《True Lies (The Lying Game #0)》


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    1


    BIG GIRLS DON¡¯T CRY


    It¡¯s a bright Saturday morning in June, and I¡¯m lounging in my terry-cloth yoga pants in my family¡¯s large kitchen. On the table sits a carafe of coffee, just-baked lemon-poppy muffins, and a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice from our orange tree in the front yard. Out the window, the Arizona sky is a postcard-perfect robin¡¯s-egg blue, and a hummingbird flits to the feeder hanging over the back patio. It would be an idyllic, peaceful moment¡ªif it wasn¡¯t for my little sister, Laurel, being such a pain.


    ¡°Pleeeeease, Sutton?¡± Laurel flutters her long eyelashes at me. Her voice is grating. ¡°You told me I could ride with you to the Vegas¡¯. I¡¯m failing Spanish, and Thayer is my only hope! You promised!¡±


    I pour myself a glass of juice. ¡°I never promised anything like that.¡±


    ¡°Yes, you did.¡± Laurel pouts. ¡°You¡¯re going over there anyway to see Mads. What¡¯s the big deal?¡±


    I stare at Laurel, taking in her long blonde hair, big blue eyes, and pink, pouty lips. We couldn¡¯t look more different¡ªI have dark hair and am tall and thin compared to her short, curvy frame. Then again, I¡¯m adopted, while she¡¯s our parents¡¯ biological daughter. We¡¯re not even in the same gene pool.


    Laurel¡¯s bottom lip trembles like she¡¯s about to cry.


    ¡°You¡¯re being overdramatic,¡± I snap.


    ¡°So are you,¡± Laurel shoots back, giving me a pointed look.


    I stand up from the table and walk over to the fridge. I don¡¯t need anything from it, but I want to hide my surprised expression. Something in Laurel¡¯s voice puts me on high alert. Does she know?


    It¡¯s true that I¡¯m going over to see my best friend, Madeline Vega, soon¡ªshe and I have plans to give each other mani-pedis. And yeah, it normally wouldn¡¯t be a big deal to bring Laurel along so she could hang out with her best friend, Thayer, who is also Madeline¡¯s little brother. And it¡¯s annoying that I sometimes feel like Laurel¡¯s personal chauffeur, but whatever.


    The thing is, I just don¡¯t want to take Laurel with me today. I don¡¯t want my little sister staring at me the whole ride over. I don¡¯t want her asking questions, getting in my business. I don¡¯t want her guessing at what¡¯s wrong. And I definitely, definitely don¡¯t want to hear about ¡°Thayer this, Thayer that.¡±


    Like I said, Thayer¡¯s her best friend. Their relationship is totally public¡ªit¡¯s Laurel-and-Thayer, bound at the hip. Everyone always asks if they¡¯re dating, and even though the answer is no, it¡¯s obvious Laurel has it bad for him. Thayer gave her this gold Kate Spade charm bracelet for her birthday, and she¡¯s constantly touching it, staring at it, making sure it¡¯s still on her wrist¡ªand making sure that everyone knows it¡¯s from him.


    But to me, Thayer is something very different: my secret boyfriend. Or, at least, I hope he still is.


    Laurel smirks. ¡°I heard about your fight with Thayer yesterday, you know,¡± she says. ¡°Everyone did. Not that I¡¯m surprised or anything that you bit Thayer¡¯s head off for no reason at all. That¡¯s kind of your MO. Sutton Mercer, Queen Bee-yotch.¡±


    I glare at my adoptive sister. Once upon a time, we were really close. I¡¯m talking identical twins close¡ªwe¡¯d sleep in the same bed every night to stay safe from monsters, wear the same outfits when the family went out to dinner, and spend hours making up synchronized swimming routines in the backyard pool. But then something happened. I became me, maybe, and Laurel became Laurel. And now we rarely speak.


    ¡°Watch who you call a bitch, Laurel,¡± I say evenly, my voice taut with warning.


    Laurel places her hands on her hips. ¡°Like you being a bitch is a huge secret?¡± She narrows her eyes. ¡°Why were you so mean to Thayer, anyway? What did he ever do to you?¡±


    I fiddle with my favorite locket around my neck, trying to remain impassive. A lot, I think.


    Thayer and I have been secretly together since last summer. It¡¯s hard to keep up a secret relationship, though, even more difficult than maintaining one everyone knows about.


    But just because we¡¯re covert boyfriend-and-girlfriend doesn¡¯t mean the rules of a relationship don¡¯t apply. So when Thayer started slacking off on texting me back, I got annoyed. I would have to wait whole class periods sometimes for a reply¡ªand two days ago, Thayer didn¡¯t respond to a text for six whole hours, going dark for a whole chunk of time after school. I am Sutton Mercer, resident queen bee, and no one, especially not the boy I love, gets to treat me like an afterthought.


    I figured Thayer needed a little talking-to.


    So yesterday, between fifth and sixth periods, I pulled him aside at my locker. This was the first time we¡¯d really talked in public, and Thayer looked uncomfortable, like he was the one who¡¯d lose popularity points if he was seen talking to me. ¡°What¡¯s up with the radio silence?¡± I asked in a quiet voice as kids streamed past us. ¡°Six hours between notes is not acceptable.¡±


    Thayer¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°Yesterday? I was busy,¡± he said after a moment.


    ¡°Too busy to text ¡®I¡¯m busy¡¯?¡±


    He shifted on his feet. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°Well, where were you?¡± I pasted a smile on my face so everyone passing would think we were just having a silly, on-the-surface conversation. ¡°Were you with Laurel?¡±


    Thayer tilted his chin. ¡°No, I wasn¡¯t, but would it be so bad if I was with Laurel?¡±


    I turned away, steeling my jaw. Yeah, I wanted to tell him. His friendship with Laurel annoyed the hell out of me. I knew I was the prettier sister, the one he wanted, but still. As hard as it was for me to admit, I was kind of jealous.


    Thayer sighed. ¡°You should be nicer to Laurel, Sutton. She looks up to you.¡±


    ¡°Me, nicer to her?¡± Rage boiled in my blood. ¡°Whose side are you on?¡±


    ¡°Yours, but . . . forget it.¡± Thayer suddenly looked exasperated. He put his hands on his hips. ¡°And you know, I thought you weren¡¯t that kind of girl.¡±


    ¡°What type?¡±


    ¡°The obsessive type. The type that needs to know where I am at all times.¡±


    All sound fell away. No one calls me obsessive. And seriously, who was Thayer to question me? He was supposed to say he was sorry, he¡¯d text sooner, he¡¯d do anything to keep me in his life. I didn¡¯t need this crap.


    I barked out an ugly-sounding laugh. ¡°Look who¡¯s calling who obsessive.¡± An evil smile spread across my face. ¡°Mads told me about the picture you keep of me in your bedroom. My eighth-grade class portrait? How long have you been carrying that around?¡±


    Honestly, I don¡¯t know what made me blurt that out¡ªand so loudly. People stopped in the hall, stared at Thayer, and started to snicker. Guys nudged each other and rolled their eyes. Girls made sad faces at Thayer, pitying him. It was a scene that had been played out many, many times before: Sutton Mercer putting a boy with a puppy-dog crush on her in his place. Thayer was just another one of my victims.


    Thayer¡¯s cheeks bloomed strawberry red. His eyes narrowed with anger, but there was a look of hurt on his face, too. Without another word, he wheeled around and stormed down the hall. I brushed my hair over my shoulder and turned back to my locker, pretending to be unruffled, but inside, my heart was pounding. Thayer and I had never fought before. Was he actually mad?


    We haven¡¯t spoken since then, either¡ªno good-night texts, no smiley-face IMs, not even a ¡°like¡± on Facebook. Now there¡¯s a nagging pit in my stomach that I can¡¯t shake.


    Laurel stares at me, expecting me to answer her question. She might not know what my fight with Thayer was about, but sometimes I wonder if she suspects something is going on between us. Thayer is her best friend, after all¡ªcould he really keep that from her?


    There are footsteps in the hall, and our father walks into the kitchen. ¡°Dad!¡± Laurel lunges toward him. ¡°I really need Thayer¡¯s help to study for Spanish, but Sutton won¡¯t drive me even though she¡¯s going to see Mads! Tell her it¡¯s not fair!¡±


    Dad gives me a look. ¡°You should take her, Sutton. What¡¯s the big deal?¡±


    I squeeze my orange juice hard, wanting to break the glass. Of course he takes her side. Doesn¡¯t ask me what¡¯s going on in my life, doesn¡¯t ask me why I might not want to¡ªnope, it¡¯s whatever Laurel wants, Laurel gets.


    Perfect Laurel. Straight-A Laurel. Never-gets-in-trouble Laurel. Basically, in my parents¡¯ eyes, the complete opposite of me. Sometimes I wonder if my parents would have even adopted me if they¡¯d had Laurel first. I mean, she and my parents share actual blood. How can I compete with that?


    ¡°Fine,¡± I grumble, slamming my glass on the counter. ¡°But give me twenty minutes, okay?¡±


    ¡°Thank you!¡± Laurel trills.


    I storm out of the room without answering, hating that she¡¯s won again. But at least I get twenty minutes. And I¡¯m going to use it wisely. With some distance, my fight with Thayer feels petty and ridiculous. I shouldn¡¯t have hauled out that eighth-grade-photo reference. Then again, he also shouldn¡¯t have called me obsessive.


    But if he wants an apology, I¡¯ll be the bigger person and give him one. It¡¯s not like I could bear to lose him. Because that¡¯s the thing: Deep down, Thayer has a hold on me. It¡¯s something I can¡¯t explain. Something I¡¯m a little embarrassed about¡ªhe¡¯s my best friend¡¯s younger brother, after all. But when he looks at me, I melt. When he kisses me, fireworks explode in my head. When he doesn¡¯t call, I worry.


    I shut the door to my bedroom, plop on my bed, and pick up my iPhone, scanning yet again to see if Thayer has texted. Nope. But as I¡¯m about to dial Thayer¡¯s cell, my screen lights up. It¡¯s the Vegas¡¯ landline. My heart leaps. Maybe Thayer has come to his senses. Maybe he¡¯s calling me.


    I slide the unlock function. ¡°Hello?¡± I say in an unaffected voice as though I haven¡¯t been stressing about this for the past day.


    ¡°Sutton?¡± It¡¯s Madeline, though, not Thayer. Her voice is high-pitched. ¡°Can you come over now?¡±


    I frown. ¡°Um, I need a few minutes, actually. Why?¡±


    ¡°No, I need you here now.¡±


    Concern floods over me. Madeline¡¯s voice cracks and wobbles¡ªit sounds serious. ¡°Are you okay?¡± I ask cautiously. Her home life isn¡¯t exactly awesome; Mr. Vega has a terrible temper.


    ¡°It¡¯s . . .¡± she falters, then clears her throat. When she speaks again, her voice is steady. ¡°It¡¯s Thayer. He¡¯s . . . gone.¡±


    2


    THE EXACT OPPOSITE OF A WALK IN THE PARK


    Two days later, Madeline, my other best friend Charlotte Chamberlain, and I stand in the craggy shadows of Sabino Canyon, a set of mountains, canyons, and hiking trails near my house in northern Tucson. The majestic, earth-toned outlines of the Santa Catalina Mountains loom in the distance. Cacti jut as far as the eye can see, and from somewhere close comes the skunky odor of a herd of javelina boars.

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    ¡°Okay, everyone!¡± a voice calls. ¡°One search party up this ridge, another up the one to the east!¡±


    Yep, a nature hike this isn¡¯t. The three of us¡ªand about a hundred others¡ªare on a hunt. For Thayer.


    Thayer. It still hasn¡¯t sunk in. Apparently, Thayer didn¡¯t come home Friday night, the day of our argument. Nor has he answered his phone since. Or been seen by anyone¡ªhis soccer buddies, kids he knew from his various after-school jobs, girls who crushed on him.


    Now it¡¯s Sunday, and the Vegas¡¯ concern has turned to abject panic. There are plenty of stories of kids getting lost in the desert. Thieves beating kids up on remote trails and leaving them for dead. Kids crashing their bikes or cars on desolate stretches of road and not being found for days. Sabino is one of Thayer¡¯s favorite places to hang out¡ªhe and I have come here plenty¡ªso this is where the family decided to start their search for him.


    Madeline, who looks polished in Paige Denim cutoffs and a sky-blue tank top that shows off her smooth, alabaster shoulders, sniffs loudly next to me as she watches the first group hike up the west trail. I put a hand on her shoulder. ¡°Are you going to be able to do this?¡±


    She dabs at her eyes. ¡°I just can¡¯t believe this is happening. I can¡¯t believe no one has heard from him. You¡¯re sure you haven¡¯t?¡±


    My shoulders stiffen and sweat trickles down the back of my white T-shirt. Does Mads know something? But when I check her expression, she just looks desperate, eager for any kind of clue. ¡°No,¡± I admit. ¡°I¡¯d tell you if I did.¡±


    Just saying it breaks my heart. Thayer disappeared without telling me, too. I don¡¯t know whether to be frantic or furious, or feel straight-up guilty. What if what I said to him at school drove him away? What if he was really hurt and embarrassed? Where could he have gone? Why didn¡¯t he tell a soul?


    Madeline¡¯s father, a tall, imposing man, waves a hand to indicate that everyone follow him up the east ridge. A group of people trail after him, including my mom and dad. Mads holds us back for a beat. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be too close to my dad right now. Things have been really bad since Thayer left, if you know what I mean.¡±


    I give her shoulder a quick squeeze. Charlotte, who¡¯s got on khaki Bermuda shorts, blue Converse, and a pink tee that accents her red hair, clucks her tongue. Mads has never gone into detail about the situation with her dad, but it¡¯s no secret that he¡¯s got a temper. Once, when he thought Thayer had scraped the paint on his Mercedes, he slammed a door in their house so hard it splintered from its hinges.


    We wait as most of the searchers start up the mountain, their sneakers crunching over the rocks on the hard desert ground. It¡¯s amazing how many people have come out to look for Thayer¡ªnot just adults but tons of kids from Hollier High, including a lot of popular seniors. I wonder what he would think if he knew so many people were here for him. Popularity doesn¡¯t faze Thayer. Even though he came back from soccer camp last summer as a huge star, he¡¯ll still talk to anyone, even the biggest loser in the school. Nor does he care whose party he¡¯s invited to, whether he¡¯s wearing the ¡°it¡± jeans of the year, or if he¡¯s totally out of the loop about the newest, hottest music everyone¡¯s talking about. By disappearing, though, Thayer has become infamous, an even bigger star.


    We¡¯re about to start climbing when Mads lets out a whimper. Sooty smudges of mascara ring her eyes. I reach out gently, and she sighs. ¡°This is just so pointless,¡± she protests. ¡°The whole search is useless. It doesn¡¯t matter whether we comb the trails now, or three hours from now, or even three days from now. If Thayer went anywhere, he left town. He¡¯s not wandering in the wilderness. I know my brother.¡±


    I blink rapidly. ¡°So you think he just ran away?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Madeline kicks at the dusty ground. ¡°He¡¯s been talking about it for a while.¡±


    ¡°Because of your dad?¡± If Mr. Vega was rough with Mads, he was ten times worse with Thayer.


    ¡°Basically,¡± Mads says.


    ¡°Where do you think he went?¡± I ask.


    Before Mads can answer, Laurel appears, having come back from somewhere at the front of the group. She¡¯s decked out with hiking poles, Merrill hiking shoes, and cargo shorts with a zillion pockets. There are even binoculars slung around her neck. She¡¯s playing this ¡°my best friend is missing¡± thing to the hilt, crying at the drop of a hat, nervously checking her phone, getting all my parents¡¯ sympathy. Meanwhile, I¡¯m the one really suffering. And I have to do it in silence.


    ¡°The rangers have maps marked up with the search-area radius,¡± she says, pointing toward the mouth of the canyon. Clusters of uniformed rangers in tinted aviators hover by an information board, which is covered with an enormous map of the park dotted with a constellation of bright pins. ¡°Let¡¯s go talk to them and see what they say.¡±


    I straighten up. ¡°Mads thinks Thayer just ran away. He isn¡¯t out here.¡±


    Laurel shrugs. ¡°It can¡¯t hurt, right?¡±


    She looks at Mads, and Mads raises a shoulder and lets Laurel lead her over to the park rangers¡¯ makeshift base station. Charlotte follows, and I lope behind, annoyed. I don¡¯t like Laurel¡¯s insta-bond with Mads just because they¡¯re both close to Thayer. She¡¯s tried to infiltrate my group before, but she¡¯s not one of us and she knows it.


    Laurel glances at me over her shoulder. ¡°Maybe you could grab Mads some water from the cooler, Sutton? Thanks!¡±


    I glare at Laurel¡¯s back. Who does she think she is, bossing me around? But to my horror, Madeline nods at me. ¡°Water would be awesome, Sutton.¡±


    Madeline then links her arms with Laurel and lets my sister lead her toward the rangers. Charlotte follows like the good little sheep she always is. I can¡¯t believe what I¡¯m seeing. But not getting water will make me look like even more of a bitch, so I spin and retreat to the coolers that have been set up on one of the flat parts of the trails. I shoulder past a group of whispering kids from school to fish a small water bottle out of a nearby cooler packed with rapidly melting ice and bottled drinks.


    ¡°Hey, Sutton. How are you doing?¡±


    I look up to find Garrett Austin, Charlotte¡¯s ex, idling hesitantly next to me.


    ¡°I¡¯m, uh, okay,¡± I answer.


    Garrett¡¯s gaze remains on me, like he wants to say something else. I glance over his broad shoulders to be sure Charlotte is off with Laurel and Madeline, oblivious to us. Garrett and Charlotte didn¡¯t exactly part on great terms, and she might be pissed to see me talking to him. More than that, he has no reason to think Thayer¡¯s disappearance has any special impact on me . . . unless he heard about our fight. Laurel said that it was all over school.


    Finally, Garrett grabs a cup of water of his own. ¡°Good. The whole thing is pretty messed up, huh?¡±


    I shrug. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    As I move to head back to my friends, Garrett touches my hand. A flush creeps up his neck. ¡°Um, I was wondering,¡± he begins, trying a little too hard to sound casual, ¡°do you want to hang out sometime?¡±


    My eyes widen.


    ¡°Bad timing, I know,¡± Garrett says quickly, waving around us at the other searchers. ¡°It¡¯s just that I¡¯ve been meaning to ask you, and¡ª¡±


    A small chime sounds, cutting him off. Saved by the bell. I dig into my back pocket and whip my phone out. The area code flashing across the screen is unfamiliar, but right now, I want anything to get out of answering Garrett. I shrug at him apologetically. ¡°Um, I have to take this.¡±


    Garrett looks disappointed but nods. I crunch a few paces away. ¡°Hello?¡± I say into the phone.


    ¡°Hi, Sutton.¡±


    Thayer.


    It¡¯s like all of the oxygen is immediately sucked out of the atmosphere. I feel dizzy and hot. I peer cautiously around and, satisfied that no one is paying any attention to me, duck behind a chipped, brown pickup truck.


    ¡°Where the hell are you?¡± I demand, feeling both furious and relieved at the same time. At least he isn¡¯t dead somewhere. At least he isn¡¯t at the bottom of one of these ravines. ¡°I¡¯ve been so worried!¡±


    His voice crackles with static. ¡°I can¡¯t tell you.¡±


    I lean into the receiver. ¡°Look. If this is about what happened at my locker the other day, I¡¯m sorry. You¡¯re overreacting, though. You don¡¯t have to leave town just because we had a fight.¡±


    ¡°Sutton, it¡¯s not because of that.¡± There¡¯s something almost light to his tone, as if he thinks it¡¯s funny that I assumed he left because of me.


    It infuriates me. I turn and face the hikers up the ridge. ¡°Do you know what I¡¯m doing right now? I¡¯m at a search party¡ªfor you! People think you died.¡± My voice cracks slightly, and I will myself not to cry. I thought you died, I want to say, but pride keeps me from it.


    Thayer sighs. ¡°I wish I could explain what¡¯s going on, but it¡¯s really hard.¡±


    ¡°Try me,¡± I insist.


    He breathes out. ¡°Just know that I¡¯m safe, okay? But you can¡¯t tell anyone else you talked to me.¡±


    My brain feels like it¡¯s about to explode. ¡°Thayer, didn¡¯t you hear me? Half the town is looking for you! They¡¯re combing the canyon right now! They¡¯re talking about making ¡®missing¡¯ posters, putting you on a milk carton! Can I at least tell Madeline?¡±


    ¡°Not yet. I¡¯ll get in touch with her in my own way. She knows I needed to get away, too. For now, please keep this quiet¡ªfrom everyone. I just need my space right now, okay? I¡¯ll come home when I¡¯m ready.¡±


    ¡°But . . .¡± I protest, my head spinning. Space? What does he mean¡ªspace from me?


    ¡°Seriously, Sutton. I mean it,¡± Thayer warns. ¡°Can you do that?¡±


    I pause. In the silence, I listen as hard as I can to the sounds on his end, trying to see if I can make out a highway, or music, or anything indicating where he might be. A giggle sounds in the background. A girl¡¯s giggle. Then, another voice chimes in. ¡°What¡¯s up, Mary?¡±


    Mary? ¡°Who¡¯s Mary?¡± I growl, furious. I¡¯m at a search party looking for Thayer¡¯s body, and he¡¯s hanging out with some girl named Mary?


    ¡°Just a friend,¡± Thayer says, his voice hurried. ¡°Look, I¡¯m sorry, Sutton, but I have to go.¡±


    ¡°Wait!¡± I call. That same giggle sounds again. Then the phone makes a blipping sound, and when I glance down at it, the screen reads call ended. I stare, dumbfounded. He hung up on me!


    I bite my lip and stare into space for a few long moments. What. The. Hell?


    The hikers continue up the ridge, their silhouettes black against the brilliant blue sky. Mr. Vega is shouting for everyone to walk faster. Madeline is talking earnestly to the ranger, Laurel¡¯s hand resting protectively on her shoulder. Part of me wants to shout to Mads that it¡¯s a huge sham¡ªThayer is fine. But then I look at Laurel again, and a ribbon of jealousy courses through me. I don¡¯t want her to know my news. I don¡¯t want her to know anything. I¡¯ll tell Mads later.

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    And then I think of that girl¡¯s giggle. If Thayer wants his space, he can have it. But if he thinks I¡¯m going to sit around, waiting for him to come back¡ªif he comes back¡ªhe¡¯s got another think coming.


    I shove my phone back in my pocket and return to the hikers on the trail. Just as I hoped, Garrett is still standing by the cooler, practically in the same place I left him, like I pressed pause in our conversation when I answered Thayer¡¯s phone call. When he sees me, his face perks up. It instantly makes me feel better. This is how a guy should treat me. With respect. With admiration.


    I pull my hair from its bun and shake it out so it tumbles down my shoulders. ¡°Sorry about that,¡± I say, offering my most conciliatory smile. It takes a little effort to get the corners of my mouth turned up, but I manage. Then I take a deep breath and hope that Charlotte will understand what I¡¯m about to do. ¡°To answer your question,¡± I say, slinking closer to Garrett, ¡°I¡¯d love to hang out. How about tomorrow?¡±


    And naturally, Garrett says yes.


    3


    A LITTLE FRIENDLY CONVERSATION


    On Monday night, Garrett and I are at Bella Vista, a restaurant in Tucson nestled at the highest point of a winding, windswept hilltop. The entire dining room is paneled in squeaky-clean, floor-to-ceiling windows so that everyone dining can enjoy the breathtaking views of the fiery sunset behind the Santa Catalina Mountains. Once night falls in earnest, the sky will be studded with glittering stars, making the whole restaurant feel like it¡¯s floating. Around me, the air is heady with garlic and saffron, and the room is alive with bustling waiters in crisp white button-downs, wine and sparkling water splashing against crystal stemware, and the low murmur of conversation.


    The waiter sets down a simmering pot of albondigas, veal meatball tapas. Garrett slides the pot toward me. ¡°Ladies first.¡±


    I blush. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Garrett has been so attentive to me during this dinner¡ªsignaling the waitress when I dropped a fork, switching seats with me because mine was in the direct line of the setting sun, asking again and again if I wanted anything more to eat or drink. He¡¯s the kind of guy who¡¯d hold open car doors, who¡¯d bring flowers.


    Thayer didn¡¯t do any of that stuff. He and I rarely went out at all since we kept things quiet, but if we did, we went to hole-in-the-wall taco joints far up the highway so no one would see us.


    I shudder, shaking off the thought of Thayer entirely. Before this moment, I hadn¡¯t thought of him once.


    I spear a chunk of fluke ceviche and return my focus to Garrett. ¡°I love this place. I¡¯ve had a couple birthday dinners here, but haven¡¯t been in a while.¡±


    ¡°Me neither.¡± Garrett looks around. ¡°My dad knows the owner, though.¡±


    ¡°So that¡¯s how you got this amazing table for us?¡± I tease. ¡°And the sangria?¡± Not only had Garrett scored the best table in the place, a little two-seater tucked into a grotto, but we¡¯d barely been seated when our waiter brought over a pitcher of sangria without asking to see our IDs.


    ¡°Naturally.¡± The corners of Garrett¡¯s lips curl into a smile. ¡°I told my dad I was taking a beautiful girl out for dinner. He made it happen.¡±


    I blush at the word beautiful. ¡°I think my last visit was in the summer, when I got home from tennis camp.¡±


    ¡°You go to tennis camp every year, right?¡± Garrett asks, dunking a slice of toasted bread into a shallow dish of olive oil.


    I nod, a little surprised that he knows that about me. Did Char say something?


    I feel a twinge of guilt thinking about Charlotte. I hadn¡¯t wanted to talk to her about Garrett during the search party¡ªwhich, of course, had turned up nothing¡ªso I¡¯d called her repeatedly after we left. She¡¯d only gotten back to me at lunch today at school. ¡°I¡¯ve been so busy with your sister,¡± Char had apologized. ¡°We¡¯re brainstorming about other ways to find Thayer. You know, flyers around town, or maybe setting up a website, or even just an email for tips, or something. What do you think?¡±


    I had frozen. Laurel¡¯s been talking to my friends about how to track down Thayer? ¡°Nice of you to involve me.¡±


    Charlotte laughed. ¡°Be nice. We tried to call you yesterday, but you didn¡¯t pick up.¡±


    ¡°When?¡± I¡¯d asked. My phone had been on all day. I didn¡¯t miss any calls.


    ¡°And Laurel has been really sweet and supportive about Thayer,¡± Charlotte went on, not answering. ¡°That¡¯s what matters right now, right?¡±


    I bristled. Was everyone against me? First Thayer telling me to be nicer to Laurel, now Char? I changed the subject and got to my original point. ¡°So, I wanted to talk to you about Garrett. You¡¯re over him, right?¡±


    Char had snorted. ¡°Completely. Honestly, I was never even that into him to begin with. He¡¯s been a ball of moods after that whole Louisa thing.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t sure if that was true¡ªCharlotte shut herself in her room after Garrett dumped her. And she¡¯d told me about Garrett and his sister, Louisa¡ªsomething had happened to her at a party¡ªbut I was fuzzy on the specifics. Still, I decided to believe that she¡¯d moved on. ¡°So it wouldn¡¯t bother you if he was dating someone else?¡±


    ¡°Of course not,¡± she said emphatically.


    ¡°Good. Because he kind of asked me to dinner. Tonight.¡±


    Charlotte froze. Her eyes blinked once, then twice, then three times. ¡°Did you say yes?¡±


    ¡°I told him I wanted to make sure it was cool with you,¡± I lied.


    Charlotte coughed. ¡°I, uh . . . of course, it¡¯s cool.¡± But her voice was shaky. ¡°I appreciate, you know, that you checked with me.¡±


    A flicker of guilt pricked at me. What she didn¡¯t know wouldn¡¯t hurt her.


    But then Charlotte rose from her seat and gathered her books. ¡°I should go,¡± she mumbled. ¡°I just remembered I had this English thing.¡±


    To make matters even more awkward, as I watched her go, a presence came up behind me. It was Laurel.


    ¡°What?¡± I snapped, still annoyed that she was suddenly buddy-buddy with my best friends.


    Laurel sank into one hip. ¡°Just because Charlotte says she¡¯s okay with you dating her ex, doesn¡¯t mean that she is.¡±


    My eyes widened. ¡°Well, I guess you would know since you¡¯re so tight with my friends these days, right?¡± I leapt up. ¡°Quit eavesdropping.¡±


    But now, I try just to focus on Garrett. He¡¯s got that clean-cut, preppy look down to a T. The burgundy of his starched oxford shirt perfectly brings out his all-American complexion and makes his blue eyes sparkle. I¡¯d actually never noticed how blue his eyes were until tonight. I¡¯m not sure I even noticed his eyes were blue at all.


    ¡°What are you doing this summer?¡± I prompt, brushing my hair off my shoulders.


    ¡°My parents really want me to find some kind of internship,¡± he says, rolling his eyes. ¡°My mom¡¯s suddenly totally psycho about beefing up my college transcript.¡± A stray curl falls lightly over his forehead in a way that makes me want to reach out and sweep it back.


    ¡°I know the feeling,¡± I sigh. ¡°My parents are pressuring me to step up my grades, too. The other day, my mom sat me down and gave me this really long talking-to about priorities.¡± Laurel didn¡¯t get a lecture, naturally. Because she¡¯s already perfect.


    Garrett snickers. ¡°Maybe we should set them up on a Mom-date or something. If they hit it off, maybe they¡¯ll leave us alone.¡±


    I laugh. ¡°Best idea ever. But no double dates with them or anything,¡± I add.


    ¡°God, no.¡± Garrett widens his eyes in mock-horror and I giggle again.


    Then Garrett begins describing a Boys & Girls Clubs program he¡¯s interested in.


    I smile. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t think someone like you would be into helping little kids.¡±


    Garrett looks abashed. ¡°Why not? Because I¡¯m too much of a jock?¡±


    ¡°Well, sort of,¡± I admit.


    ¡°I¡¯m more than just a jock,¡± Garrett says softly. ¡°I have a lot going on. Some good . . . some bad.¡±


    I¡¯m intrigued. ¡°Do you want to talk about any of it?¡±


    Garrett¡¯s throat bobs. He looks away, staring hard at the wind chimes hanging from the porch. ¡°I¡¯m guessing you heard about Louisa.¡±


    I study him for a long beat, waiting to see if he says anything else. ¡°I heard a little bit. How is she now?¡± I say carefully. I remember Charlotte speaking about Louisa in hushed tones, saying how fragile and delicate she seemed.


    ¡°She¡¯s . . .¡± Garrett closes his eyes, laces his fingers together. ¡°She has her good days and her bad days. I feel like I¡¯m the only one really looking out for her, you know? My dad¡¯s remarried, and my mom has her own problems right now.¡±


    I shut my eyes. No wonder Char said Garrett was a basket case. ¡°That¡¯s got to be so hard.¡±


    ¡°It is.¡± Garrett nods. Then a wobbly expression comes over his face. He takes his napkin, shakes it out, and smoothes it across his lap. ¡°Let¡¯s talk about something else, okay?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely,¡± I say. ¡°But if you ever want to talk, I¡¯m here.¡±


    Garrett gives me a curious look. ¡°You¡¯re different than I thought you¡¯d be, too, Sutton.¡±


    ¡°Different, how?¡±


    He thinks for a moment, finger to mouth. ¡°Softer, maybe. Easier.¡±


    I give him a saucy look but then decide to take it as a compliment. It¡¯s always nice to surprise people. And really, I don¡¯t want everyone to think I¡¯m a super-bitch.


    I settle back into my seat, feeling like something between us has suddenly changed. Garrett really is more than just a jock. He¡¯s sensitive. He cares. He sticks by his family. And he¡¯s told me more about himself than Thayer has lately¡ªwhich says a lot.


    I can learn to like him, I think. And you know what? I don¡¯t even think it will be hard.


    The night is breezy and mild as we leave the restaurant. Garrett rolls down the windows of his SUV and opens the sunroof. I rest my arm against the edge of the car door and lean toward the window slightly, enjoying the tickle of the wind on my face. The road home from Bella Vista winds down through the mountains so that the starry sky seems to wrap itself around us as we descend. Sumac trees line the edge of the narrow roadway, curving softly overhead. The air in the car smells of Garrett¡¯s lingering Burberry aftershave, with an edge of mint from the sugarless gum he¡¯s chewing. The dashboard speakers are hooked up to his iPhone, which is currently playing Mumford & Sons. He drums his fingers against the steering wheel in time with the guitar.


    Suddenly, he clears his throat, breaking the easy silence between us. ¡°I had a good time tonight, Sutton,¡± he says, his voice low. I reach out and place a hand on his knee, liking the warm, solid feeling of his leg under my palm.


    ¡°Me, too,¡± I assure him softly. And suddenly, I mean it. Really mean it.


    Garrett beams. ¡°Oh. Okay. Great. I was wondering. . . . Well, I guess I heard some things . . . that you were seeing someone.¡± He frowns and fiddles with the remote for his iPhone, shuffling the music so a new song cues up. ¡°Thayer, maybe?¡±

 Page 4

    I flinch. That stupid fight by my locker. Did everyone see through it? Could they tell it was a lover¡¯s quarrel? Or did Laurel start a rumor?


    I set my jaw, thinking yet again of Mary¡¯s giggle. She¡¯s just a friend¡ªhmph. ¡°Nope,¡± I say breezily, giving Garrett¡¯s khaki-clad knee a squeeze. ¡°I¡¯m definitely single.¡± Then I clear my throat. ¡°And you?¡±


    Garrett nods. ¡°I¡¯m single, too.¡±


    I look down at my shoes. ¡°I mentioned to Char that we were going out tonight.¡±


    Garrett¡¯s shoulders crunched up and then relaxed again. ¡°Charlotte and I are better off as friends. She knows that.¡±


    He pulls up alongside the curb in front of my house and shifts the car into park. Unfastening his seat belt, he turns to me. ¡°So . . . bye,¡± he says, his voice husky.


    ¡°Bye,¡± I say, but I don¡¯t move. I take in his bright, warm expression and the sparkle in his eyes. I grin, then lean in and kiss him lightly on the lips. The kiss is soft, calm, warm.


    There aren¡¯t any fireworks or that fizzy champagne feeling I always had when I kissed Thayer. Still, a tiny frisson of excitement blooms in my chest.


    The excitement lasts as long as it takes for me to step out of Garrett¡¯s car and onto the stone-lined path to my front door. And then, as his car growls off, the floodlights on our porch click on, illuminating Madeline and Charlotte. Charlotte¡¯s arms are crossed at her chest and Madeline¡¯s hip is cocked. Their expressions are stony.


    And just like that, I know I¡¯m in trouble.


    4


    WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS STAYS IN THE HANDBOOK


    Charlotte exhales heavily, and Madeline¡¯s Prada stitched ballet flats scrape the wide terra-cotta stones of my front doorstep. Cicadas chirp an accusing, rhythmic chorus.


    ¡°What up, bitches?¡± I say breezily.


    Madeline arches an eyebrow and purses her lips and I flush briefly. I can swagger all I want, but I did just kiss my friend¡¯s ex. Still, she said she was over him. She said I could go out with him. I don¡¯t deserve this kind of attitude.


    ¡°We¡¯re glad you¡¯re home from your date.¡± Madeline snarls slightly on the word date. ¡°We wanted to talk.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡± I cross my arms over my chest. ¡°Talk.¡±


    Madeline puts her hands on her slender hips and fixes her blazing sapphire eyes on me. ¡°We want to initiate a new member into the Lying Game.¡±


    I take a step back, certain at first that I¡¯ve heard her incorrectly. ¡°Um, ladies, you know we¡¯re an exclusive club.¡± The Lying Game is three people: Charlotte, Madeline, and me. That¡¯s the way it¡¯s been since we created it in junior high. ¡°Did you actually have someone in mind?¡±


    Charlotte steps forward, close enough that I can smell her Chanel Chance. ¡°Laurel.¡±


    I burst out laughing. Laurel playing buddy-buddy with my friends is one thing, but joining the Lying Game? Never. ¡°Good one, guys. Nice. Laurel. Right.¡± I shake my head. ¡°Can we talk tomorrow? I¡¯m tired.¡± I reach an impatient arm out to the doorknob.


    But Mads and Char don¡¯t budge. Their expressions are resolute, unchanging. Slowly, it sinks in. ¡°Wait, you¡¯re serious?¡± I blurt, my voice cracking more than I want it to.


    Madeline twirls a lock of ebony hair around her index finger. ¡°We think she¡¯d be an asset to the group. And have a heart, Sutton¡ªshe¡¯s beside herself about Thayer. We should do something nice for her, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    I want to roll my eyes. Once again, Laurel gets to milk this whole ¡°Thayer¡¯s gone¡± thing to the hilt while I have to endure the pain quietly. ¡°Do something nice, yes,¡± I argue. ¡°But not ruin our club to let her in.¡±


    ¡°We wouldn¡¯t be ruining anything,¡± Madeline says. ¡°And anyway, Laurel has proven herself. She helped with that Christmas prank, remember?¡±


    I stare at them in disbelief. ¡°Yeah, because that was my Christmas present to her. It wasn¡¯t an invitation to the group.¡± Laurel had been begging to be part of the Lying Game practically since its inception, and I¡¯d finally thrown her a bone and let her help us steal the Christmas tree from La Encantada Mall. It wasn¡¯t even a particularly good prank, but Laurel acted like it was the cleverest thing in the world.


    Then I turn toward Charlotte, realizing something. ¡°Is this your way of getting back at me for going out with Garrett tonight? You said you were okay with it.¡±


    Charlotte shrugs and turns away, her auburn ponytail smacking her in the face. All of a sudden, I can see she¡¯s totally not okay.


    ¡°Look, I¡¯m sorry,¡± I say. ¡°But that doesn¡¯t make it okay to let Laurel in.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s being a really good friend right now,¡± Charlotte says simply.


    She doesn¡¯t elaborate. It seems that, in what she¡¯s left out, she¡¯s implying I¡¯ve been a bad friend. I consider protesting about Garrett once more, but I¡¯m not sure there¡¯s much use.


    Then I whirl toward Madeline. ¡°And why would you be mad at me?¡±


    Mads just stares at me and suddenly my palms begin to tingle. What if she knows I spoke to Thayer during the search party . . . but didn¡¯t bother to mention that he was okay? The only way she could know that, though, is if Thayer called and told her himself. But why would he sell me out that way?


    ¡°I¡¯m not mad at you, Sutton,¡± Madeline says in a clipped voice after a moment. ¡°Like I said, I just think Laurel would be a good asset to the club.¡±


    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t,¡± I say. ¡°And as the Lying Game leader, what I say goes.¡±


    Madeline raises a finger. ¡°Not this time. I¡¯m invoking the Sudden Death Clause.¡±


    I cough. ¡°Pardon?¡±


    ¡°The rule we set up for testing new members. The member who opposes the proposed new initiate has to go head-to-head with her in a series of dares. If you win, Laurel¡¯s out. But if Laurel wins, she¡¯s officially a part of the Lying Game. For good.¡±


    A siren shrieks in the distance. The neighbors¡¯ sprinklers kick on with a steady hissing sound. ¡°That¡¯s not in the rules,¡± I say in disbelief.


    ¡°Oh yeah?¡± Madeline cocks her hip again, then pushes open my front door. ¡°Let¡¯s go have a look at the handbook.¡±


    I shove past her and sweep inside. ¡°Great. Let¡¯s.¡±


    I lead them inside and up the wide-planked staircase to my bedroom. As I slam the door, I catch sight of the Scooby-Doo stuffed animal Thayer won for me at the fair last year propped up on my bed. I get a pang, remembering the day it happened, but then I push it down deep. I had a great date with Garrett tonight . . . and Thayer¡¯s with someone named Mary. Maybe we¡¯re both moving on.


    I pull the handbook from a locked drawer in my desk. It¡¯s an oversized scrapbook filled with scribbled notes, clips from any news mentions of successful pranks, receipts, props . . . basically a Lying Game Greatest Hits and how-to collection. The back pages of the book are computer printouts of our rules and minutes. Some pages are wrinkled and stained with age, like the ones detailing the original rules, but as I flip through, newer pages show clauses we¡¯ve added over the years: like not messing with anything super-valuable, for one, like Char¡¯s dad¡¯s Ferrari, or not pranking on birthdays. I still have to fight back the urge each time one rolls around.


    On the very bottom of the very last page, I find it: scrawled in red ink in Charlotte¡¯s handwriting, almost like an afterthought, is the Sudden Death Clause. And it reads exactly like Madeline said it did, word for word.


    ¡°I don¡¯t remember this at all,¡± I say, suspicion bubbling inside me. ¡°When did you write this?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t remember,¡± Charlotte answers. She points at the book. ¡°But since it¡¯s there, it¡¯s gospel.¡±


    It seems like they¡¯re trying to hold in a giggle. My stomach lurches. There¡¯s no way the Sudden Death Clause is legit. My friends wrote it here when I wasn¡¯t looking¡ªor maybe wasn¡¯t around. Perhaps they were in the house with Laurel earlier tonight while I was out, and they hatched this plan then. I can just picture them sitting around Laurel¡¯s room, giggling about their brand-new Sudden Death Rule, Charlotte running in here and writing it into the book as quickly as she could. Who knew how they got my lockbox open, but Laurel probably had a solution for that; I¡¯ve caught her snooping around my room hundreds of times.


    I clench my hands into tight fists. I¡¯ve never felt so betrayed. Mads and Char are supposed to be my best friends, not Laurel¡¯s. Do they now prefer her, too, just like everyone else does?


    Suddenly, tears rush to my eyes, and I have to blink to hold them back. Madeline glances at Charlotte, giving her a worried look, almost like she realizes they¡¯ve gone too far. But the last thing I want is for my friends to see me crying¡ªor to know they¡¯ve hurt me. It¡¯s kind of like how I handled Thayer: be strong, carry on, move on. Thayer can¡¯t bring me down, and they can¡¯t, either.


    I straighten up. I¡¯ll honor this stupid Sudden Death Clause¡ªif I don¡¯t, I¡¯ll look like a wuss and a coward. And I¡¯ll win. There¡¯s no way I¡¯m going to let my baby sister beat me.


    ¡°Get Laurel,¡± I growl.


    Madeline scampers from the bed, knocking Scooby to the floor in the process. I hear a knock at Laurel¡¯s bedroom door, and then a split second later, my sister appears in my doorway, her honey-blonde hair perfectly straightened and her eyes bright with expertly applied makeup. It¡¯s like she did herself up knowing this moment was coming. Once again, I feel a bolt of betrayal, as sharp and acidic as lemon juice in a wound.


    She looks at me cautiously for a moment. I give her a steely stare. ¡°I¡¯ve decided to indulge your silly little whim,¡± I say primly. ¡°We¡¯ll go head-to-head on some challenges, even though it¡¯s a really stupid idea. You¡¯re going to lose.¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± Laurel chirps. She turns to Mads and Char. ¡°So what¡¯s our first challenge? Something in town? Something at school?¡±


    Charlotte laughs. ¡°Oh, we¡¯re not doing this in Tucson,¡± she says, waving a hand dismissively. ¡°As Sutton always says, the Lying Game has standards. Sudden Death is not just an ordinary prank war.¡±


    ¡°So what are you saying?¡± I ask impatiently. Personally, I would like Sudden Death to be ordinary. The sooner we get this ridiculousness over with¡ªand the sooner Laurel is ousted from the Lying Game, once and for all¡ªthe better.


    Charlotte grins knowingly. ¡°I think we all need a change of scenery.¡±


    I consider this. ¡°Road trip?¡±


    There¡¯s a wicked twinkle in her brown eyes. ¡°We¡¯re going to Vegas!¡±


    Vegas. An image of the glittering lights of the Strip pops up in my mind involuntarily and I feel a ping of excitement in spite of myself. ¡°That has . . . potential.¡±


    ¡°Right?¡± Charlotte jiggles up and down excitedly. ¡°It¡¯s the best timing ever, with school ending. Mads and I told our parents that we were going to cheer on the science team at their meet, which just happens to be taking place there this weekend.¡±

 Page 5

    I raise an eyebrow. ¡°We don¡¯t have any friends on the science team.¡±


    ¡°Uh, we know,¡± Charlotte says. ¡°That¡¯s the point.¡±


    I glance at Madeline. ¡°What about Thayer? Don¡¯t you want to stay here and look for him?¡±


    Madeline shrugs and stares at the carpet. ¡°It¡¯s not going to do any good¡ªit¡¯s not like he¡¯s hanging around Tucson. I know my brother, and he won¡¯t come back until he¡¯s good and ready. Besides, my dad . . .¡± She trails off, scrunching up her face. It¡¯s obvious what she isn¡¯t saying. Her dad¡¯s temper is getting out of control. Mads probably needs the time away.


    A bolt of sympathy cuts through all my frustration and betrayal. A small smile creeps across my face as I warm to the idea. ¡°All right. I¡¯m game.¡±


    ¡°Nice,¡± Charlotte whispers.


    Madeline looks at Laurel. ¡°I told you she¡¯d be into it.¡±


    I¡¯m not thrilled about Mads and Laurel¡¯s private little talks about me, but I try not to think about it. Instead, I see myself escaping Tucson for a while. Wearing a gorgeous gown, playing the slots, drinking martinis on a rooftop bar, hanging poolside in a bikini. Eat your heart out, Thayer, I think. If he wants space, I¡¯ll give him space.


    ¡°The Lying Game: Las Vegas.¡± I reach out to Laurel and shake her hand firmly. ¡°May the best woman win, Baby Sister,¡± I say, flashing her my most brilliant smile. But inside, I¡¯ve got my game face on. Get ready to go down, Laurel, I think fiercely. By the time this is over, you¡¯ll be sorry you ever asked to be part of this club.


    5


    GOOD HELP IS SO HARD TO FIND


    ¡°Vegas, baby!¡± Charlotte screams out the window of Floyd, my vintage racing-green Volvo, as I steer it down the Vegas strip on Saturday afternoon. ¡°Yeah!¡±


    It¡¯s midday and tons of people cram the sidewalks. Neon signs blink on and off. A woman with heavily kohl-lined eyes, a Cleopatra wig, and a shimmering, strapless gold tunic totters down the sidewalk on stilts, a sandwich board around her advertising the dinner buffet at the Luxor. Squat, pudgy tourists in sun visors waddle along, gaping at the model Eiffel Tower in front of the Paris Las Vegas Hotel and the caged lions pacing hungrily at the MGM Grand.


    My stomach twists with excitement as I soak it all in. It¡¯s been a long time since I¡¯ve been to Vegas, and I have a feeling this trip is really going to be . . . something.


    ¡°Vegas, baby!¡± Madeline sings, too, giving Laurel a happy nudge. That¡¯s the only blip in this mini-vacation: my sister coming along. And somehow, she¡¯s controlled the whole drive so far. What kind of music we listen to. When we stop to pee. She even convinced Madeline to buy coconut water¡ªand Mads vowed she¡¯d never jump on that trend.


    I peer into my rearview mirror and see Garrett at the wheel of his SUV behind me. I waggle my fingers at him, and he grins back. When we decided we were going to Vegas for the night, I invited Garrett and his two friends along. I don¡¯t want to spend one second of our time here wondering what Thayer is up to or who he¡¯s with, and Garrett is the perfect thing to take my mind off him.


    Besides, Char kind of deserves to squirm a little bit after the stunt she pulled with Laurel. That bogus Sudden Death Clause was her handwriting in the handbook, after all.


    Madeline pulls an iPad out of her purse and taps the screen. ¡°Now that we¡¯re here, I think it¡¯s time to review the official rules for the first-ever Lying Game Sudden Death Tournament.¡± Her silver bangles clatter against each other as she gestures.


    I roll my eyes. ¡°Is this from the handbook, too?¡±


    Mads ignores my jab, squinting at something on the iPad. I glance over for a second and see organized boxes and columns.


    ¡°Tell me you didn¡¯t make a spreadsheet,¡± I groan.


    ¡°It¡¯s more organized this way,¡± she retorts. She lowers the volume on the radio and clears her throat. ¡°Okay. It is now¡±¡ªshe glances at the clock on the dashboard¡ª¡°three P.M. Saturday, Pacific Standard Time. The Sudden Death Competition will consist of five challenges, some spontaneous, some planned, over the next two days, with myself and Charlotte acting as scorekeepers.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re assuming I trust you,¡± I grumble.


    ¡°You will not know what the challenges are or when they will be invoked,¡± Madeline talks over me.


    I reach over and pinch her arm. ¡°I think you might be taking this a little too seriously.¡±


    ¡°I think you might be a little overconfident, Sutton,¡± Laurel puts in from the backseat.


    ¡°We¡¯ll see, won¡¯t we?¡± I retort.


    Then I glance at Laurel in the rearview. She¡¯s flicking a charm on the bracelet Thayer gave her, and she¡¯s got a haughty smirk on her face, like she¡¯s already in the club. This morning, before we left, she had the nerve to burst into my room and ask what we were wearing, like we were buds or something. When she asked if I was excited, I¡¯d said, ¡°I would be more excited if one less person was coming.¡±


    Charlotte pokes me in the back. ¡°Turn here,¡± she barks. I twist to see the fountains of the Bellagio spurt up like a well-choreographed ballet. The sight is so majestic, I almost gasp.


    ¡°We¡¯re staying here?¡± I squeal in disbelief. ¡°How¡¯d you swing that, Char?¡±


    Char smiles mysteriously. ¡°Oh, Daddy has some connections. Now, come on, girls. Let¡¯s go to our room.¡±


    I cut the steering wheel and pull slowly up the circular drive, feeling like Julia Roberts in Ocean¡¯s Eleven. Then I gaze up at the towering building, all glass and stone and light. ¡°I hope our room has a sick view.¡±


    Over my shoulder, Charlotte shoots a sly look at Laurel. ¡°Well . . . it might. That depends on your sister.¡±


    Madeline drums her hands against the dashboard. ¡°The first challenge!¡± she says dramatically.


    Bring it on, I think, catching Laurel¡¯s eye in the rearview mirror once more. ¡°Let¡¯s hear it.¡±


    Madeline shifts so she¡¯s facing my sister. ¡°Laurel, your mission is this: You¡¯re going to woo reception into giving us a room at a reduced rate. A sweet room. Preferably with a balcony.¡±


    Laurel pales. I snort. ¡°How are you going to do that, Laurel? Whine your way into a better room? Cry to Daddy?¡±


    Laurel shoots me a look, then reaches for the door handle. ¡°Piece of cake,¡± she says. Her paisley miniskirt twitches perkily as she makes her way into the hotel.


    Charlotte and Madeline giggle in her wake. ¡°Oh my God, this is so inspired.¡± Madeline bounces her legs up and down like she can¡¯t contain the awesomeness of the prank. Her blue eyes sparkle like gemstones. ¡°We should have done a Lying Game road trip ages ago.¡±


    I hate to admit it, but Mads is right¡ªit¡¯s a good challenge, and luckily one my baby sis is sure to fail. I exhale and roll my head side to side, trying to release a little tension in my neck while we wait.


    There¡¯s a tap on my window, and when I look up, Garrett beams down at me, flanked on either side by Tucker, a meathead with a flaming-red buzz cut, and Marcus, an Abercrombie-emo boy with floppy, black hair even glossier than Madeline¡¯s. As he leans in, Charlotte turns away. Good.


    I roll the window down. ¡°You have a reservation here?¡± Garrett asks.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± I tease. The boys don¡¯t know exactly what we¡¯re up to in Vegas, and I don¡¯t have any intention of telling them. They¡¯re my arm candy, nothing else. ¡°We¡¯re big-time, baby.¡±


    ¡°Obviously. Good thing I brought the plastic.¡± Garrett turns back to his car. ¡°We¡¯re gonna valet. We¡¯ll meet you after check-in?¡±


    ¡°Perfect,¡± I say, though a not-so-little part of me hopes that we don¡¯t end up in this hotel¡ªonly because it would mean Laurel has failed her first challenge.


    I take in Garrett¡¯s easy posture as the boys move off. ¡°Garrett¡¯s so sweet to come along with me,¡± I say loudly. Charlotte rolls her eyes and looks the other way.


    After a few more moments, during which an emphatic Taylor Swift gives way to Beyonc¨¦ on the local radio, Laurel scampers back to the car with a gleeful expression on her face. She slides into the car, eyes gleaming. ¡°I got us a double room for half off. With a balcony, thank you very much.¡±


    Madeline¡¯s jaw drops, and she offers Laurel her palm to slap. ¡°Nice.¡±


    Laurel high-fives her. ¡°It was a piece of cake.¡±


    ¡°Awesome, Laurel,¡± Charlotte says, admiration ringing in her tone.


    Inside, I¡¯m completely annoyed, but on the outside I just shrug. ¡°That was an easy one,¡± I say loudly, hoping to bring the whole yay-Laurel party to a halt.


    ¡°So I guess that means we¡¯re one-nothing?¡± Laurel asks.


    Charlotte places a hand on my knee. ¡°Not so fast, Laur. It¡¯s your turn now, Sutton. Turn that double room into the best suite in the whole damn place, and you get the point instead.¡±


    Her hazel eyes glint at me, catlike, and the corners of her mouth turn up mischievously. I inhale sharply. The best room? That challenge is way harder than Laurel¡¯s. It¡¯s like they¡¯re setting me up to lose.


    Still. I¡¯m Sutton, the leader of the Lying Game. ¡°No problem,¡± I say, squaring my shoulders and jumping out of the car.


    I stand in the porte cochere for a moment, my brain buzzing. My eyes take in the glittering, curved drive, the lush, climbing plants, and the bellhops¡¯ brass luggage carts.


    Bingo.


    I pop the trunk and reach for my oversized ivory Beirn watersnake tote. I scrabble through it for a moment or two until I fish out what I need: a massive pair of blush-tinted sunglasses, a silk Herm¨¨s scarf, a tube of YSL lipstick in a traffic-stopping Rouge Flamme, and finally, a pair of silver snakeskin stilettos so tall and slim they look like weapons.


    Charlotte is staring at me through the window. ¡°You keep those in your bag?¡± she asks incredulously.


    I raise an eyebrow at her. ¡°You don¡¯t?¡±


    She snaps her mouth closed again. Madeline suppresses a nervous giggle. Laurel chews away at a thumbnail.


    I quickly wrap the scarf around my head Grace Kelly style and swap my Chanel flats for the heels. Finally, I apply a fierce layer of lipstick over my perfect pout, checking out the complete look as best as I can in the narrow frame of the rearview mirror.


    ¡°Watch and learn, bitches,¡± I snap, then march toward the hotel. My heels clack on the marble tile, making a sound like the click of paparazzi cameras. The effect works immediately: puzzled expressions appear on people¡¯s faces. I can feel guests gazing at me once, then doing a double take. ¡°Famous,¡± I hear a voice say. ¡°Wasn¡¯t she in that movie with . . . ?¡± comes another.


    It¡¯s amazing how far a little confidence can take you.


    I approach the front desk, forcing a slightly pinched, woe-is-me expression to my face as I smile weakly toward the beaming receptionist.


    ¡°Can I help you?¡± The receptionist¡¯s voice rises with each syllable. Her forehead furrows in a way that says she doesn¡¯t recognize me but knows she should.


    I shake my head bemusedly and sigh. ¡°I certainly hope so.¡± I lean in and place a dainty hand on the smooth, polished counter, tilting my head toward the entrance and car park beyond. ¡°I¡¯m afraid my assistant made a mistake.¡± I do my best to sound disgusted. Given the circumstances, it isn¡¯t that hard. ¡°I need to be checked in as Marilyn Monroe, not under her name.¡± I throw another frustrated look at Laurel, who has followed me in with the other two girls. ¡°And certainly not under my own.¡± I give a short laugh that I hope emits a ¡°you know how it is, darling¡± vibe.

 Page 6

    The receptionist pauses, her brow furrowing again. I hold my breath. Did I overdo it? Maybe the head scarf was too much. But then she moves toward her computer, her fingers skating deftly over the keyboard.


    ¡°Of course,¡± she chirps. She runs a key card through the activation strip and passes it to me in a small, embossed folder. ¡°Here you go, Marilyn.¡± She actually winks as she slides the card to me. She lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, adding, ¡°I took the liberty of upgrading you to the Emperor Suite. Your valet is complimentary as well.¡±


    My heart leaps. Game. Set. Match.


    ¡°Thank you so much,¡± I gush, then spin on one heel and stride back to the others.


    ¡°Read it and weep, ladies.¡± I slap the new key card into Charlotte¡¯s outstretched palm. ¡°We¡¯re in the Emperor Suite now. Oh, and valet is complimentary.¡± I head to the car and rip the keys from the ignition, tossing them to one of the valets. ¡°You¡¯re welcome!¡± I trill over my shoulder.


    Charlotte whispers something to Madeline, and the two of them smirk at me. Laurel fidgets nervously.


    I put my hands on my hips. ¡°Emperor Suite. First challenge goes to the reigning queen.¡±


    ¡°Actually, Sutton, not quite.¡± Charlotte licks her lips.


    I groan. ¡°Do you want them to add in a bottle of champagne? If so, it¡¯s Laurel¡¯s turn, although that¡¯s a total gimme.¡±


    Madeline clears her throat. ¡°The Emperor Suite is second best. Presidential is what you wanted.¡± She slips the key in her pocket. ¡°Which means you lose this round.¡±


    Laurel squeals with delight. I glance through the doors at the girl behind the desk, considering running back in there and begging for the Presidential instead. How was I supposed to know the Presidential was the best?


    But I¡¯d said it myself. I was the queen of the Lying Game. I was supposed to know things like that.


    I shrug my shoulders, toss my bag on the cart, and walk into the lobby once more, deciding not to let my friends see my frustration. I¡¯m just getting warmed up. This kind of oversight won¡¯t happen again.


    It simply can¡¯t.


    6


    MAKE NEW FRIENDS, DITCH THE OLD?


    Early that same evening, after we¡¯ve settled into our rooms and taken showers, I step off the elevator, the air cool on my bare legs. I¡¯m wearing nothing but a bikini, a sarong, and a pair of high Tory Burch wedges, and I feel greedy stares as I walk gracefully across the lobby to the spa, where I¡¯m meeting Garrett. A group of guys having cocktails at the bar follow me with their eyes the whole way. A bellhop actually drops a suitcase.


    It¡¯s nice to be adored.


    But even as I hold my head high and exude confidence, a tiny needle pricks me again and again. What is going on with my friends? Why did they give me a nearly impossible first challenge and then still deem Laurel the winner? Did something happen I don¡¯t know about? I keep thinking that Mads secretly knows I spoke to Thayer the morning of the search party . . . but there¡¯s no way. Or what about the argument I had with Thayer at school? Do they think I drove Thayer away?


    And why drag Laurel into this? They can¡¯t actually like her¡ªwe¡¯ve spent years working very hard to keep her out of our business. Are they all on board the Thayer train, wanting me to be nicer to Laurel because of how much she looks up to me? Doesn¡¯t everyone understand how complicated it is between Laurel and me? They know I¡¯m adopted. They know Laurel is the adored bio child. I thought they got it.


    I don¡¯t know whether to be furious with them or simply determined to work harder to earn back their respect.


    ¡°Sutton Mercer?¡± I hear from behind me, just as I¡¯m about to push open the heavy oak door to the spa.


    I turn slowly, my eyes adjusting to the light, and take in the lanky silhouette peering at me. It¡¯s a boy my age, with longish dark hair that flops over his lake-blue eyes. His jeans are frayed, his flannel shirt is untucked, and his slip-on tennis sneakers are scuffed and covered with ballpoint pen doodles. He¡¯s looking at me with the same sort of wonder as every other guy in the lobby. Then he lowers his eyes, seeming suddenly embarrassed.


    I clear my throat. ¡°Ethan, right?¡± I say, even though I know full well who he is.


    Ethan Landry and I are in the same grade at Hollier. I¡¯ve always thought he was cute, with his soulful eyes and quiet, emo-boy demeanor. Now, though, in the glamorous lobby, he just looks young and immature.


    He blinks. ¡°What are you doing here?¡±


    The fountain shoots up a stream of pink-tinted water behind us. ¡°Road trip,¡± I say. ¡°You know. What are you doing here?¡±


    ¡°Oh, uh, I¡¯m here for the science bowl,¡± Ethan says. He gestures to a banner above the door to a ballroom. Science Bowl Arizona, it says. The prize for the winning team is five thousand dollars.


    The science bowl. The one we all told our parents we¡¯d be cheering our friends on in. I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d actually know anyone participating in it, though.


    ¡°Well, good luck,¡± I say.


    Ethan sniffs, staring at me skeptically. Guilt flows through my veins. My friends and I pulled a trick on Ethan a few years ago that kept him from winning a prestigious science scholarship that would have sent him to a private school in Phoenix. It had been amazing¡ªwe¡¯d laughed for days. But it had cost him. He would have won way more than the measly five thousand dollars he would have to split with his teammates at this science competition. But whatever. All¡¯s fair in love and the Lying Game.


    Shrugging, I offer Ethan a wave, murmur goodbye, and head for the spa. Garrett texted me an hour ago saying he booked the two of us a private treatment room. We¡¯re taking a re-mineralizer soak, which, according to the spa pamphlet, removes toxins from your body and promotes relaxation. Which is exactly what I need.


    I march into the spa lobby, and the girls at the counter wave me to the back room, where Garrett is already waiting. As I walk down a long hall, the air is filled with the crisp scent of eucalyptus, and I can feel my heart rate slowing already. New Age music pipes softly in the background, and the lighting is dark and soothing.


    I push through the fourth door on the right. Inside, tons of candles flicker in the corners. There¡¯s a round tub in the middle, steam rising from its center. Garrett is in the water, his arms draped over the sides, his buff shoulders and chest gleaming in the steamy air. There¡¯s a look of calm on his face.


    When he sees me, he brightens. ¡°You made it.¡±


    ¡°I made it,¡± I say, suddenly feeling shy.


    I remove my locket from around my neck, place it on a towel, unwrap my sarong, and then step into the tub. The water is the perfect temperature, and the cucumber-scented salts instantly calm me. I slide in the whole way and shut my eyes for a moment. ¡°I can practically feel the toxins leaving my body,¡± I say softly. Then I open my eyes and look at Garrett. ¡°Thanks for organizing this.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome.¡± Garrett looks bashful. ¡°Thank you for inviting me to Vegas.¡± He clears his throat. ¡°To be honest, I didn¡¯t know we were at that stage, but I¡¯m glad we are.¡±


    I concentrate on a big bubble near my knee, feeling a guilty twinge. It¡¯s not like I can tell Garrett I invited him half for revenge and half for distraction. So I float closer to him. ¡°I think we¡¯re going to have a lot of fun together.¡±


    ¡°I like fun,¡± Garrett whispers back. ¡°And I¡¯m always up for a little blackjack, maybe some craps.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how to play craps,¡± I admit.


    Garrett looks astonished. ¡°Sutton Mercer doesn¡¯t know how to play craps? Well, we¡¯ll have to change that. I¡¯ll teach you¡ªI¡¯m a master.¡±


    I snort. ¡°You¡¯re not old enough to be a master. Unless you¡¯ve been sneaking into casinos since you were twelve.¡±


    He smiles. ¡°No, but my dad taught my sister and me how to play when we were little. We had an old craps table my dad bought off eBay¡ªit was fun. We used to play all the time, but not anymore.¡±


    ¡°That does sound like fun,¡± I say. ¡°Why did you stop?¡±


    A strange look comes over Garrett¡¯s face, and he turns away slightly. ¡°Well, my dad moved, and Louisa isn¡¯t really into that stuff anymore,¡± he says quietly.


    It¡¯s all he needs to say to send me tumbling back to the mystery that is his sister. Garrett¡¯s face goes dark as if he¡¯s stuck in the memory. ¡°Do you want to talk about what happened?¡± I ask quietly.


    His eyes flash. He jerks his knee quickly away. ¡°You really don¡¯t know?¡±


    I recoil. He said it sort of accusingly, almost like I had something to do with it. ¡°Of course not,¡± I insist.


    The steam swirls around us. Garrett presses his lips together. The look on his face is angry now, full of rage. He looks like he could kill someone. But then he shuts his eyes, his expression softening. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he says. ¡°Sometimes I just get so . . . angry. I just wish I could have protected her.¡±


    ¡°Stop that.¡± I squeeze my fingers around his tightly. ¡°You can¡¯t beat yourself up. What happened, whatever it is, it¡¯s not your fault.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Garrett says, his voice low. ¡°But that doesn¡¯t change how much it hurts, seeing Louisa hurting. I just wish I had done something. I wish there was something I could do now.¡±


    I trace my index finger along his inner wrist, feeling his pulse echo against me. ¡°You are doing something. You¡¯re caring for her. You¡¯re making sure she gets better. Do you know how lucky she is to have you?¡± I think of my own family situation. Would my parents be so distraught if something happened to me? Would Laurel?


    ¡°Thanks.¡± Garrett reaches out and gently tilts my face toward his, his bright blue eyes regarding me seriously. ¡°You seem to always know what to say to make me feel better. How do you do it?¡±


    I shrug. ¡°Oh, just a talent of mine, I guess.¡± But I like that he thinks I¡¯m kind. I¡¯m so used to everyone assuming I¡¯m a bitch.


    Then Garrett leans toward me. He hesitates a moment, and my heart starts pounding hard. He kisses me softly, his lips tasting faintly of lemon water. I shut my eyes and kiss him back, cupping a hand around the back of his neck. As I run my fingers back and forth, it takes a moment for me to realize that I¡¯m searching for the loose curls I always toyed with at the nape of Thayer¡¯s neck. Garrett¡¯s hair is straighter and closer cropped, and my fingers only dance across bare skin.


    Don¡¯t think about Thayer right now, a voice in my head chides. Garrett is better. Garrett is here.


    Something buzzes on the teak bench along the wall. I open one eye. My cell phone glows blue from the wicker reclining chair next to the tub.


    Garrett opens his eyes, too. I pull away from him, feeling conflicted, then hop out of the water. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I scoop my phone from the robe and look at the screen. It¡¯s Thayer¡¯s new area code.


    Talk about timing.


    Garrett gazes at me. ¡°Do you need to get that?¡±


    ¡°Uh, yeah,¡± I stammer. ¡°It¡¯s my mom. Just a sec.¡±

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    I tap accept, and Thayer¡¯s husky voice filled my ears. ¡°Sutton?¡±


    I glance at Garrett, then step into the hall, which is freezing compared to our steamy room. Goose bumps rise on my skin. Water pools at my feet. ¡°What?¡± I snap impatiently.


    There¡¯s a pause. ¡°You sound angry,¡± Thayer says.


    ¡°Gee, I wonder why?¡± I retort. ¡°You call me and tell me you¡¯re gone but won¡¯t explain where you are. And then some girl laughs in the background, someone who¡¯s your friend, who can know where you are, and¡ª¡±


    ¡°I told you, Sutton, it¡¯s just not something I can explain right now,¡± Thayer interrupts. An edge creeps into his voice.


    ¡°Whatever,¡± I whisper.


    Suddenly, the door to our private room opens, and Garrett pokes his head out. ¡°I¡¯m going to raise the temperature in here, okay?¡±


    I turn back to Garrett, giving him a big smile. ¡°I love it hot,¡± I say loudly, not covering the phone.


    Garrett gives me a thumbs-up and closes the door again.


    ¡°Who was that?¡± Thayer asks, the suspicion weighty in his voice.


    ¡°Oh, just a friend,¡± I say. ¡°I have to go. See ya!¡±


    And then I hang up, just like he hung up on me. I saunter back to the treatment room, lowering myself into the extra-hot water with a little gasp. Garret reaches out an arm to help me in.


    ¡°Were you and your mom fighting?¡± he asks. ¡°You look kind of flushed. And I heard you yelling.¡±


    I wave my arm dismissively. ¡°Oh, it¡¯s nothing. You know, she¡¯s just, um, a little weird about gambling and stuff,¡± I say, thinking fast. I brush a stray lock of hair from my forehead. ¡°She doesn¡¯t want me to get arrested.¡±


    ¡°Antigambling? That¡¯s so . . . parental.¡± Garrett moves toward me with a twinkle in his eye. He wraps his arms around me and leans so that his lips are close to my ear. ¡°I say we gamble up a storm tonight. Roulette. Five-card stud.¡±


    ¡°What about . . . strip poker?¡± I tease.


    Garrett looks like he¡¯s going to pass out from excitement. ¡°I¡¯m game.¡±


    ¡°What Mom doesn¡¯t know won¡¯t hurt her,¡± I murmur, turning my head to kiss him once more.


    There are worse things in this world than the prospect of getting up close and personal with Garrett¡¯s super-toned body.


    As for Thayer, well . . . I guess we¡¯re both making new friends, aren¡¯t we? He¡¯ll just have to deal.


    7


    LUCK BE A LADY


    ¡°Last roll, teams!¡± Madeline calls out a few hours later as we¡¯re standing at the Venetian craps table. It¡¯s hazy and dark inside the casino, and the room is a blur of ringing bells and flashing lights. Half-naked waitresses displaying miles of spray-tanned flesh walk trays of cocktails up and down the floor, and every few minutes a cheer erupts from a table as someone strikes it big.


    Mads, Char, Laurel, and I are dressed in candy-colored party frocks and our highest heels, and Garrett and his two buddies were smart enough to bring along jackets to wear over their oxfords and jeans. A huge crowd, decked out in gowns and diamonds and sharp-looking suits, stands around us, watching. The croupier, who has slicked black hair and wears an immaculately fitting tuxedo, hands over a pair of red dice.


    Well, he doesn¡¯t hand it to me, but to a college-aged guy named Sam with a buzz cut, narrowed eyes, and beer breath.


    With the dice in his palm, Sam moves closer to me. Maybe a little too close, but whatever. ¡°Do your stuff, little lady.¡±


    I close my eyes and blow softly on the dice, wishing I knew a good-luck voodoo incantation. Sam grins, then shakes the dice in his cupped palm. They clink together musically. I meet Laurel¡¯s eye across the table. ¡°You¡¯re so going down,¡± I mouth.


    For our second challenge, Laurel and I are facing off as ¡°lucky dice blowers¡± to see whose player can win biggest. Yeah, yeah, technically, craps is a total game of chance, but I like to think that I have something to do with the way Sam is wiping the floor with Laurel¡¯s choice of craps player, an older, overweight dude who sort of looks like the dad from Family Guy.


    My overt victory totally makes up for the fact that with each roll of the dice¡ªand bottle of Corona¡ªSam has inched closer and closer to me. A couple times, I¡¯ve even felt his hand on my butt. I can sense Garrett looking at me, his face turning redder and redder, but I keep shooting him ¡°it¡¯s okay¡± glances.


    As Sam shakes the dice, Char checks her watch. ¡°When can we find Channing Tatum?¡± Char read that he was in town, and she¡¯s completely obsessed with stalking him.


    The croupier hands a pair of dice to Laurel¡¯s guy, whose name is Darrel¡ªor Derrick¡ªI¡¯m too bored with him to remember. Laurel leans over to blow on his dice, too, giving him a good peek at her cleavage. ¡°Good luck.¡±


    The players move their chips onto the appropriate pass line bets, which, from my crash course in craps from Garrett, mean that they are betting that their roll will win. Darrel-Derrick shakes the dice in his sweaty palms. He lets them go, and they tumble onto the table. Laurel holds her breath. Sam moves even closer to me. Every head around the table swivels to watch as they land.


    The croupier gives a swift nod. ¡°Snake eyes!¡±


    I make a fake-sympathetic face at my sister. ¡°Aw, better luck next time.¡± That won¡¯t be too hard to beat. I glance at Sam. ¡°Go for lucky seven,¡± I say, winking.


    He gives my butt a quick squeeze. Ugh. I can¡¯t wait until this challenge is over. ¡°You¡¯re my lucky charm. Let¡¯s do it.¡±


    He puts all his chips on seven. Laurel smirks at me, knowing this is a huge risk. But here, with this crowd, it¡¯s go big or go home.


    The dealer nods, tugging at his clip-on bow tie. Sam shakes the dice vigorously, then lets them go. As they fall to the table, he puts an arm around my shoulders, pulling me against him. We¡¯re so close his cheek stubble scratches the side of my face. Garrett shifts again, and his hand curls into a fist.


    The dice settle. The dealer examines them. I hold my breath, my heart pounding hard.


    ¡°Big red!¡± he pronounces. The dice read four and three¡ªseven.


    A roar of excitement explodes around the table. I don¡¯t have time to savor the crushed expression on Laurel¡¯s face, though, because suddenly Sam is lifting me off my feet, twirling me in an exuberant circle.


    ¡°We did it!¡± he exclaims, his breath hot on my cheek. He tightens his grip on me, and his hand slides farther and farther down my back until it¡¯s brushing against my butt.


    No, thank you. ¡°Um . . .¡± I press back from his chest, trying to get away. ¡°A leetle too close, my friend.¡±


    Sam drops me, but he looks annoyed. ¡°Honey, I let you blow on my dice. The least you can give me is a little kiss.¡±


    I try to laugh him off, but suddenly Sam is lunging for me, his lips puckered. A moment later, Garrett comes into view, his face red and splotchy, and yanks Sam away.


    ¡°Get your hands off of her,¡± he growls. He winds his arm back like he¡¯s going to throw a punch.


    ¡°Whoa.¡± Sam steps away. ¡°Easy, dude. What are you, like, twelve?¡±


    Garrett steps forward, his nostrils flaring. ¡°I¡¯m older than you think, dude.¡±


    Just as he¡¯s about to throw himself at Sam, a meaty hand clamps down on each of their shoulders, and a beefy security guard looms over us. ¡°Neither of you wants to do this in here,¡± he says curtly. ¡°You¡¯re both out.¡±


    ¡°Are you kidding me?¡± Garrett smashes his glass of club soda to the ground, sending a spray of ice across the floor. People pause from their slot-machine trances. Players at a nearby blackjack table whirl around. Sam gathers his chips from the table and steps away, staring at Garrett like he¡¯s insane. I look at Garrett, too, my heart pounding quickly. With his flared nostrils and wild blue eyes, he does look a little unhinged.


    The security guard grabs Garrett by the arm. ¡°I¡¯m dead serious. If you don¡¯t want to get arrested for disorderly conduct, you¡¯ll leave. Now.¡±


    Garrett¡¯s jaw tightens and he clenches his fists at his side, almost like he¡¯s going to deck the security guy, too. Then he exhales and succumbs. ¡°Fine,¡± he mutters. ¡°Sutton, I¡¯ll text you.¡±


    Tucker and Marcus follow Garrett out of the casino. Sam and Darrel-Derrick wander off in the opposite direction. Laurel¡¯s eyes are wide. Madeline¡¯s blink rapidly. Charlotte seems embarrassed, like she¡¯s seen this before. Her words swirl back to me: He¡¯s a ball of moods since that stuff with Louisa.


    But whatever. It¡¯s nice that Garrett stood up for me. Would Thayer have? Probably not. All he does is run away.


    I saunter toward the bar, suddenly in desperate need of a drink. ¡°Put that in the Google doc, girls,¡± I trill. ¡°It looks like round two goes to me.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± Mads says, following behind. ¡°Round two of the Sudden Death Tournament definitely goes to Sutton.¡±


    ¡°I think she should get points deducted for all of the drama,¡± Laurel says primly. ¡°That was embarrassing.¡±


    ¡°I think I should get points added,¡± I snap. ¡°When was the last time a guy defended any of you from a random perv?¡±


    Laurel straightens up, pushes her hair over her shoulder. ¡°Just wait until the next challenge, Sutton,¡± she announces. ¡°I¡¯m going to kick your butt.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll see about that,¡± I say, leaning forward to order my drink. Tonight is just the beginning of my lucky streak. And the beginning of the end for my sister.


    8


    GIRLS GONE WILD


    After the casino, the four of us decide to get some air and walk down the strip. I have no idea where Garrett has gone¡ªhe¡¯s not answering his phone¡ªbut maybe that¡¯s okay. It¡¯s probably better if he blows off some steam on his own.


    My phone buzzes in my bag, and my heart leaps. Maybe it¡¯s Garrett¡ªor Thayer. But when I slip it out of my clutch, it¡¯s just my mom, texting to check in. I swallow my disappointment. I haven¡¯t heard one word from Thayer. Nothing since I hung up on him at the spa. No worried text about the ¡°friend¡± I was with. Does he just not care anymore? Are we truly . . . done?


    As we walk down the outdoor overpass of the Venetian¡¯s breathtaking man-made canal, I soak in the carnival of Las Vegas at night and try to revel in my victory, but I¡¯m just cranky and annoyed. Forget about Thayer, I tell myself over and over, but it¡¯s not really that easy.


    Next to me, Mads is quiet, too. The stack of slim gold bangles on her wrist brushes against my hips as we move. She stares blankly at the New York-New York Roller Coaster as we pass.


    ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± I ask her, low enough that Charlotte and Laurel, who are ahead of us, watching a street performer who randomly transforms from a roller-skating robot into a monster truck, can¡¯t hear.


    She casts her gaze toward the sidewalk. ¡°Nothing.¡±


    ¡°Come on.¡±


    She looks at me. ¡°I¡¯m just thinking about Thayer. I hope that wherever he is, he¡¯s okay.¡±


    Guilt smothers me like a blanket. I hate that Thayer has even put me in this position. ¡°I¡¯m sure he is,¡± I say.

 Page 8

    ¡°How can you know for sure?¡± she asks. She gazes at me, her eyes searching my face.


    I open my mouth to reply but don¡¯t know what to say. Before I can figure it out, Charlotte signals from up ahead. ¡°Come on, guys!¡±


    I pat Madeline¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Thayer¡¯s okay. I can just feel it. Come on.¡±


    Madeline nods and runs toward Char and Laurel. I watch her hair bouncing against her back, getting another pang. When I hear from Thayer again¡ªif I hear from Thayer again¡ªI¡¯m going to tell him he has to get in touch with Madeline and let her know he¡¯s okay.


    We turn a corner to a side street, and instantly the steady pulse of deep bass echoes in my ears. Up ahead is a length of wine-colored velvet rope in front of a door. A long line snakes down the sidewalk. There¡¯s no name over the door, though. No indication of where we are.


    Charlotte stops and takes in the scene. ¡°What do you think that is?¡±


    We all stop to consider. A horde of girls huddle, smiling widely, like MTV is holding an open casting for a new reality show. They¡¯re all model-gorgeous and clad in sky-high heels and sparkling minidresses, with curtains of smooth, shiny hair swinging in perfectly flat-ironed sheets down their backs. Next to them stand lacquered men in creaseless button-down shirts and gleaming Prada loafers.


    From around the opposite corner, a tall African American woman with a killer body and close-cropped hair appears. She wears a black fedora, an electric-blue leather jumpsuit that fits like a second skin, and a pair of violet-studded peep-toe platforms that I know from last month¡¯s Vogue are limited-edition Louboutins. She¡¯s flocked by three burly men, the tallest of whom wears an earpiece and scowls menacingly at anyone who happens to catch his eye. The men push through the sea of eager club-hoppers. The throng fans out in two directions, revealing a small staircase to a glowing blue grotto one level down.


    Leather Jumpsuit tips her fedora down over one eye and sweeps out of sight. The model wannabes chatter excitedly in her wake.


    ¡°Guys, do you know who that was?¡± Charlotte¡¯s eyes are wide. ¡°Rihanna!¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Laurel looks awed.


    Char nods. ¡°Which means that club¡±¡ªshe points to the descending staircase¡ª¡°must be Saucy!¡±


    Laurel fixes her with a blank expression. ¡°What¡¯s Saucy?¡±


    I burst out laughing. To my relief, Mads does, too. ¡°Um, were you not listening to me the whole car ride here?¡± she asks haughtily. ¡°Saucy. The most exclusive club in Vegas? It just opened. Jay-Z owns it, I think.¡±


    ¡°God, Laurel.¡± I can¡¯t resist getting in a jab. ¡°How could you not know that?¡±


    ¡°I did know that,¡± Laurel says quickly. ¡°I just forgot.¡±


    Madeline pirouettes so that the slight A-line of her pewter silk slip dress sways against her legs. A sly look crosses her face. ¡°If Channing Tatum is in town this weekend, I bet he¡¯s in there.¡± She glances meaningfully at Charlotte.


    Charlotte arches her eyebrows. It¡¯s like a lightbulb switches on over her head. She turns to Laurel with authority. ¡°You¡¯re up. Get us in.¡±


    Laurel swallows hard. Her eyes dart to the crowd of people waiting to get in. For a minute, I feel another flicker of pity for her. Laurel is perfectly cute, and her Alice and Olivia minidress flatters her toned, athletic body, but the people on line for Saucy are practically inhuman, like aliens from Planet Gorgeousness or something.


    But a determined spark comes into Laurel¡¯s eyes. ¡°You got it.¡±


    We exchange a glance as she walks down the sidewalk. Mads looks at me. ¡°Do you think she can do it?¡±


    I shrug. ¡°It¡¯s Laurel. No way.¡±


    Laurel heads to the front of the line and shoulders her way up to the bouncer.


    Everyone waiting glares at her. A couple of people call out for her to go to the back of the line where she belongs. My stomach swirls. Laurel¡¯s in for the rejection of a lifetime; they¡¯re going to laugh her back to Tucson.


    Laurel reaches the bouncer, stands on tiptoe, and cups her mouth as she whispers something into his ear. The clubbers in line catcall and complain. After a moment, the bouncer¡¯s eyes flicker over Madeline, Charlotte, and me.


    Laurel looks up, catches our eyes, and winks slowly. At the same time, the bouncer glances our way again and beckons us in.


    What?


    Charlotte squeezes Madeline¡¯s arm. ¡°She did it!¡± she squeals in disbelief.


    ¡°Oh my God, I¡¯m losing it!¡± Madeline cries, clutching her chest.


    She grabs my arm and hauls me toward the entrance. I plaster a tight smile on my face as the three of us stagger forward, ignoring the other clubbers¡¯ protests. As soon as Mads and Char reach Laurel, they engulf her in a squealing, giggling, excited, dance-y hug. I stand at the fringes, my arms crossed over my chest, pretending I¡¯m too cool for such displays, but inside, I feel like I¡¯m sinking. It¡¯s like I don¡¯t even exist.


    We teeter down the staircase to the club. I tug Laurel¡¯s bare arm. ¡°What did you do to get us in?¡± I snap, unable to keep the annoyance out of my voice. ¡°Offer him improbable sums of cash? Extravagant favors? Because if you did anything illegal, you totally have to forfeit.¡±


    Laurel smiles mysteriously. ¡°I didn¡¯t do anything illegal, I promise. But it¡¯s for me to know and you to wonder about!¡±


    Mads and Char give me excited ¡°Isn¡¯t she amazing?¡± glances, and I just shrug. But I have to wonder: Could I have done it?


    We step into the club. It¡¯s got sunken velvet banquettes with votives on every table. Drum and bass thrum through the air, and even annoyed-little-me can¡¯t resist the urge to dance. A hostess in a dress that barely covers her butt appears and announces she¡¯s our escort. She leads us across the main club, which has a huge dance floor and girls swinging from trapezes, past a Gothic-style arched doorway, and into a small, smoky back room. People are tucked into private banquettes. Gorgeous creatures lean against the bar, sipping cocktails. I look right and left, certain that everyone is famous.


    ¡°Here you go, ladies.¡± The hostess smiles and gestures to the intimate little space around us. ¡°The VIP room.¡±


    Mads and Char exchange another blown-away glance. ¡°The VIP room?¡± Char mouths. I¡¯m so angry I can¡¯t even look Laurel in the eye. How the hell did she score this?


    The hostess seats us at a banquette and passes us a small leather booklet. ¡°This is our list of signature cocktails,¡± she says. ¡°But if there¡¯s anything you¡¯d like that you don¡¯t see on the menu, I¡¯m sure your waiter can arrange that for you.¡± Then she turns on her heel and glides away, the curves of her bare back flawless in her filmy cocktail dress.


    ¡°Um, she knows we don¡¯t have IDs, right?¡± I ask, surly.


    Charlotte snorts. ¡°Oh, please. Like it matters.¡±


    A beanpole-thin waiter in dark-framed hipster glasses arrives at our table. ¡°The gentleman at the next table would like to buy your first round,¡± he says, pointing to a cute, tall guy with shockingly white teeth. He¡¯s already sitting with four tall women who certainly must be models but, apparently, figures the more, the merrier.


    The waiter hovers while we decide. ¡°Four vodka cranberries,¡± Laurel orders for us. I snap to attention. That¡¯s our favorite drink. It¡¯s what I would have ordered for us. How did she know that?


    Moments later our drinks arrive, beads of condensation running down the sides of the tumblers. I study the glasses, then frown. ¡°You didn¡¯t ask for lime wedges, Laurel,¡± I say primly. ¡°We always get our drinks with lime.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Laurel looks cowed, then swivels around for the waiter. ¡°Maybe I can ask him. . . .¡±


    ¡°Forget it.¡± Madeline catches her arm. ¡°Sutton¡¯s just being grouchy.¡±


    ¡°And a sore loser.¡± Char holds up her glass. ¡°C¡¯mon, Sutton. Be happy! We¡¯re in Vegas!¡±


    I begrudgingly hold up my glass to toast. As the tart liquid hits my lips, I begin to calm down. Maybe I am making too big a deal out of this. Besides, Laurel is up one measly challenge. I¡¯ll certainly win the rest.


    The music turns over, the DJ smoothly mixing Lady Gaga in, and the mood in the room shifts, becoming more frenetic and upbeat. The guy at the table next to us raises his glass in our direction, and we nod a quick¡ªbut not overly encouraging¡ªthank-you. I take another sip. The alcohol is warming my stomach as it hits my system, and I sway sexily to the beat. Come to think of it, Saucy is pretty amazing.


    Laurel jumps up and grabs my wrist. ¡°Let¡¯s dance. I love this song.¡±


    Admittedly, I do, too. I take another gulp of my drink, surprised to find more than half of it gone by now. Then I follow Laurel out to the dance floor, with Madeline and Charlotte not far behind. Laurel shines like a disco ball as she moves, and all at once, I¡¯m almost . . . proud of her. She did get us in here, after all. She catches me smiling at her and grins back like she knows what I¡¯m thinking.


    Suddenly, the music stops and the room falls quiet. The DJ¡¯s voice blares over the mike. ¡°Is there a Sutton in the house?¡±


    I stop. What does the DJ want with me?


    Madeline and Charlotte jump in, pointing at me and calling out. Suddenly, a spotlight floods over me, practically blinding me. All sorts of fantasies flicker in my mind. Maybe a model scout has just discovered me. Maybe a director wants to bring me to Hollywood. Maybe someone just wants to give a shout-out that I¡¯m super-awesome. Or maybe my friends arranged this, a sign that I¡¯m still their favorite, that Laurel can¡¯t compare.


    The DJ¡¯s voice booms through the microphone. ¡°This one¡¯s for you, honey!¡± he calls. He drops a record onto his turntable, and a remix of ¡°I Will Survive¡± kicks in. Drunken, ebullient cheers erupt, and every head in the room swivels to look at my reaction. I bob back and forth for a few beats, but I¡¯m confused. This isn¡¯t my favorite song. I don¡¯t even know it that well. And isn¡¯t it about a pissed-off woman who got kicked around by a jerky guy?


    ¡°I just want to say, he¡¯s not worth it, Sutton!¡± the DJ screams.


    And then a tall guy lurches toward me and spins me around. ¡°I¡¯ll totally go out with you,¡± he mumbles. He grabs me around the waist and dips me to the ground, prompting another round of cheering. Shrieking, actually. And maybe . . . laughter?


    I untangle myself from my dance partner, confused. The music rises again. I glance around and see that Laurel is doubled over, laughing so hard her midnight-blue mascara is beginning to run.


    ¡°What the hell is going on?¡± I demand. ¡°What was that all about?¡±


    Laurel wipes her eyes. ¡°You should have seen your face, Sutton. That was amazing.¡± She cascades into another round of giggles.


    ¡°What was amazing?¡± I demand.


    Laurel beckons my friends close. She leans in, straining to be heard over the music. ¡°You¡¯re gonna love this, guys,¡± she says, more to them than to me. ¡°I told everyone Sutton was stood up at the altar.¡± She looks at me. ¡°The reason the bouncer let us in was because he felt sorry for you, Sutton!¡±

 Page 9

    ¡°Laurel, that is ingenious!¡± Madeline says.


    ¡°Did you set up that DJ thing, too?¡± Char asks.


    ¡°That¡¯s the best part,¡± Laurel says excitedly. ¡°He did that all on his own! Poor little Sutton. I guess he thought she needed a good cry!¡±


    Mads and Char giggle, then turn to me. When they see my face¡ªI must not be smiling¡ªboth of them wrap their arms around me. ¡°Come on, Sutton. It¡¯s funny!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not like you¡¯re really a jilted bride!¡± Charlotte says.


    Not that you know, I think. Jilted bride, no, but jilted secret girlfriend . . . yes. I allow myself a split second to wallow, hating Laurel and Thayer with all my might. Pranks aren¡¯t so funny when you¡¯re the butt of the joke. I can feel everyone in the club staring at me, pitying me. No one thinks I¡¯m fabulous. No one wants me to be a model or an actress. I feel humiliated that I even thought that.


    But if I storm off now, they¡¯ll think I¡¯m a baby, that I can¡¯t handle it. So I force the corners of my mouth up in as convincing a smile as I can manage and begin to dance like nothing is bothering me. But everything is bothering me. I feel off my game¡ªwith everything. Thayer. My friends. My sister. My control.


    And all of a sudden, it feels almost impossible to get it back.


    9


    TIED UP IN KNOTS


    It¡¯s eleven A.M. on Sunday, our last day in Vegas, and my last day to trounce Laurel in the Sudden Death challenge. We¡¯re all standing in the lobby, considering what to do. I¡¯ve already hit a sunrise yoga session, followed by a decadently long shower in our suite¡¯s enormous rain-forest stall. I¡¯m pumped. I¡¯m focused. I¡¯m ready for whatever they¡¯re going to throw at me. After the jilted-bride stunt last night, I¡¯m not going to let Laurel get the best of me again. I¡¯ll do whatever it takes.


    I spin on my heel toward the revolving doors and stare out at the street. ¡°What do you guys want to do? I think we should ride the New York-New York Roller Coaster.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a roller coaster here?¡± Laurel asks, wide-eyed.


    ¡°Dude, I kind of feel like I already am riding it.¡± Tucker, Garrett¡¯s friend, groans and clutches his stomach. He, Garrett, and Marcus are all looking green and pasty this morning¡ªthey bragged that they¡¯d gotten in at four A.M. from partying.


    I put one hand on my hip and wag a finger at Tucker. ¡°If you can¡¯t hold your liquor, then you can¡¯t keep up with us.¡±


    Tucker gives Garrett a pleading look. ¡°Can you reason with her? I can¡¯t do a roller coaster this morning.¡±


    ¡°You boys can roller-coaster all you want,¡± Madeline jumps in. ¡°But Sutton, Laurel, Char, and I have other plans.¡±


    She says it with such authority that we all stare at her. ¡°And what would those plans be?¡± I ask.


    Madeline flushes and fiddles with the tassel on her purse. ¡°You¡¯ll see.¡± Mads heads to the revolving doors. ¡°Meet me outside!¡±


    Garrett touches my arm. ¡°I need to take care of some trouble the boys and I got into last night.¡±


    ¡°What did you guys do last night, anyway?¡± I cock my head at him, imagining a Hangover-style scenario.


    ¡°We ended up playing poker out by the pool. We joined a game and this one¡±¡ªhe jerks his thumb toward Tucker, who has now collapsed on the chaise¡ª¡°put up his father¡¯s watch for collateral after he ran out of cash. We should go hit an ATM and get it back from those guys.¡±


    I twirl my locket between my fingers. ¡°You know you¡¯d have more fun with me.¡±


    He holds my gaze and smiles. ¡°Trust me, I know. But we¡¯ll catch up with you later. How about a one-on-one swim at the pool this afternoon?¡±


    ¡°Deal.¡±


    He gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. There¡¯s a sniff behind me and, out of the corner of my eye, I see Charlotte adjusting her tank top, pretending not to watch.


    The boys head off. Now it¡¯s just the four of us again, wandering down the strip, Madeline in the lead.


    ¡°Where are we going?¡± I call out to her.


    ¡°It¡¯s a surprise,¡± Madeline trills. She shoots a naughty smile to Charlotte. Laurel smiles, too. Does she know? She¡¯d better not, if it has to do with a challenge.


    A bright white party van speeds past, house music pouring out of the tinted windows. A sweaty, red-faced woman with crimped blonde hair peeks out of the sunroof, a plastic tiara attached to a mesh veil trailing behind her in the van¡¯s wake. It¡¯s obviously a bachelorette party, getting an early start on the day¡¯s festivities. We walk for a while, and then Madeline stops short in front of a wild, over-the-top costume shop. The windows are crowded with headless silver mannequins draped in tutus, feather boas, and enough sequins to make a stripper call ¡°uncle.¡±


    ¡°Here¡¯s the place, girls,¡± Madeline says slyly, a small smile on her face.


    I frown. ¡°Here? Why? It looks like Mardi Gras threw up inside.¡±


    Madeline taps her lips. ¡°Let¡¯s just say I feel a little late-morning challenge coming on.¡± Her eyes glimmer.


    I eye a pair of thigh-high black vinyl boots with a fuchsia lace-up design. They¡¯re paired with a plunging, open-front leotard that reveals fuchsia tiger-print pasties capped in silver-fringed tassels. ¡°What do you want us to do in here?¡± I ask.


    Charlotte takes a swig from the plastic water bottle she¡¯s been carrying and nods excitedly. ¡°This, girls, is a race. You have five minutes in the costume shop. The girl who comes out in the best costume wins.¡±


    I scoff. ¡°That¡¯s the dumbest challenge I¡¯ve ever heard.¡±


    Laurel gives me a warning glance. ¡°Does that mean you forfeit?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I say toughly, turning toward the store. There is absolutely no way I¡¯m losing another challenge. ¡°Bring it on.¡±


    Charlotte glances at her slim, gold Movado watch. ¡°Time starts . . . now!¡±


    Laurel and I bolt inside. The room smells like mothballs, and the aisles are a jumble of showgirl-ready metallic lam¨¦, lace, and satin. Fortunately, there are no other customers in here this early in the day. At least we can do our extreme shopping in peace.


    I spin around the place, trying to decide what the ¡°best¡± costume might be. Something garish? Scary? Slutty? Just over-the-top? I survey a wall of rainbow-colored fishnet tights, flapper dresses, Elvis masks, costume jewelry, and ball gowns, and then I spy it: a gloriously retro, puffed-sleeve explosion of a Queen of Hearts costume. Between the sweeping, ruffled, full skirt, the boned corset bodice covered in a graffiti heart print, and the flame-red, sausage-curled Victorian wig, the effect is Tim Burton on acid.


    I lunge for it on the wall. Another hand touches it at exactly the same time.


    ¡°I saw it first,¡± Laurel growls, tugging the dress toward her.


    ¡°You did not!¡± I leap forward. ¡°It¡¯s mine!¡±


    We each grab on to a pink polka-dotted sleeve and tug violently. ¡°You¡¯re going to rip it,¡± I hiss.


    ¡°No, you are,¡± Laurel says.


    The bracelet Thayer gave her gleams close to my face. I want to lean forward and rip it off her wrist. But instead, I give a sharp pull to the dress. It falls from the wall, still on its hanger, into my arms. Laurel reels back, stumbling onto the carpet. I lord it over her, grinning.


    ¡°You lose,¡± I tease.


    Laurel glares at me and straightens back up, brushing a stray blonde tendril from her forehead. ¡°Whatever. Maybe I lost, but at least I¡¯m not a heartless bitch.¡±


    I hug the dress tighter, hearing the fabric rustle. ¡°I¡¯m a heartless bitch? You¡¯re the one who made fun of me at the club with that stupid jilted-bride thing!¡±


    Laurel¡¯s expression crumples. ¡°I thought it was funny. I¡ªI¡¯m sorry. You didn¡¯t?¡±


    I thrust my chin in the air, annoyed that I showed any vulnerability. And please, like Laurel really didn¡¯t know how mean she was being? ¡°It was lame, Laurel, just like you are.¡±


    Laurel blinks hard. ¡°Sutton, why don¡¯t you want me in the club?¡±


    She¡¯s leaning against a rack of flesh-colored bodysuits, suddenly looking small and wounded. It¡¯s such a direct question that it knocks me off guard. ¡°Because I don¡¯t think you deserve it,¡± I snap. ¡°Besides, why do you want in so bad?¡±


    Two red spots bloom on Laurel¡¯s cheeks. ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious?¡±


    I shrug. Maybe it is obvious. We¡¯re the club to be part of. And more than that, Laurel has to steal everything of mine. All the affection. All the attention. And now this, too.


    But then, ducking her head, Laurel says, ¡°I miss being friends with you.¡±


    I step back, blinking hard. ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°Like we used to be. We had so much fun. I . . . miss that.¡±


    My arms go slack and my mouth drops open. As I struggle to regain my composure, the salesclerk pops up, bobbing in front of us nervously. ¡°Everything okay here? Would you like a fitting room for that?¡± She eyes the Queen of Hearts dress in my hands.


    Laurel brightens. ¡°She totally wants a fitting room! Sutton, you have to try it on.¡±


    I look at her curiously. Why is she being so nice now? I glance at my watch¡ªthe five minutes are probably almost up. ¡°I don¡¯t need to try it on, I just want to buy it,¡± I start to say, but the salesgirl has already taken the dress from me. The minute she turns, Laurel speeds over to her, snatching the dress. She holds it over her head in victory.


    ¡°You bitch!¡± I scream, lunging after her. But it¡¯s too late¡ªLaurel already has it on the counter, and she¡¯s whipped out her credit card. I can¡¯t believe her composure, and I wonder: Was everything she just said about wanting to be friends again just to disarm me a little?


    Fuming, I scan the floor for something I might have missed. And then I spy a perfect latex replica of Lady Gaga¡¯s meat dress, glistening with a coat of wax that renders it completely grotesque and lifelike.


    Nice. Without missing a beat, I duck behind a tall rack of fishnet and marabou accessories, shamelessly shimmy out of my strappy sundress, and shrug the plastic meat down the length of my body. It looks ridiculous, but also kind of awesome.


    ¡°Here,¡± I say to another salesgirl who is prowling behind me, about to tell me I can¡¯t change clothes in the middle of the store. ¡°I¡¯m taking this.¡± I dig into my wallet, pull out a fistful of twenty-dollar bills, and shove them at her, and run outside.


    Mads and Charlotte are both bent over their phones, distracted, when I step outside. When they see me, they slowly drop their phones into their bags and actually gasp in disbelief. ¡°Amazing, Sutton,¡± Madeline says, awed.


    ¡°I know.¡± I spin to give them the full 360-degree view. The plastic meat is heavy and cold, and I¡¯m relieved the dress is just a replica. Passersby notice me and hoot appreciatively.


    The door of the shop swings open a second time, and Laurel¡¯s footsteps sound behind me. Her Queen of Hearts dress crinkles with her every movement. ¡°Check me out!¡± she crows. She prances toward us, curtsying like a Disney princess and fanning out the costume¡¯s full skirt. The clown-red curls of the wig brush against her pale cheeks and the gaudy tiara on her head sparkles. She glows . . . until she realizes where I am and what I¡¯m wearing.

 Page 10

    Her face falls. ¡°Oh,¡± she manages.


    ¡°Yeah, oh,¡± I shoot back. ¡°All sorts of stuff can happen when your back is turned, huh?¡±


    Charlotte clears her throat. ¡°Good job, Laurel,¡± she starts. ¡°Love the wig. But Sutton killed it this round. Sorry.¡±


    Laurel mumbles something indecipherable under her breath, and Mads pats her shoulder reassuringly. ¡°Laurel, she¡¯s wearing meat,¡± she points out, stifling a giggle. ¡°We have to give it to her.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right, bitch!¡± I crow. ¡°And I don¡¯t look . . . meaty in it, either,¡± I say, looking critically at Laurel¡¯s arms. Our almost heart-to-heart¡ªand Laurel¡¯s deceit¡ªrankles me and I want to stamp out any memory of it.


    ¡°Well, at least half of Vegas doesn¡¯t think I got stood up at the altar,¡± Laurel shoots back defensively.


    I snicker meanly. ¡°At least they think I was in an actual relationship. Laurel, when was the last time you had a boyfriend? All I¡¯ve ever seen you do is trail behind Thayer like a puppy dog.¡±


    Laurel¡¯s mouth opens and closes. Tears dot her eyes. Then I notice Charlotte¡¯s shocked expression and Madeline¡¯s tight one.


    For a split second, I wonder if I¡¯ve gone too far. You should be nicer to Laurel, Thayer¡¯s voice floats back to me. She looks up to you. And I think of Garrett, too, and how caring he is for his sister. How lucky she is to have him.


    ¡°That was low, even for you, Sutton,¡± she says, her voice quiet. And then they all head into the costume shop so Laurel can change back into street clothes.


    ¡°Mads,¡± I say weakly. ¡°Char?¡± Laurel played dirty, too, I want to tell them. She tricked me.


    But I have a feeling that, right now, they don¡¯t want to hear it.


    10


    DOWN TO THE WIRE


    Later that afternoon, Garrett and I are sitting in a private Bellagio cabana next to the glittering swimming pool. Due to the 110-degree heat, it¡¯s clogged with people in trunks and bikinis, each person more beautiful and toned than the last. Caribbean music plays over the speakers, and the air is fraught with the smell of hot dogs and hamburgers on the grill.


    Once again, I¡¯m so glad I invited Garrett along. I¡¯d felt unsettled after the last challenge, but after a few hours of relaxation with him poolside, I¡¯ve decided to chalk my guilty feelings up to temporary insanity. Laurel asked for this, after all. If she wants into the Lying Game, she has to toughen up.


    I leap up and pull Garrett to stand, too. ¡°I¡¯m bored,¡± I say. ¡°Let¡¯s race.¡±


    ¡°A swimming race?¡± Garrett¡¯s eyes twinkle. ¡°Okay.¡±


    ¡°Once around the middle fountain.¡± I extend an index finger to clarify. The streams of water spurting from the center of the pool shimmer like an oasis. ¡°First one back here wins.¡± I adjust the straps on my white crocheted bikini in preparation, bouncing on my toes. Suddenly, I¡¯m itching to compete¡ªand win. I want to keep my muscles limber for the next and final Lying Game challenge, whenever Mads and Char decide to drop it on me. Laurel and I are tied, so whoever wins the last challenge will win it all. And the winner has to be me.


    All at once, Garrett bursts into movement and pushes me backward lightly, teasing. ¡°One, two, three . . . GO!¡± he shouts, a devilish look in his eyes. He dashes for the pool, a blur in blue-and-red madras.


    ¡°Oh, you are so dead!¡± I dart after him.


    He races to the deep end of the pool and plunges in. I dive in after him.


    The water hits my skin like a cool wave of satin. I head in the opposite direction around the fountain, determined to complete a lap faster than him.


    I flutter forward, the current of the fountain bubbling to my left. Garrett¡¯s blond hair waves underwater as he heads toward me. I kick faster, picking up the pace. Just as Garrett moves directly into my peripheral vision, his fingers brush against my leg. I squirm, and they clamp down on my ankle. He pulls me toward him, wrapping an arm around my waist, and we break the surface together, the spray from the fountain dotting our shoulders like a light rainfall.


    I smile at the drops of water clinging to his eyelashes. ¡°You play dirty.¡±


    He grins and pulls my face closer to his. ¡°Do you have a problem with that?¡±


    I shake my head. ¡°You win. Here¡¯s your prize.¡± I lean in for a kiss. I let my lips linger on his, tasting the slight tingle of chlorine. Then I pull back and dunk him playfully.


    He bursts from underwater sputtering. ¡°Okay. Now, we¡¯re even.¡±


    I paddle toward a raft that¡¯s parked along the edge of the pool and pull it in, climbing on top. ¡°To the victor go the spoils,¡± I say, leaning back and closing my eyes.


    ¡°Victor? I thought we were even,¡± Garrett protests.


    ¡°We were.¡± I drape an arm over my eyes languidly. ¡°But then you lost the rematch to the raft. Sorry.¡±


    He laughs and splashes a light drizzle of water over my shoulders, making goose bumps break out on my arms, although they¡¯re quickly warmed by the blazing sun. For a few minutes, it feels like paradise. I don¡¯t think about anything that¡¯s wrong. I don¡¯t think about losing my club to my sister. I don¡¯t think about how it¡¯s Sunday and we¡¯re going to have to drive through the night to make it back to school tomorrow. I just hold Garrett¡¯s hands and float off.


    ¡°I wish I could stay here forever,¡± I whisper.


    ¡°Me, too,¡± Garrett says, and then he leans into the raft and kisses me again.


    An hour later the sun begins to set, painting vivid, fiery streaks across the sky. I shrug into a Juicy terry-cloth cover-up, ready to head back to my suite and maybe chill with some trashy reality TV before dinner. Garrett pulls a T-shirt on and steps into his sandals. ¡°Walk you back?¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± I say, offering him my arm.


    We make our way through the soaring lobby of the hotel, my flip-flops slapping against the marble tile. Soon enough, the elevator doors slide open, and we walk down the hallway to the Emperor Suite. I slip my key card into the lock and swing the door to the suite open. Something in the room seems . . . different. After a moment, I realize what it is.


    ¡°My leather jacket is gone.¡± Then I walk into the suite and check the bed. ¡°So is my tote.¡± I¡¯d used it for the spa.


    I peek in the closet, then under the bed, thinking the cleaning staff might have moved them there. Both are empty. ¡°Were you robbed?¡± Garrett asks. ¡°Should I call security?¡±


    ¡°Hang on,¡± I say faintly. I scan the room more closely. It¡¯s only my things that are missing: my yellow, floral Kate Spade makeup bag, which I¡¯d left strewn, half-open, eyeliners and eyelash curlers spilling all over the round, dark wood table in the dining nook; my Kindle Fire, which had been on the table alongside my makeup; and my Mason Pearson paddle brush. Char¡¯s Tory Burch satchel is still here. So are Mads¡¯s diamond earrings. But Laurel¡¯s Kate Spade bag isn¡¯t. Nor are her sandals and tie-dyed sarong.


    Puzzled, I head into the bedroom I¡¯d been sharing with Mads. Her stuff is exactly where it was this morning, her wedge espadrilles tangled by the bed in a heap alongside some strappy, patent stiletto sandals, and her yoga pants draped across the back of the velvet chair in the corner of the room. The queen bed I¡¯d claimed as my own is meticulously made up, satin pillows and thick, luxurious throws artfully draped across its surface. But nothing else lies on the bed¡ªnot the four different bikinis I tried and rejected before heading out to meet Garrett, not my vintage Louis Vuitton luggage. Running to the closet, I see that everything that was packed in the luggage is gone, too.


    Panic tickling my stomach, I glance at the safe, which swings open easily. Also empty. I think of my oriental silk jewelry roll. Inside it was my prized locket; I¡¯d taken it off before going to the pool. It¡¯s gone, too.


    ¡°What the hell?¡± My heart pounds.


    ¡°Um, Sutton,¡± Garrett calls from the living room. ¡°I think this is for you.¡±


    He¡¯s holding out a creamy peach-colored envelope with my name on it. ¡°It was on the coffee table,¡± he says in a puzzled voice.


    I pluck the card from his hands and rip it open. The message is etched in Charlotte¡¯s formal script, in flowing gray ink.


    Ms. Sutton Mercer:


    You are cordially commanded


    to the Grand Finale


    of the Lying Game Sudden Death Tournament.


    Come to the amusement park on the edge of the strip.


    RSVP: regrets are not an option.


    Sincerely,


    The Lying Game


    Understanding settles over me. This is it. The final challenge.


    Garrett puts a warm hand on my shoulder, peering to check out the note. ¡°What¡¯s that all about?¡±


    I hide the card from him. ¡°Nothing,¡± I say dismissively. ¡°But it looks like I¡¯m going to be busy for a bit.¡±


    ¡°No problem.¡± Garrett pecks me on the cheek. ¡°I¡¯ll go meet up with the guys.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± I say, pulling back and looking him in the eyes. ¡°This won¡¯t take long.¡±


    It¡¯s time to show Baby Sis who the real star of the show was, is, and always will be.


    11


    PARKS AND RECREATION


    An hour later, I stand at the edge of the amusement park. The sweet, fried scent of funnel cake wafts through the air. Lights from arcade games flash wildly, and there¡¯s a loud shriek from the fun house. I glance right and left, wondering where the others are. To my right is the open part of the park with all the rides. To the left, blocked off by a big gate, is the rest of the park, which is closed for construction.


    This is it, Sutton, I tell myself. Game on.


    I exhale, nervous, and run my fingers through my hair. I¡¯ve changed into a ¡°borrowed¡± pair of Mads¡¯s J Brand skinnies and tossed on one of her fleece hoodies, figuring she owes me, seeing as how she and Char are the ones who took my stuff in the first place. But even swathed in several layers, the evening feels cool and I shiver. More than that, I¡¯ve always found amusement parks a little eerie.


    I hear a rustle and whirl around, but I don¡¯t see anyone. The rustling sounds again, and suddenly someone taps my shoulder. I turn around and scream. I¡¯m looking straight at a dead ringer for Bozo. He wears chalky whiteface, a giant red smile lined in greasy black pencil, and tufts of orange ¡°hair¡± spike out over each ear. No wonder I find amusement parks creepy.


    ¡°Sutton Mercer?¡± the clown asks, his grin spreading into a wide rictus. His accordion collar bobs as he talks. The pom-pom buttons on the front of his suit are as large as saucers.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I say, wary.


    ¡°This is for you.¡± He plucks a horn from a pocket on the front of his traffic-cone orange jumper and tweaks its rubber honker. A shower of confetti sprays over me as the horn coughs out a little square of folded paper. A note.


    I sidle into the shaft of acid-yellow light cast by an overhead fluorescent lamp and eagerly unfold the missive. It¡¯s a full-color map of the park along with a note, again in Charlotte¡¯s calligraphy script and that expensive dove-gray ink: Complete the hunt, and you¡¯ll get back the item you treasure most.

 Page 11

    The item I treasure most? Easy: my locket. My neckline feels naked without it. And . . . a treasure hunt. For whatever reason, I¡¯ve always been freakishly good at treasure hunts. I have this challenge in the bag.


    And I do have it in the bag¡ªfor a while, anyway. Mads and Char first send me to crash a wedding performed by Elvis in the Little White Chapel, which I do with panache. Elvis hands me the next clue, which sends me to the Ad¨¦lie penguin exhibit, where I have to reach into the tank to grab my next mission. I catch sight of Laurel creeping into the penguin habitat just as I am leaving, and I resist the urge to gloat. Good luck, I think. You¡¯ll need it.


    Then I look at the next clue. Boo! it says. That¡¯s it. I unfold the map again. Huh. Maybe they mean the haunted house.


    I follow the map to the Mansion of the Macabre. It¡¯s in the under-construction part of the park at the absolute farthest corner of the compound, lit only by a single flickering fluorescent lamp that buzzes like an active hornet¡¯s nest.


    The steps to the mansion are covered in soot and old, discarded ride tickets. Its arched windows are cracked, cloudy, and in some places, completely boarded over. This particular attraction doesn¡¯t look closed for renovations so much as it looks like it¡¯s been full-on condemned. Okaay.


    I take a deep breath. This is your reputation at stake, Sutton. This is the Lying Game. I can¡¯t let Laurel take this from me.


    I grit my teeth and make my way up the steps. The heavy oak double doors of the mansion are splintering, and when I rap on them softly, they swing open. I step inside through fine, sticky threads of cobwebs.


    ¡°Gross,¡± I whisper, dusting off my shoulders, where they¡¯ve lodged themselves.


    The house smells dank and oily, like must and wet soil. The doors swing shut behind me. With so many of the windows covered up, it¡¯s pitch-black in here. I can¡¯t tell how big the place is . . . or what lurks behind the corners. Something skitters above, and I flinch. Then I hear a creak. A rattle. A dry cough of something¡ªor someone¡ªlingering close.


    Calm down, Sutton, I chide myself. It¡¯s only a game. But when I reach to test the doorknob I¡¯ve just closed, it doesn¡¯t budge.


    ¡°Hello?¡± I call out, pulling at it. It doesn¡¯t turn. ¡°Hello?¡± I scream louder. But my voice just echoes uselessly. Something flaps above me. Something else creaks. I swallow hard, realizing what¡¯s going on.


    They¡¯ve locked me inside.


    12


    FEAR, ITSELF


    ¡°Hello?¡± I call out again into the abyss that is the haunted house. I fumble around, but it¡¯s so dark I can¡¯t see my fingers in front of my face. No surprise, no one answers. I take a step into the room, and the floor seems to buckle under me. I scream and jump back, my heart pounding hard.


    The world goes silent again. I run my fingers down my face, willing my heart to slow down. ¡°Nice work, guys,¡± I call out, knowing they must be listening. ¡°The door¡¯s locked. Ooh, scary.¡± My voice echoes. ¡°Is this the best you could do?¡±


    There¡¯s silence, followed by a muffled giggle and footsteps. Thankfully, they¡¯re too loud to be mice. A person, then.


    ¡°Char? Mads?¡± My voice is thin and high-pitched.


    They don¡¯t answer. A horrible thought strikes me: What if it isn¡¯t them?


    Of course it is, I tell myself. Who else could it be?


    I fish my cell phone out of my hoodie pocket and flip the flashlight app on.


    It¡¯s weak, but better than nothing. Slowly, my eyes adjust to the dim glow. I run the narrow spotlight over the room. There¡¯s a wall, then a window, and then . . . an eye? I try not to scream, letting the flashlight linger there. It¡¯s only a fake eye, a costume. And there¡¯s an arm, a tattered black cape. This is what haunted houses are all about, after all: immobile, animatronic ghouls and monsters on motorized tracks. Nothing more.


    Outside, a loose shutter bangs against the house¡¯s wooden frame, and I jump.


    The giggling comes from behind me again. I sense movement in the corner of the room, and suddenly something sways past me, brushing against my shoulder. I swing the flashlight around and see a bat descending into darkness. It¡¯s fake, the rational part of me whispers. But I shriek anyway, unnerved by the darkness. The bat twists crookedly on its trip wire at the end of the room.


    ¡°Focus,¡± I whisper to myself, getting back to the task at hand. I need to look for my locket. That¡¯s why I¡¯m here.


    I run my flashlight over the room once more, but I don¡¯t see that familiar gold glint. I steel myself and begin to move forward. I grope past a shattered mirror framed in chipping gold gilt that¡¯s propped up against a fog machine covered in a thick layer of dust. The hallway yawning before me is narrow, and the end feels farther away the closer to it I walk. I reach out one arm to steady myself, cringing as my fingers skate along the stained shreds of crumbling wallpaper.


    Then I hear a thump behind me and freeze. Is that Laurel? Has she caught up?


    I stumble on a loose floorboard and find myself in a small room furnished with a bare bed frame and a rickety folding table. A filthy teddy bear lies discarded in the corner, clouds of stuffing pouring from a tear in the seams of his stomach.


    ¡°Ew.¡± I move backward, brushing against the table and knocking something from its surface. It hits the floor with a metallic-sounding clang. I run my flashlight over the space, and gold glints up at me. But it¡¯s not my locket: it¡¯s Laurel¡¯s charm bracelet, the one Thayer gave her. This was the prized possession they took from her.


    I gasp and snatch it, feeling a flurry of triumph. And that¡¯s the game! Now I have Laurel¡¯s prize; there is no way she can win this challenge. Mission complete.


    But I don¡¯t stop there¡ªthose bitches took my locket from me, and I want it back. Besides, if I don¡¯t find it, they¡¯d probably call the game a draw. So I move down the hallway with renewed energy. What I hope are fake bloodstains streak the walls, but they no longer seem so sinister. And when I hear another thump, I just shrug. Even if it is Laurel, she¡¯s not going to win.


    I enter the next room and wait for my eyes to adjust. Moth-eaten ghosts sway from the ceiling. I wave the flashlight here and there, and yet another piece of gold glints at me. My heart lifts. I run forward and grab the locket from one of the ghosts at the back. ¡°Thanks, Casper!¡± I trill, clasping it. I can¡¯t believe it. I¡¯ve done it! I¡¯ve won!


    I fasten the locket around my neck, give the ghost a friendly pat, then back out of the room. An EXIT sign looms bright red in the distance, and I fumble toward it. But inches away from the emergency exit, I hear yet another thud. I stop, listening. Then comes a wail. I cock my head, recognizing the voice. Laurel?


    ¡°My ankle!¡± she cries out. I hear her breathing, shallow and quick.


    I freeze, my fingers brushing against the door.


    Laurel sniffles again, more desperately this time. Is she really hurt?


    I wait for Mads and Char to emerge from the shadows and help her, but they don¡¯t. I glance at the EXIT sign, then back into the darkness, everyone¡¯s words and the guilt and anger and frustration I¡¯ve felt in the past two days forming a thick stew in my head. Maybe I don¡¯t want Laurel sharing my friends, but I don¡¯t hate her. I definitely can¡¯t leave her hurt, stranded, in a creepy, broken-down haunted house.


    ¡°Laurel?¡± I call out.


    She answers with another cry. I pivot and backtrack, making my way toward the increasingly loud sobs. A few rooms later, I find Laurel splayed next to an open closet door, a deadfall of plastic skeleton bones spilling out beside her. She¡¯s leaning over her ankle, massaging it vigorously.


    She glances up as I approach. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± she snaps.


    I kneel down next to her, swallowing down all my nastiness when I notice how pale she is in the dim light. ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    Laurel licks her lips, wincing in pain. Then she notices the locket around my neck. A split second later, she spies her own charm bracelet on my wrist. Her face falls. ¡°Looks like you won, huh?¡± she says woodenly.


    ¡°Seriously,¡± I say, not really caring about that right now. ¡°What happened? Can you walk?¡±


    ¡°Probably,¡± Laurel mumbles. She sighs and shifts, trying to get to her feet. But her face pinches in pain, and she slumps back again, her shoulders shaking.


    ¡°Hey,¡± I say softly, gingerly placing my hand on her back. ¡°It¡¯s okay. If anything, it¡¯s probably a sprained ankle or something. We¡¯ll get you out of here. No biggie.¡±


    Laurel looks up at me. I can¡¯t really see her expression, but I can tell by the tear-clogged sniff that she¡¯s really crying hard. ¡°I don¡¯t care about my stupid ankle!¡± she exclaims suddenly. ¡°Don¡¯t you realize, Sutton? I have no friends. The boy I love is missing, maybe dead in a ditch somewhere, and now I can¡¯t even be in the Lying Game.¡± She chokes back a sob, leaning against the dusty, cracked plaster of the wall. ¡°Everything in my life is terrible right now. So excuse me if I cry about it for a few minutes. Excuse me if I¡¯m human.¡±


    I shut my eyes, not wanting to see her in such pain. Once again, I hate that I¡¯ve kept Thayer¡¯s calls a secret. I wish I could tell Laurel what I know. Right then, watching her shoulders rack with sobs, I wish I could tell her anything that would make her feel better.


    I smooth her hair back from her forehead. Then I hug her, breathing in the smell of her lilac body wash. It¡¯s mine, actually; she pinched it from my toiletries case. ¡°I¡¯ve been a bitch,¡± I hear myself say, surprising myself.


    She looks away from me, tears still shining in her eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t blame you,¡± she says hoarsely. ¡°I¡¯ve been a bitch, too¡ªand a lame one at that. No wonder everyone likes you better . . . the kids at school, Mads and Char . . . Thayer.¡±


    I flinch with surprise, wondering exactly what she¡¯s saying. ¡°Laurel, that¡¯s not true,¡± I protest. Not anymore at least.


    ¡°Yes, it is!¡± Laurel cries. She scoots away from me, burying her head in her hands and crying harder. She tightens herself into a ball, arms wrapped around her legs and forehead resting on her knees. ¡°Sometimes I don¡¯t know why I bother at all. Everyone would probably be happier if I just disappeared, too.¡±


    Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I never realized Laurel was taking things this hard. I never knew she felt this lonely. Would I rather leave her out of the Lying Game? Yes. But how guilty would I feel for weeks¡ªmonths¡ªyears¡ªif I did? Was it worth it?


    A memory washes over me: Laurel and I are in my bedroom, making up a dance we were going to put on for our parents. I can¡¯t remember all the steps, but I remember both of us laughing hysterically at a move where we pretended we were cowgirls twirling invisible lassos. That night, like almost every night when we were that age, Laurel had curled up in my bed beside me, her hand tucked in mine.


    And suddenly, I realize that I miss Laurel, too. What changed? Where did it go wrong? Why did it all far apart? In that moment, sitting in the dark with my crying sister, I feel as though I¡¯ve lost something huge, something way more important than my locket. And I don¡¯t even know how to get it back.

 Page 12

    Then, just like that, I decide. I reach down, slipping her charm bracelet off my wrist. I unwind her arms from her legs and drop the bracelet into her outstretched hand. ¡°Take it. It¡¯s yours. Pretend you found it first.¡±


    Laurel gazes at me. With her free hand, she wipes her eyes again. ¡°What? Are you serious?¡±


    I grit my teeth, not believing it myself. ¡°Apparently, yes.¡± I throw my hands up in the air. ¡°Whatever. You can be part of the Lying Game. Okay?¡±


    Laurel sniffs again, a devilish smile spreading across her face. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her cell phone. ¡°I recorded you saying that, you know?¡±


    ¡°Fine, whatever.¡± I roll my eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t make a huge thing about it.¡±


    ¡°So no take-backs. I have my proof,¡± Laurel says, starting to get up and shaking out her ankle. I quickly put my shoulder under her arm to take some of her weight.


    ¡°Right, I get it. Now let¡¯s get this ankle looked at, okay?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯ll be fine,¡± Laurel says as she limps toward the exit of the haunted house. ¡°No pain, no gain, right?¡±


    ¡°I have to admit¡ªrecording me was smart.¡± I glance at her sideways, her bracelet jangling in the silence. ¡°You might be an asset to the group after all.¡±


    ¡°Of course I will be,¡± she says as we reach the door underneath the neon EXIT sign. ¡°I did learn from the best.¡±


    ¡°Good point,¡± I say with a smile and, giggling, we push the door open together, the cool night air rushing toward us.


    13


    SEEING DOUBLE


    Even though it¡¯s getting late and we need to start our long drive home soon, we head to Le Cirque for a celebratory dinner. The walls are adorned with vibrant murals, and the ceiling is tented in a soft, elegant approximation of a circus big top. Bright yellow roses sit at the center of every table, casting a buttery glow over the white linen tablecloths, and dangling chandeliers in rich blue Murano glass light the space warmly. Conversation is low over the clatter of silverware, and our server places a silver ice bucket beside our table with a promise to come by with a bottle of Veuve momentarily.


    ¡°The perks of being a ¡®celebrity,¡¯¡± I joke, adjusting the strap of my one-shouldered minidress¡ªMads and Char returned all my luggage to me after the game ended. ¡°The champagne never stops flowing.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Sutton. The first prank. Seems like just yesterday.¡± Charlotte tilts her head to the side and softens her eyes in a fake-nostalgic gaze. The braids she¡¯s wound into her hair catch the overhead light, glinting copper.


    ¡°It was just yesterday,¡± Madeline says with a snort. She straightens in her seat, pulling her faux-fur shrug over her shoulders. ¡°And now, I think it¡¯s time for the official initiation to begin.¡±


    Charlotte clears her throat and taps her fork against her champagne flute lightly. ¡°Hear ye, hear ye.¡±


    I roll my eyes. ¡°Oh my God. Come on.¡± I love Char, but leave it to her to dork out over this whole moment.


    ¡°Hear ye,¡± she insists. ¡°The official Lying Game initiation of Laurel Mercer shall now commence.¡± She reaches into her embossed Lauren Merkin clutch and pulls out a white laminated card.


    Mads giggles, winding a lock of hair around her finger. ¡°We made that at a booth on the strip before you guys got to the amusement park.¡±


    I whip my head up. ¡°You made her a card before she even got in?¡±


    Mads shrugs. ¡°We wouldn¡¯t have given it to her if she didn¡¯t win the challenge, but we wanted to have it ready just in case.¡±


    Char slides the card to Laurel. ¡°I dub thee: Head Sneaky Bitch and Director of Velvet Rope-Hopping. Welcome to the Lying Game.¡±


    Laurel skims the writing on the card and squeals. We all clink glasses, and it¡¯s done.


    A new member. It¡¯ll take some getting used to, but maybe it¡¯ll be okay after all. Four is a rounder number¡ªwe¡¯ve been shorthanded for our pranks sometimes. And Laurel has gazed at me appreciatively all night, randomly giving me hugs. It¡¯s a little bit annoying, but a little bit sweet, too.


    Afterward, we head to The Bank, the club at the Bellagio, where Garrett, Tucker, and Marcus are waiting for us. The club is loud and crowded, but the lights onstage are dim while stagehands set up for a live performance that¡¯s coming on later. Garrett got a tip that there¡¯s going to be a surprise appearance happening, and given who we saw outside Saucy the other night, we have our fingers crossed for a Rihanna drive-by.


    Dance music kicks up over the sound system, and a smoke machine rolls a sweet-smelling haze over the room. Laurel, Madeline, and the boys weave toward the dance floor, and when my sister reaches an arm back to beckon to me, I follow.


    Before I reach the dance floor, a hand circles my wrist. It¡¯s Charlotte, her face so close to mine when I turn that I can make out each individual fleck of glitter in her MAC eye shadow. She cups a hand around her mouth and leans even closer.


    ¡°So what was with the breather you took during the last challenge?¡± she shouts, clearer than I would have thought possible given the noise level in the club. ¡°If it was too easy for you, you should have said so.¡±


    I step back, bumping into a bleached blonde with dark roots. ¡°What are you talking about?¡± I ask Char. ¡°What breather?¡±


    Charlotte puts her hands on her hips. Her midnight-blue manicure shines against the beading on her draped tunic top. ¡°Sutton, I saw you. It was after the treasure hunt started, and I ran back to the Bellagio because I forgot my phone. And then I spied you by New York-New York. You were talking with some guy.¡± She rolls her eyes. ¡°You really wanted to ride that thing, huh? Next time you¡¯re trying to go incognito, though, you should step up your game. You need to do better than a ratty T-shirt and a ponytail. The Lying Game has standards.¡±


    I blink. ¡°I wasn¡¯t at the roller coaster. I was doing your treasure hunt. It was plenty hard.¡±


    Charlotte doesn¡¯t look convinced. ¡°Sutton, I totally know you¡¯re lying. I just hope you weren¡¯t over there figuring out a way to cheat.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t there,¡± I repeat. What can she possibly be talking about? Is there some random Sutton doppelg?nger out there in Vegas?


    Charlotte¡¯s already shrugging like it doesn¡¯t really matter. But something else does.


    I touch her arm. ¡°I need you to be straight with me: Are you really okay with me dating Garrett?¡±


    Charlotte licks her lips, clearly torn. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°You should have told me that to begin with.¡± I look her straight in the eyes. ¡°I¡¯ll break up with him.¡± The thought makes me feel sad¡ªit¡¯s been nice having a sweet, regular, public boyfriend these past few days¡ªbut no guy is worth hurting my friend over.


    Charlotte purses her lips and then shakes her head shortly. ¡°No, don¡¯t. You guys are good for each other, I can tell. Besides¡±¡ªshe smiles¡ª¡°knowing you, it¡¯ll last for, like, three days before you get bored and move on.¡± The glint in her eyes tells me she¡¯s teasing. ¡°I¡¯m cool with it, I promise.¡±


    I glance over to where Garrett is moving on the dance floor, allowing Mads to lead him in a goofy tango. The sight of him having fun with my friends makes me grin. ¡°Thanks,¡± I say.


    Garrett catches my eye from over Mads¡¯s shoulder and waves me over. Once I¡¯m close, he slips an arm around my waist and tilts me away from the group. Light strobes against his face. All around us, people are dancing wildly, infected by the beat.


    ¡°Listen,¡± he yells over the music. ¡°I just wanted to tell you that I had a really great time this weekend.¡±


    I open my mouth to give a patented Sutton, confident, snappy retort. But Garrett¡¯s face is open and vulnerable and, instead, I snuggle closer to him, feeling his heart beat through the thin fabric of his T-shirt. ¡°I did, too.¡±


    He clears his throat. ¡°I, uh . . . the thing is, Sutton, I like you a lot.¡±


    I clasp my hands behind his neck gently. ¡°I like you, too,¡± I say. ¡°And I want to see where this goes.¡±


    With Char¡¯s permission, I feel like I can. And just like that, I set Thayer free. This is my new future. This is the new Sutton.


    I think I¡¯m going to like her.


    14


    THE LESSER OF TWO HOTTIES


    There¡¯s something to be said for being back home. It¡¯s Tuesday night, and I¡¯m cuddled up in my bed, my hair piled on top of my head in a messy bun, my legs clad in soft sweats. I sip a Diet Coke as I flip through the Facebook photos Mads, Charlotte, and Laurel posted of our Vegas weekend. Thankfully, there isn¡¯t anything incriminating I need to untag myself from. It just looks like a fun weekend away, nothing more. I pause on a picture of Garrett, a rush coming over me. There¡¯s that tingle I¡¯ve been waiting for. I¡¯m finally starting to feel something for him for real, and it¡¯s pretty amazing.


    I hover my mouse over the shot of Garrett, about to post a comment, when there¡¯s a knock at the door.


    ¡°Come in,¡± I call.


    ¡°Hey.¡± It¡¯s Laurel, shyly playing with her side ponytail and leaning against the door frame. In her free hand she has a package of Red Vines, which she offers to me. I nod and she brings the package over, settling on the bed and cuddling a chenille throw pillow to her lap.


    I set my laptop aside. ¡°So. Let the first planning session commence?¡±


    Laurel nods eagerly. On the drive home Sunday night, I¡¯d whispered to my sister that she and I could plan her first official Lying Game prank by ourselves¡ªno Char and Mads needed. Laurel had seemed beyond excited about it, and it made me feel as though I¡¯d cracked some kind of Laurel code that had been baffling me for all these years. All she needed was for me to actually be nice to her.


    Maybe I can do that. Maybe I can be a better sister.


    I pull out a notebook and grab a pencil from my desk. ¡°So what are you thinking?¡±


    Laurel swallows a bite of licorice. ¡°Since we got so good at sneaking around in Vegas, maybe we could kick off the summer by crashing the Starr Pass Resort¡¯s Annual Gala?¡±


    I nearly choke on my own strawberry twist. ¡°Laurel, those tickets are three thousand dollars a pop. There¡¯s no way we¡¯d get past the door.¡±


    ¡°We can figure it out! We¡¯ll just talk our way in!¡±


    ¡°We created a monster in Vegas!¡± I cry.


    Laurel smirks. ¡°Scared? That¡¯s not like you, Big Sis.¡±


    I grin, mentally scanning my closet for exactly the right LBD to make me look old enough to be at the most exclusive cocktail party in Arizona. ¡°It has potential,¡± I say. ¡°We can hash out the details over a friendly volley after dinner.¡± After a weekend off from tennis, I¡¯m ready to wipe the floor with her.


    ¡°A volley,¡± Laurel says, considering. ¡°You¡¯re on.¡± Her forehead furrows, and she looks at me with frank curiosity. ¡°Is anything ever not a competition with you?¡±


    ¡°Not usually, no,¡± I say. I hold her gaze, her blue eyes steady and her expression slightly unreadable. After a beat, I shove her lightly and slide off the bed. ¡°But that¡¯s what you love about me.¡±

 Page 13

    ¡°That¡¯s what you tell yourself, Sutton,¡± Laurel says. Her voice is light enough, but there¡¯s an edge underneath it. I decide to ignore it for now and just concentrate on what¡¯s going right.


    But as I¡¯m walking down the stairs, my phone rings. I stare at it in my hand, my heart leaping to my throat.


    It¡¯s Thayer.


    Laurel, who¡¯s in front of me, spins around and looks at me curiously. ¡°Everything okay?¡±


    ¡°Um . . .¡± I stammer, at a loss for a second. ¡°Yeah. I¡¯ll be right with you.¡±


    I run back up the stairs to my room and shut the door tight, wondering if Laurel¡¯s going to have her ear pressed to the door. Cautiously, I say, ¡°Hello?¡±


    ¡°Sutton, I¡¯m sorry.¡± Thayer sounds choked and urgent.


    I inhale sharply. ¡°Sorry for what?¡±


    ¡°I miss you so much,¡± he continues. ¡°I don¡¯t want us to be apart. I should never have told you I needed space. Not talking to you has been torture.¡±


    My heart catches in my throat. Across the room, the image of Garrett is still on my computer screen. His eyes twinkle at me. His smile makes my heart do a cartwheel. I picture him at home right now, composing one of his sweet, poignant, happy little texts. Texts he sends promptly, not six hours later.


    But I feel that same pull for Thayer I always do. ¡°Come home, then,¡± I challenge.


    Thayer pauses. ¡°I . . . can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡± I demand.


    He sighs.


    ¡°Thayer, at the very least, let me tell Mads where you are,¡± I demand. ¡°She¡¯s going crazy with worry. Can¡¯t I give her something?¡±


    ¡°Not now. I¡¯ll tell her myself.¡±


    ¡°Why can¡¯t I tell her now?¡±


    He sighs. ¡°Because I¡¯m somewhere, getting help. And I just need time.¡±


    ¡°Help for what?¡±


    His words come out in a rush. ¡°I can¡¯t explain. Not right now. But I will, I promise . . . when things are different for me. Please just know that I¡¯m doing the best thing for me, and for us, for the long run.¡±


    I stare out the window. What does that mean?


    ¡°I¡¯m going to come back a changed person.¡± Thayer¡¯s voice cracks slightly. ¡°I¡¯m going to be ready to be your boyfriend, for real.¡±


    A tiny flare of hope blooms in my chest. For real. Two weeks ago, that was all I wanted to hear from him, but now it might be too little, too late. There¡¯s Garrett to think about now.


    Still, I can¡¯t keep myself from asking in a small voice, ¡°So, you didn¡¯t run off with Mary?¡±


    ¡°Mary?¡± The line crackles. ¡°God, no, Sutton. Absolutely not. You¡¯re the only one I want to be with.¡± He pauses again, and I hear the steady rhythm of his breathing. ¡°So, what do you say? Will you wait a little bit longer for me? We¡¯ll find a way to be together, soon.¡±


    My heart pounds. What should I do? Who do I choose? The boy who¡¯s here, who¡¯s cute and stable and sweet? Or the boy who¡¯s sexy and mysterious . . . but also mysteriously absent?


    I wait for a beat before bringing the phone back to my ear. And then I clear my throat and say what I never imagined saying before.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, Thayer,¡± I say. ¡°I just don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°Sutton, what do you¡ª¡±


    ¡°I have to go,¡± I say quickly, the words clogging my throat. Then I hang up.


    And maybe let Thayer go, for real.