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, ball et-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 Goodwil 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 Holl ier 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 Holl ier Tennis polo and khaki parachute pants, strutted up and down the courts, surveying ground strokes and serves.
“Out!” Nisha Banerjee’s shril 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 all ying with Nisha, my biggest rival? Obviously this sister all ying 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.
Emma turned in to a row of blue-gray lockers and found Laurel had made it there first. She had already changed out of her tennis gear into snug-fitting sweat shorts and a white tee and was sitting cross-legged on the long wooden bench, her back turned. Her iPhone was poised at her ear, and she was saying something in a hushed voice. It sounded like If she’s truly loyal, she’ll go along with it.
“Excuse me,” she interrupted, resting Sutton’s racket against the bench.
Laurel jumped an inch and dropped her phone. “Oh.
Hey.” Her face turned bright red, and Emma realized with a jolt that Laurel must have been talking about her. But what had the words meant?
Emma twirled the combination lock to Sutton’s sports locker between her fingers. The door popped open with a clank. She stuffed Sutton’s sneakers into the locker and checked her reflection in the small magnetic mirror.
“Nice effort today,” Laurel said sarcastically. “I guess you can’t win them all, huh?”
“Whatever,” Emma shot back. She was too tired to get into a bitchy fight with Laurel right now.
“Seriously, though,” Laurel said. “When was the last time you lost to me or Nisha? No offense, Sutton, but Clara was playing well. It was you who wasn’t.” Nerves jumped in Emma’s stomach. Talk about an understatement. She hadn’t been playing well since she’d taken over Sutton’s life. “I guess I’m just off my game lately,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.
Laurel adjusted the strap of her gold sandal and rose from the bench. “I’ll say.” She gave Emma a knowing look.
“Maybe someone’s just distracted because she has to prank her secret boyfriend.”
Emma bit her lip and stared into Sutton’s locker.
“Lili texted me. She set up the website our fake poet is going to post Ethan’s work to,” Laurel announced.
“She did?” Emma asked weakly.
“Yep! But you can still call it off. You know what you have to do to make that happen!” Laurel trilled. Then she jingled her car keys. “I’m taking Drake to the groomer’s at six. Don’t let Mom start dinner without me.” She turned and waltzed from the locker room.
Emma listened as the door slammed, then let out a sigh. Slowly, she kicked off her tennis sneakers and slid on Sutton’s espadril es. A figure sidled up beside her, and when Emma turned, she saw Clara standing at the end of the aisle, an apologetic smile on her face.
“Is it okay if I grab my stuff?” she asked.
“Of course,” Emma said, laughing.
Clara scuttled to her locker. Emma glanced inside, noting how precisely her extra T-shirts were folded, and how she kept her deodorant, shampoo, and body wash in a line at the bottom. Then, her breath caught in her chest. The metal bottom of Clara’s locker was a full two inches lower than Sutton’s.
Comments