with empty bottles of Corona Light, and a large potted fern that looked half dead, but the city of Phoenix surrounded her, full of lights and sparkle and noise.
“It’s beautiful!” Emma breathed. “How did you know this was up here?”
Ethan walked over to the railing and tipped his face up to the night sky. “My mom was sick for a while. She had a lot of doctor’s appointments around here. I got to know the city pretty well.”
“Is she … okay?” Emma asked softly. Ethan had never told her about his mom being sick.
Ethan shrugged, seeming a little closed off. “I guess so. As good as she can be.” He stared out at the twinkling lights. “She had cancer. But she’s okay now, I think.”
“I’m sorry,” Emma breathed.
“It’s cool,” Ethan said. “I was the one who helped her through it, though. You know how I told you my dad practically lives in San Diego? Well, he never came back for any of her chemo treatments. It blew.”
“Maybe he couldn’t deal with her being sick,” Emma said. “Some people don’t handle that stuff very well.”
“Yeah, well, he should have,” Ethan snapped, his eyes flashing.
Emma backed off. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Ethan shut his eyes. “I’m sorry.” He sighed. “I’ve never really told anyone about my mom. But, well, I want us to be totally honest with each other. I want us to share everything. Even if it’s bad. I hope you share everything with me, too.”
Emma breathed in, feeling both touched and horribly guilty. There was something huge she wasn’t sharing with Ethan: the prank against him. Should she say something? Would he be angry that she’d let it go on for so long without telling him? Maybe it was better just to say nothing and figure out a way to thwart the prank before it happened. What Ethan didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
Way to be totally honest, Sis. But I understood the predicament she was in.
Emma wrapped her arms around Ethan’s waist and leaned her cheek against his back. He turned around and hugged her to him, kissing her forehead. “Can we stay here forever?” she asked with a sigh. “It’s so wonderful not being Sutton for once. Just being … me.”
“We can stay as long as you’d like,” Ethan promised. “Or, well, at least until we have to go to school tomorrow.”
Cars honked on the streets below. A helicopter zoomed overhead, sending a single white beam to a source near the mountains. A car alarm blared, cycling through a series of irritating beeps and whoops and buzzes until someone shut it off.
But as she stood warm and safe in Ethan’s arms, Emma decided this was the most romantic date she’d ever been on.
16
THE MAKEUP
On Sunday afternoon, Emma, Madeline, Charlotte, Laurel, and the Twitter Twins waited in line at Pam’s Pretzels, a shoddy stand propped in a corner of La Encantada on the outskirts of Tucson. Even though Sutton’s friends had sworn off carbs, the pretzels were worth breaking their diets for. They were covered in Mexican queso and contained a spice combination that was, as Madeline put it, “better than sex.” The smell of baked bread and mustard infused the air. Customers swooned as they took big, doughy bites. One woman looked like she was actually going to faint with pleasure as she chewed.
The line was long, and a bunch of college-age boys in band T-shirts and long, grungy hair stood in front of them. Madeline was inching away from them as though they had fleas. Charlotte, whose flaming red hair was tied back in a severe bun, elbowed Laurel, who was busy texting something to Caleb. “Does that bring back fond memories?” she said, gesturing to a four-by-four-foot raised garden box covered with felt.
Laurel giggled at what Charlotte was pointing at. “That Christmas tree was so much heavier than it looked. And I had tinsel in my hair for days.” She shook her hair around for effect.
Madeline covered her mouth and let out a snort. “That was priceless.”
“Seriously,” Emma said, even though she had no idea what the girls were talking about—probably an old Lying Game prank.
The line moved quickly, and soon it was the Twitter Twins’ turn. “One pretzel with queso, extra dipping sauce.” Lili shifted her weight from one black knee-high stiletto boot to the other. The other girls ordered more or less the same thing, and once the pretzels were ready they carried them to a courtyard table and sat down. Only Emma and Madeline lingered at the fixin’s bar, slowly salting their treats.
Emma looked around. The outdoor mall was bustling today with girls in short shorts, batwing-sleeved blouses, and high wedge heels. Everyone toted carrier bags from Tiffany, Anthropologie, and Tory Burch. She craned her neck and noticed the vintage store on the second level. Not long ago, she and Madeline had gone to that vintage store and had a great time. She’d felt like Emma that day, not The Girl Who Was Supposed to Be Sutton.
Madeline breathed in. When Emma turned, she noticed that Madeline was looking up at the vintage store, too. Then she faced Emma, her expression contemplative and a little awkward. “Listen, I don’t want to be pissed at you anymore,” she said.
“I don’t want you to be pissed at me either!” Emma exclaimed gratefully.
Madeline lifted a hand to shade her eyes. “No matter how upset I am about Thayer, I know him disappearing isn’t your fault. I’m really sorry I’ve been so awful to you.”
Relief coursed through Emma. “I’m sorry, too. I can’t imagine what this has been like for you and your family, and I’m sorry if I made things worse in any way.”
Madeline opened a packet of mustard with her teeth. “You do have a way of causing drama, Sutton. But you have to tell me the truth. You really don’t know why my brother showed up in your room?”
“I really don’t. I promise.”
A long beat went by. Madeline inspected Emma carefully, as though trying to read her mind. “Okay,” she said finally. “I believe you.”
Emma let out a breath. “Good, because I’ve missed you,” she said.
“I missed you, too.”
They hugged fiercely. Emma squeezed her eyes shut, but suddenly she got the distinct feeling someone was staring at her. She opened her eyes and looked into the dark parking garage next to the pretzel kiosk. She thought she saw someone crouch behind a car. But when she squinted harder, she didn’t see anyone.
Madeline linked her arms through Emma’s as they rejoined the girls. Charlotte grinned, looking relieved, too.
“I have exciting news, ladies,” Madeline announced. “We’re throwing a party on Friday night.”
“We are?” the Twitter Twins asked in unison, whipping out their iPhones, excited to break the news to their rabid followers. “Where?”
“You’ll know when you know,” Madeline said cryptically. “I’m only telling Sutton, Char, and Laurel.” She narrowed her eyes on Gabby and Lili. “It’s super private so we don’t get caught, and you guys aren’t exactly good at keeping secrets.”
Gabby’s plump lips popped into their trademark pout.
“F
ine,” Lili said with an overdramatic sigh.
Laurel tossed the remnants of her pretzel into a garbage bin wrapped in a bright green poster that read, CAN IT FOR A BETTER PLANET! She adjusted the buckle closure on the strap of her bag. “What can we do to help? And what’s the dress code? Sundresses?”
Madeline took a long swig of lemon-lime seltzer. “It’ll start at ten, but we’ll have to get there early to set up. Leave the catering and drinks to me and Char. You handle the guest list, Laurel, and Sutton, you put together a playlist. And as for dress code, maybe shorts, heels, and a dressy top? Definitely something new. C’mon. Let’s get shopping.”
She grabbed Emma’s hand and pulled her up. Emma smiled, appreciating Madeline’s olive branch. The girls walked to a boutique called Castor and Pollux. As soon as they passed through the front doors, the smell of new clothes and sugary perfume swirled in their nostrils. Glassy-eyed mannequins dressed in pleated chiffon skirts and herringbone jackets posed with their hands on their narrow hips. Stiletto heels much higher than anything Emma had ever worn lined the perimeter of the store.
“These would look awesome on you, Sutton,” Charlotte said, holding up a silver wedge.
Emma took it from her and discreetly checked the price. Four hundred seventy-five dollars? She tried not to swallow her tongue as she set it back down. Even though she’d been here for a month, she still wasn’t used to the way Sutton’s friends shopped with abandon. The cost of each individual item in Sutton’s closet was close to what Emma normally spent on an entire year’s wardrobe. And that was a good year—when she was fourteen, she didn’t have money for any new clothes. Her foster mother, Gwen, who lived in a tiny town thirty miles from Vegas, insisted on sewing all of her foster kids’ back-to-school outfits on a 1960s Singer sewing machine—she considered herself something of a fashion designer. Worse, Gwen was into gothic romance, which meant Emma started eighth grade wearing long, flowing velvet skirts, cream blouses that resembled corsets, and hand-me-down Birkenstocks. Needless to say, Emma wasn’t the most popular girl at Cactus Needles Middle School. After that, she’d always made sure to have a job, so she could at least buy the basics.
Lili gravitated to a table stacked with paper-thin tees and tanks, while Gabby made a beeline for a rack of polo shirts. Charlotte steered Emma to a row of minidresses, pointing one out. “That lavender one would look amazing with your eyes,” she offered.
The girls convened in the curtained-off open-air dressing room surrounded by four three-way mirrors. When they tried on matching short skirts and flowing tops, it was as though a dozen Xerox copies were reflected back at them.
“That’s gorgeous, Mads,” Emma offered, eyeing the lime green cotton skirt Madeline had pulled on. It showed off her long, lithe, ballet-dancer legs.
“You should totally get it,” Charlotte said.
“I can’t,” Madeline mumbled.
“Why not?” A wrinkle formed on Charlotte’s brow. “Do you not have money? I’ll buy it for you.”
Madeline kicked it off. “It looks lame on me.”
“It does not!” Charlotte scooped the skirt off the ground. “I’m totally buying this.”
“Char, don’t bother,” Madeline snapped, an edge to her voice. “My dad will never let me wear it. He’ll say it’s too short.”
Charlotte let the skirt slip between her fingers, her mouth flattening into a straight line.
The dressing room fell silent. The girls turned away, busying themselves with their piles of clothing and looking anywhere but at Mads. The mention of Mr. Vega had that effect.
Emma pulled a lavender dress over her head, carefully sliding the spaghetti straps over her shoulders. The silk was soft against her skin, and the waist nipped perfectly, making Emma’s rail-thin body look a little curvier than usual.
“Ooh, Sutton!” Charlotte whistled.
“Hello, gorgeous,” Laurel trilled, seemingly forgetting her sibling jealousy.
Emma tried not to stare at herself too hard in the mirror, but she couldn’t help it. The dress made her look amazing. Sutton would have been used to trying on expensive clothing that made her look like a million bucks, but Emma had always settled for good-enough pieces from Goodwill or hand-me-downs from other foster kids. It felt so special to be in something that fit her like a glove.
Laurel placed her hand on Emma’s shoulder. “You know who would love you in that? Ethan.”
Emma flinched. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve seen him talking to you at school,” Laurel said. “It’s obvious he has a crush on you.”
Emma widened her eyes at Laurel, hoping she could telepathically tell her to shut up. But Laurel continued, winding a tendril of blonde hair around her fingers. “You know what you should do? Get him to invite you back to his place so you can steal his poems.”
“Ooh, you mean for the prank?” Lili said.
“Uh-huh,” Laurel said. “We need poems to publish online to make him look like a plagiarist. You’re the perfect person for it, Sutton, since he’s already got it bad for you. And you’re awfully good at stealing, that little slip-up at Clique aside.” Laurel bumped her hip.
Emma stared at her hard, anger boiling beneath her skin. Apparently, Laurel was still furious at her. Then again, she hadn’t said anything to get Thayer out of jail, which meant Laurel wasn’t letting up on the Ethan prank.
She straightened up, deciding not to let Laurel get the best of her. “If he notices his poems went missing, he’ll know it was me who took them.”
“Oh, you’ll figure out a way to go unnoticed,” Laurel trilled.
“C’mon, Sutton. This plan rocks.” Madeline grinned. “Maybe you should even invite him to come help us set up before the party, really make him think you’re friends. Besides, we’ll need the man power.”
Now everyone was staring at Emma. Beads of sweat pricked the back of her neck. In the mirror, she could see a bloom of red spreading across her cheeks.
They were interrupted by an ice-blonde salesgirl who popped her head around the dark velvet curtain and asked if they were buying anything. Charlotte handed her several shirts, a dress, and a pair of jeans. Madeline shoved the green skirt at her, saying she didn’t want it. The Twitter Twins both bought leggings. Emma stared down at her pile of clothes, her brain racing. How was she going to get out of this Ethan prank? She thought about what Ethan had said on the roof: I want us to be totally honest with each other. She wasn’t exactly holding up her end of the bargain.
“Sutton, you coming?”
Emma jumped and looked up. The dressing area was empty. Charlotte had poked her head back through the curtain, a strange look on her face. All of the other girls were standing at the register, clothes in their hands.
“Uh, sure,” Emma mumbled, scooping up the lavender dress and Sutton’s bag. As she sauntered toward the register, she felt Laurel staring at her, a smirk on her face. But then, she felt a second pair of eyes boring into her from the esplanade. She whipped around and squinted. This time, the figure wasn’t quick enough to hide. The hair on the back of her neck bristled. The person was definitely male. He stepped into full view and met Emma’s gaze. Emma gasped.
And so did I. It was Garrett, and he looked pissed. After a beat, he stormed away.
17
THE FALSE BOTTOM
On Tuesday afternoon, the Hollier High tennis team was on the courts for a doubles scrimmage. The sky was blessedly cloudy, meaning it was actually bearable to play. The sounds of a pop XM radio station filled the air—Coach Maggie always liked to have upbeat music to get the girls moving. A giant tub of Gatorade sat on the sidelines, tubes of extra balls were tipped over by the trash can, and Maggie, who was wearing her ubiquitous Hollier Tennis polo and khaki parachute pants, strutted up and down the courts, surveying ground strokes and serves.
“Out!” Nisha Banerjee’s shrill voice sounded across the net from Emma. She pointed her shiny black racket at the white line and shot Emma a look that said Too bad, bitch
. “And that’s the match!”
Laurel, who stood on the baseline at Nisha’s side, laughed mirthfully. “Not even Sutton Mercer could return that power serve!” She raised her hand and slapped Nisha’s in a high five.
“Looks like the best women won!” Nisha tossed her black ponytail over her shoulder.
Emma rolled her eyes as Nisha and Laurel pranced across the court with their rackets held high. Maggie had emailed the team the previous night with a list of who would be matched with whom for the scrimmage, and Laurel and Nisha had preplanned matching hot pink workout shorts, tight white tank tops, and green wristlet sweatbands.
The whole thing made me bristle. Since when was my sister allying with Nisha, my biggest rival? Obviously this whole Thayer thing was making her go to extremes.
Emma turned to Clara, the sophomore who’d been assigned as her doubles partner for the day. “Sorry. I was not playing well today.”
“No, Sutton, you were great!” Clara’s voice rose hopefully. She was pretty enough, with jet black hair, a perky, upturned nose, and startling blue eyes, but she had such a desperate look on her face. She’d been deferential to Emma all afternoon, complimenting her sucky serves, contesting calls against Emma’s shots even though it was clear they were out, telling Emma repeatedly how pretty her sparkly hairband was. It was ridiculous how scared of Sutton people were, tiptoeing around her like she had the run of the school.
Or maybe, I thought, they were tiptoeing around me to make sure I didn’t play a Lying Game prank on them.
After watching a few more matches, Emma headed to the locker room. Coach Maggie caught Emma’s attention from the next court over and raised her fingers in a sympathetic wave. She tapped the base of her chin and mouthed Keep your head up.
The locker room was cool and smelled like freshly scoured tile. The brightly colored food-pyramid poster had come unpinned on one side and hung lopsided. A gaggle of girls in bathing suits pushed through the swinging doors that led into the locker room from the pool. The thick stench of chlorine filled the air as they made their way to the showers.
