Two Truths and a Lie tlg-3

by Sara Shepard

  “Sure,” Emma said cautiously, staring down at her bare knee poking through Sutton’s carefully distressed jeans. She’d never understood buying three-hundred-dollar jeans that were made to look old—why couldn’t you just go to Goodwill and get a genuinely worn-in pair?

  Uh, because stuff from Goodwill isn’t cool? I didn’t care how savvy Emma was with making cheap stuff look stylish. Brand names were always king in my world.

  “See you later!” Charlotte trilled as they turned to the foreign language wing, peeling off for Spanish class while Emma entered the German room. Faded white chalk marking verb conjugations lingered on the blackboard, and someone had drawn a frowning stick figure with a dream bubble that read I’D RATHER BE ANYWHERE BUT HERE. The faint smell of glue wafted through the air. Emma spotted Ethan slumped in a seat in the corner of the classroom. He glanced up at her and quickly averted his eyes. Her stomach twisted.

  Frau Fenstermacher wasn’t in class yet, so Emma stalked over to the chair where Ethan sat. She stood there for almost ten seconds, but he pointedly didn’t look her way.

  “We need to talk,” she finally said, her voice determined.

  “I don’t think so,” Ethan said, his head still turned toward the window.

  “I do.” Emma grabbed Ethan’s arm until he stood, and pulled him out of the classroom. A couple of kids stopped and stared, probably wondering why Sutton Mercer was taking Ethan Landry by the hand. But Emma didn’t care who looked. She needed to sort this out with Ethan—now.

  A smattering of students filtered through the hall, hustling in the final moments before the bell. Emma glanced to her left and saw Frau Fenstermacher’s shapeless form approaching. Emma steered Ethan toward the next corridor, praying they’d gone unseen. They pushed through two glass doors that emptied onto a long stretch of lawn abutting the track.

  Ethan shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his mud-colored cargo shorts. “We should go back inside.”

  “There are a few things I need to say,” Emma interrupted, walking toward the track. “And you need to listen.”

  She opened the gate and they crossed the patch of lawn that stretched before the white starting line. Silver hurdles were assembled in straight columns. A water bottle lay tipped over next to a forgotten clipboard. They climbed the bleachers slowly, their shoes making tinny clanking noises on the metal planks. Emma wandered down a row halfway to the top. She sat on the hard metal and Ethan followed suit. The wind whipped across Emma’s face. She pulled her long hair into a ponytail and turned to face Ethan.

  “I don’t want to prank you,” she said. “I never did, and I’m not going to let them go through with it. It’s just hard, with everything going on, to know how to best derail it without giving myself away.”

  Ethan pretended to be fascinated with the stitching on his pockets. Two students from Fashion Design class sped by on bicycles, apparently also skipping class.

  “Ethan,” Emma said, her voice full of frustration. “Talk to me! I’m sorry! I don’t know what else to say. Please don’t be mad anymore.”

  Finally, Ethan let out a breath and stared into his open palms. “Okay. I’m sorry, too. I guess when you said Sutton’s friends were going to prank me… I freaked.”

  “But why didn’t you believe me when I said I wasn’t going to?”

  Ethan shook his head. When he finally spoke, his words were slow and strained. “You just look so much like her. You’re wearing her clothes. You’re hanging around with her friends. You’ve even got on her locket.”

  “So?”

  A muscle in Ethan’s neck tensed. As he looked away, Emma realized there was something else, something he wasn’t telling her. His gaze met hers and she saw a flicker of hurt pass over his light eyes.

  “I never told you this,” he finally said. “But during freshman year, just after Sutton and her friends started the Lying Game, they pulled a prank on me. It was awful and it ruined my chances for a science scholarship in this program that I wanted more than anything. My family didn’t have the money to send me themselves. I was almost guaranteed the spot, but after the prank… I wasn’t.” There was a clanging sound as he tapped his sneaker against the bleachers. “I thought I was over it, but I guess maybe I’m not.”

  I hovered close, feeling terrible. It was yet another example of how my pranks had really hurt people. I tried to remember pranking Ethan, but I couldn’t see a thing. The only memory I had of Ethan was when he’d interrupted my friends fake-strangling me in the desert. For a split second, I’d felt pure gratitude that he’d saved me … but then I’d gotten annoyed because he’d seen how scared I’d been.

  “What did they do, exactly?” Emma asked.

  Ethan shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Suffice to say they blew my chances.”

  Emma took Ethan’s hand and squeezed it tight. “Listen, I’m not Sutton, okay? Maybe we’re alike in certain ways, but I would never hurt you. You have to know that.”

  Ethan nodded slowly, linking his fingers through hers and returning her squeeze. “I do know that. I swear. And I’m sorry I’ve been so distant. I should have believed you.”

  There was a long pause. The two of them watched a bunch of blackbirds land in the center of the track and then take off again. “You know what we should do?” Emma said slowly, unable to stop the smile spreading across her face. “Let’s figure out a plan to double-cross them.”

  “Sutton’s friends?” Ethan gave her an incredulous look. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. I care about them, but it sounds like they need a taste of their own medicine. I’m sick of pranking people—and maybe if we can outsmart them, the whole Lying Game will lose its luster.” She turned on the bleacher so she was facing Ethan. “As of now, Sutton’s friends are planning on stealing your poems before your poetry slam and putting them online under someone else’s name. They want it to look like you plagiarized them.”

  Ethan let out a whistle. “Wow. That’s low.” His light eyes darkened and he looked out onto the track. “Why would they do that to me?”

  A cloud passed over the sun and Emma watched her shadow disappear. “Laurel’s furious at me right now for getting Thayer in trouble. This is her idea of revenge. She knows that I …”—she swallowed awkwardly—“like you, and she’s hitting me where it hurts.”

  A small smile played at the edge of Ethan’s lips. “I see. Maybe we can meet at our usual spot and bat around ideas?”

  “Well, I think we have to find a new spot, given that Laurel now knows that we meet there,” Emma pointed out. Her insides felt warm and settled. Thank God Ethan was back on her side. “Now that that’s out of the way,” she said, “there’s more I need to fill you in on.” She scanned the track, making sure they were still alone.

  Ethan’s eyebrows spiked. “More about the case?”

  When Emma told him that the blood on the car matched Thayer’s, not Sutton’s, Ethan stared at her incredulously.

  “That’s not all,” Emma went on. “I went to pick up Sutton’s car from the evidence lot, and I found something weird.” She explained the slip of paper with Dr. Sheldon Rose’s name, and how she traced it to a psychiatric hospital in Seattle. “Dr. Rose’s nurse said Thayer checked out on September twenty-first. Against doctor’s orders.”

  Ethan stared at her, his face pale. “Thayer was in a mental institution?” he said, shaking his head. He pressed his palms over Emma’s. “It’s him. It has to be. He snapped and killed Sutton. What’s to stop him doing the same thing to you?” He gripped her hands with his. “How am I going to protect you?”

  Emma took a breath, feeling the smallest bit safer now that she had Ethan on her side again. “You can’t,” she said, watching Ethan’s face fall at her words. She squeezed his hands and went on, “We need to find proof that he did it. The only way I’ll ever be safe again is when Thayer is behind bars—permanently.”

  A door to the school slammed loudly, and they both looked up. The bell sounded, indicating that the p
eriod was over. Emma had skipped a whole class. In her old life, she’d never even been late to school. But making up with Ethan was worth it. “We should go back in,” she said softly.

  “Do we have to?” Ethan asked. “I’d rather spend the whole day together.”

  “Me, too,” Emma murmured. Then she turned to Ethan, getting an idea. “Sutton’s friends are planning a secret party, and I have to be there early to help set up. Do you want to come? I know parties aren’t your thing, but maybe it’s time we did something to take our minds off of me being stalked by a psychopath.”

  “Not funny,” Ethan said, pushing a hand through his hair. “But …” He looked down at his sneakers. “Are you sure? Your friends will be there. Being out with me is not something Sutton would do. And it will ruin our counter-prank.”

  Emma thought for a moment. “Well, then we forget the counter-prank. The best way to call off the poetry prank is for us to show up together at the party. And even if it’s not something Sutton would do, it’s what I want to do,” Emma said bravely. Now that she had decided to go public, she didn’t want to spend any time apart.

  25

  SOUND THE ALARM

  That night, Emma angled the Volvo into Charlotte’s circular driveway and turned off the ignition. The Chamberlains lived in a six-bedroom stone home with two balconies that protruded from the second floor. Its grandeur still took Emma’s breath away, even though she’d been there several times. She’d never known anyone with this kind of money.

  Laurel unlocked her car door and slid out, not bothering to thank Emma for the ride. They’d come together because they didn’t want to bring too many cars to the party and tip off the cops. Emma had considered ditching Laurel at home to pay her back for abandoning her at tennis so many times, but she figured that wouldn’t help to repair their rift.

  Before either of them could ring the bell, the door swung open and Madeline smiled back at them, dressed in a bright red ruched dress that stopped at mid-thigh. “Hello, dah-lings!” she cried dramatically. “Welcome to dinner! You both look smashing!”

  “Thanks,” Emma said bashfully, looking down at the emerald green one-shouldered number she’d found in Sutton’s closet. She’d agonized over choosing an outfit, trying on at least six dresses before settling on this one. She’d wanted something especially pretty to go with her newly styled hair and carefully applied makeup. This was the first time she and Ethan would be seen together in public, and nosy gossip-hounds would no doubt be taking tons of pictures for Facebook and Twitter. It was ironic: At her old schools, Emma secretly longed to be part of the popular crowds whose personal lives were splashed across the pages of social media sites. But now that she was one of those girls, she just wanted to be left alone.

  The grass is always greener, I suppose.

  Laurel and Emma followed Madeline down a long hallway that led to the Chamberlains’ massive kitchen. It looked just like the display kitchens in House Beautiful that Glenda, Alex’s mom, was always tearing pages from and stuffing into a folder she marked DREAM HOUSE. The air smelled of pot roast, fresh bread, and—of course—Charlotte’s Chanel Chance perfume. For a moment, Emma’s gaze flickered to the kitchen island where the unknown assailant had come up behind her and held Sutton’s locket to her throat.

  Except that the assailant wasn’t unknown anymore. It was Thayer. Emma glanced at Madeline, feeling an awkward twinge. What would Mads do when she found out her beloved brother was a murderer? She’d be doubly shattered: Not only would she discover that her best friend was dead, but she’d lose Thayer, too.

  “Sodas, girls?” Charlotte appeared from behind the refrigerator door. She was wearing a tight black dress with leather triangles that crisscrossed her slightly ample midsection. It was a dress Emma wasn’t one hundred percent sure looked good on her, but she didn’t dare say anything.

  “Too bad it can’t be champagne!” a voice trilled. Mrs. Chamberlain appeared from the dining room and placed a hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. “If you girls skipped that party and hung out here for the night, I’d crack open a bottle of Veuve Clicquot for you. But I can’t have you drinking and driving!”

  “That’s okay, Mom,” Charlotte said, looking a little embarrassed. If there were a Real Housewives of Tucson, Charlotte’s mom would be a shoo-in for a cast member. She looked ten years younger than her age—which Charlotte claimed was the result of monthly Botox injections and hours spent on the elliptical machine—and she wore outfits far more fashionable than most of the kids at Hollier. She was currently cloaked in a tight black dress that showed off her surgically enhanced cleavage. She also, it seemed to Emma, was dying to be Charlotte’s best friend instead of her mother. It was a far cry from foster mothers who only spoke to their foster kids when they were yelling at them or needed them to lie to the social workers so they’d get their monthly checks.

  “Well, I’m thrilled you could make it for dinner,” Mrs. Chamberlain went on, leading the girls into the dining room. There were five seats at the table, and each place had a place card in front of it, as though they were at a wedding. Emma was next to Charlotte and across from Madeline.

  When Mrs. Chamberlain ducked into the kitchen to get everyone drinking glasses, Emma leaned forward. “Where are the Twitter Twins?” She’d suddenly noticed a lack of texting taking place at the table.

  Laurel glanced briefly at Madeline and Charlotte, then shrugged. “Didn’t you hear? They’re at the hair salon. I swear, getting invited to their first super-secret house party as real Lying Game members is totally going to their heads.”

  Charlotte studied the place cards, then looked up at her mother, who’d just returned to the dining room. “Don’t we need another glass for Dad?”

  A strained look passed over Mrs. Chamberlain’s face. “He’s not coming,” she said quickly. “He got stuck at work.”

  “Again?” An edge sharpened Charlotte’s voice.

  “Will you get the bottle of Sancerre for me please, Charlotte?” Mrs. Chamberlain suggested tensely. A long pause ensued. Emma recalled how she’d seen Mr. Chamberlain at Sabino Canyon the day she arrived in Tucson, when he was supposed to be out of town. Perhaps he was hiding something—and perhaps Charlotte and her mother had their suspicions about what it was.

  Charlotte yanked a pinkish-colored bottle from a wine fridge that was built into a cabinet next to the sink, clapped a bottle opener over the cork, and poured a glass for her mother. She then lifted her own glass of Perrier by the stem and held it high in the air. Mrs. Chamberlain, Madeline, Emma, and Laurel followed suit.

  “To a fabulous dinner party,” Mrs. Chamberlain said.

  The five of them clinked glasses and took sips. Cornelia, the personal chef, who had stiff gray hair and a round, pie-like face, carried in a roast, red potatoes, a big chopped salad, and warm garlic bread.

  “So tell me about this party you girls planned,” Mrs. Chamberlain said after taking a delicate bite of meat. “Where is it again?”

  “Uh, a country club across town,” Charlotte lied smoothly. It wasn’t as if they were going to tell Mrs. Chamberlain they were going to a foreclosed house.

  “It’s going to be sick,” Madeline said. “Everyone from Hollier is going to be there.”

  “We invited people from a couple of the prep schools, too,” Charlotte added.

  “What she means is, we invited guys from the prep schools.” Laurel adjusted a feather barrette in her hair.

  Charlotte gave her a playful punch. “You better be grateful we’re letting you come.”

  Emma looked back and forth at them, amazed they were talking about this in front of Mrs. Chamberlain—weren’t parents supposed to frown at the idea of parties? But Charlotte’s mom was smiling and nodding like she thought it was all great.

  I remembered being so jealous of Charlotte’s mom, wishing that my mom was more like her. But watching from afar, seeing how sweet my mom was with Emma, I wondered. Did Char’s mom give her advice in the middle of the night, or ju
st beauty tips and pointers on plastic surgery? It made me realize once more how much I’d taken my mom for granted.

  Sutton’s iPhone vibrated in Emma’s lap. She pulled it out of her clutch and gazed at the screen under the table. ANY CHANCE YOU CAN PICK ME UP? asked a text from Ethan. MY CAR WON’T START.

  Emma’s nerves buzzed. This was really happening. They were really going to a party … together. SURE THING, she wrote back. BE THERE IN AN HOUR. She hit send.

  “Who are you writing to, Sutton?” Laurel asked, peering at Emma across the table.

  Emma clenched her fists in her lap. “That’s for me to know and you to find out,” she said breezily. The girls would know soon enough when she and Ethan arrived at the party; she didn’t need it to dominate the dinner discussion now.

  As the meal progressed, Mrs. Chamberlain regaled them with some of her favorite high school memories, many of which involved becoming Homecoming Queen two years in a row. After the girls carried their plates to the sink and got dishes out for dessert, Emma excused herself to the powder room in the hall. Just as her hand grazed the doorknob, she noticed a glowing greenish light down the hall, right near the foyer. The Chamberlains’ alarm system.

  She looked around. The girls were in the dining room, chattering on about Laurel’s most recent date with Caleb. Mrs. Chamberlain was out on the back porch, smoking a cigarette. No one was watching.

  She tiptoed down the hall and peered at the security system. It was a simple setup with an LCD touchscreen, like an iPad, with numbered buttons for entering a code. Whoever had disabled the alarm would have had to use their fingers. If Thayer hadn’t wiped down the screen after letting himself in, maybe his prints were still on it.

  “Sutton?” Madeline’s voice called. Emma looked up to see her standing in the hall, peering at her. “What are you doing?”

  “Just checking out this photo,” Emma lied, pointing to a framed black-and-white photograph of a young Paul McCartney that hung next to the alarm.