Her BlackBerry, nestled in the tennis bag along with Sutton’s iPhone, beeped. ALEX, said the Caller ID.
“So you are alive!” Alex cried when Emma answered. “You were supposed to check in with me last night! I thought you fell into the canyon!”
Emma laughed grimly. “No, I’m still here.”
“So?” Alex said. “How is it? Is your sister awesome? Have you bonded?”
“Uh …” Emma sidestepped a Razor Scooter a kid had abandoned on the sidewalk. It was hard to believe she’d only been here for a day. “She’s great. We’re having a great time.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound forced. On instinct she looked behind her, sure someone was listening.
“So are you going to stay there for a while? Are you going to move in with her? Are you just dying?”
Emma swallowed hard, the menacing SUTTON’S DEAD note flashing through her mind for the billionth time. Something like that. “We’ll see.”
“I’m so thrilled for you!” The phone cut out for a second. “Ugh, I’ve got another call,” Alex said. “I’ll talk to you later, okay? You’ll have to tell me everything!”
And then she hung up. Emma held the warm phone to her ear for a few seconds more, the guilt gushing inside her like a broken fire hydrant. She’d never lied to Alex before, especially about something so momentous. Not that she really had a choice.
A snapping noise made Emma freeze. Was that … a footstep? She slowly turned around, the silence ringing in her ears. The night had grown dark and still. A red security system light blinked from the dash of an SUV at the curb. Something moved by the front wheel, and Emma leapt back. A sand-colored lizard skittered from underneath the car and raced around a large wheeled trash bin.
She ran her hands down the length of her face, trying to calm down. The park loomed at the end of the street, a large expanse of well-manicured grass, playgrounds, and ball fields. She jogged the rest of the way, the tennis bag jostling against her hip. A couple of sweaty, shirtless guys were packing up their gear on the basketball court. Two joggers stretched by a large green trash receptacle.
A silver parking meter–style machine stood outside the chain-link entrance to the tennis courts. SEVENTY-FIVE CENTS FOR THIRTY MINUTES, said a small sign on the post. Emma glanced around nervously. The basketball players had left abruptly, taking most of the noise with them. Wind swished in her ears. There was another tiny sound to her left, like someone swallowing. “Hello?” Emma called softly. No answer.
Get a grip, she told herself. Squaring her shoulders, she shoved a couple of quarters into the narrow slots of the meter. Floodlights snapped on overhead, so blinding that Emma winced and shielded her eyes. She opened the chain-link door and looked out onto the blue-green courts. And then … she saw it. A guy splayed face-up in the middle of the court, his arms and legs stretched out in an x.
Emma screamed. The guy shot up, which made Emma scream even louder and toss the racket toward his head. It clanged against the court and landed near the net. The guy squinted hard at her face.
“Sutton?“ he said after a moment.
“Oh!” Emma said. Ethan.
Ethan scooped up the tennis racket and walked over to her. He wore a black T-shirt, blue gym shorts, and gray New Balance sneakers. “I am so glad it’s you,” Emma said.
Ethan wrinkled his nose. “Do you always hurl tennis rackets at people you’re happy to see?”
Emma took the racket from him. “Sorry. You scared me. I thought you were …” She trailed off. My sister’s killer. An evil note-writing stalker.
“The bogeyman?” Ethan filled in.
Emma nodded. “Something like that.”
The jogging couple ran past. A low-rider car trundled by on the street, letting out a honk to the tune of The Godfather theme. Emma looked at Ethan again. “What were you doing lying in the dark?”
“Stargazing.” Ethan gestured toward the sky. “I come here almost every night. It’s a great place for it because it’s so dark here. Until you came along, that is.” He leaned against a stone-covered water fountain just outside the courts. “What are you doing here? Spying on me?”
Emma blushed. “No. I wanted to practice tennis. My game has gone from an A to a D-minus over the summer.”
“Hoping to show Nisha who’s boss?”
Emma jolted up. How did he know that?
Ethan grinned, as if reading her mind. “Your rivalry is legendary. Even I’ve heard about it.”
Emma inspected Ethan’s sharp cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and muscular shoulders. In German class, Ethan had stared out the window the whole time, not speaking to anyone. He was the only person Frau Fenstermacher hadn’t picked on. In the hall, he’d walked by himself, big Bose headphones clapped over his ears. Girls shot him appreciative glances as he passed, but he gave each of them shy shrugs and continued on.
“So do you want a practice partner?” Ethan interrupted her thoughts.
Emma cocked her head. “You mean … tennis?”
“No, croquet.” He smiled and gestured toward the parking lot. “I have a racket in my car. But if you don’t want to …”
“I’d love to.” Emma smiled. Nerves snapped and danced beneath her skin. “Thanks.”
“Okay.” Ethan’s expression was sheepish, maybe even a little nervous. They turned and both tried to walk through the chain-link exit at the same time. They collided into each other, Emma’s side hitting Ethan’s hip.
“Oops,” Emma laughed. They both stepped back at thesame time. Then Emma moved forward through the exit once more. So did Ethan. They bumped again. Emma stepped on Ethan’s foot. “Sorry,” Emma said, quickly jerking away.
“I was just …” Ethan stepped out of the way once more, extending his arm in an after-you gesture. Emma’s cheeks burned.
Finally they each managed to step through the gate, and Ethan retrieved his tennis racket from the car. They hit the ball back and forth for a while. After a half hour had passed, Emma could feel her swing getting stronger and her footwork no longer resembling that of a headless chicken. “Wanna take a break?” Ethan called from the other side of the court.
Emma nodded. They collapsed on the bench at the sidelines. Ethan removed a bottle of Fiji water and a package of dark chocolate M&Ms from his messenger bag. “You don’t seem so rusty.”
Emma took a long drink from the water bottle, careful not to let water dribble messily down her chin. “Yeah, I do. But thanks for helping me out. It was really sweet.”
“No problem.” Ethan shrugged.
The fluorescent lights buzzed above their heads. Ethan rolled a tennis ball under his foot. “So why didn’t you want to come to the party with me yesterday?” she asked after a moment.
Ethan turned away from her to face the large wooden sandbox on the other side of the fence. A couple of shovels and castle molds lay abandoned in the sand. Emma bet the whole thing smelled like pee. “Your crowd isn’t really my thing.”
Emma shrugged. She wasn’t sure if she was into Sutton’s crowd, either. “You wouldn’t have had to talk to them. I was the one who invited you.”
He picked at a scab on his knee. “Honestly? I kind of thought it was a setup. I was afraid I’d go to that party and … I don’t know. Someone would drop pig blood on my head or whatever, horror-film style.”
“I wouldn’t set you up!”
Ethan sniffed. “Sutton Mercer wouldn’t set someone up?” He looked at her doubtfully.
Emma stared at the glowing net in the middle of the court. She had no idea what Sutton would or wouldn’t do. All those comments from teachers, the manila file from the police. She was starting to feel personally responsible for all of it, even though she didn’t have the slightest idea what any of it was.
Emma reached into the open bag of M&M’S and grabbed a handful. Absently, she arranged a few on her thigh in the shape of a smiley face: two blue M&M eyes, a green nose, and a red and brown M&M smile.
“You do that, too?” Ethan asked.
Emma looked up. “Do what?”
“Make faces with your food.” Ethan pointed at Emma’s creation.
Emma ducked her head. “I’ve done it since I was little.” She’d sculpted smiley faces in ice cream sundaes with chocolate chips, or with extra ketchup on a plate after she’d eaten all her fries. A counselor once caught her making a happy face with Cheerios during a session and told Emma that she probably did it because she was lonely. But Emma just thought everything she ate deserved some personality.
Ethan popped an M&M into his mouth. “When I was little, my dad made me a Belgian waffle we called Bob. Bob was a regular waffle with two big blueberries for eyes, a whipped cream nose—”
“—and let me guess,” Emma interrupted drolly. “A bacon smile?”
“Wrong.” Ethan pointed at her. “A piece of honeydew! ”
“Melon on a waffle?” Emma stuck out her tongue. “Blegh.”
Ethan grinned at her and shook his head. “I can’t imagine Sutton Mercer playing with her food.”
“There are lots of things you don’t know about me,” Emma teased. “I’m a huge mystery.” More than you know, she silently added.
Ethan nodded approvingly. “Mystery is cool.” He leanedtoward her a little more, his hand bumping Emma’s shoulder. He didn’t immediately pull away. Emma didn’t either. For a moment, it felt like he was smiling at her, not the girl he thought was Sutton Mercer.
Click. The overhead lights faded, flooding the court in darkness. Emma stiffened and let out a little yelp. “It’s okay,” Ethan said. “The meter for the lights just ran out.”
Ethan helped Emma up, and together they fumbled for the door. After climbing into his car and starting the engine, Ethan poked his head out the window and gave her a long, curious look. “Thanks, Sutton,” he finally said.
“For what?” Emma asked.
He gestured out the window to the court and sky. “This.”
Emma grinned in question, hoping he’d say more. He pulled out of the lot and headed for the exit. “Fireflies” by Owl City wafted from the stereo speakers. The song was one of Emma’s favorites. As he turned toward the street, Emma slid down the chain-link fence to the warm asphalt. At least someone here was normal. Too bad it was the one person who seemed to want nothing to do with Sutton’s life.
But watching from above, I wasn’t so sure about that. There was something about Ethan that made me think he had more to do with my life than he let on.
14VINTAGE EMMA
Ominous thunderclouds opened up on Thursday afternoon, and Coach Maggie made an announcement over the loudspeaker after seventh period that tennis practice was canceled. Emma was so relieved she contemplated throwing her arms around her Arizona History teacher. Her legs ached from practice yesterday and hitting with Ethan last night.
At the end of the day, as Emma entered the combination to Sutton’s locker, a hand slithered around her waist and pulled her tight. Emma whirled around to see Garrett shoving a bouquet of tulips in her face. “Happy first-week-of-school-almost-birthday!” he proclaimed brightly, leaning in for a kiss.
Emma tensed as his lips touched hers. He smelled like turpentine from art class.
“Get your hands off him!” I wailed. But—you guessed it—nobody heard me. I mean, I got it that Emma had to pretend like everything was normal. I really did. But seeing Garrett affectionately touch someone else filled me with both jealousy and sadness. Garrett wasn’t mine anymore. He would never be mine again. I kept waiting for the moment Garrett would stand back, cross his arms over his chest, and say, Oh my God. You’re someone else. I kept hoping for it. But it didn’t come.
“You’ve been such a stranger lately.” Garrett shifted his backpack on his shoulder.
Yes! I thought. Someone noticed!
Emma had the same response, immediately working up a defense. But then Garrett added, “I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks. Want to go to Blanco for nachos?”
Emma peered inside the locker. “What, right now?”
Garrett crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, right now. You don’t have tennis, right? I don’t have soccer, either. And don’t freak—one plate of nachos isn’t going to make you gain five pounds. And anyway I’d still love you even if you did gain five pounds.”
Emma scoffed. She wasn’t balking because of that—she’d gotten honorable mention in a hot dog–eating contest in Vegas the year before. A tiny Japanese girl withan apparently hollow leg had edged her out. It was more that she felt strange going out with Garrett … alone. I’d still love you, he’d just said. If he really loved Sutton, wouldn’t he have realized Emma wasn’t her?
“I’m kind of busy,” she murmured.
Garrett took Emma’s hands in his. “We really need to talk. I’ve done some thinking about …” He trailed off. “You know, what we talked about this summer? I think you’re right.”
“Uh-huh,” Emma said warily, suddenly feeling like the conversation was taking place in a language she didn’t speak. It was exhausting to pretend she understood what everyone was talking about all day.
Last night, after tennis with Ethan, she’d logged onto Facebook on Sutton’s computer, desperate to find out anything she could about Sutton—who she was, what she liked to do … who might have wanted to kill her. Thanks to autofill, the site had loaded Sutton’s profile, her screen name, and her password. Emma had read Sutton’s Facebook posts again, trying to glean as much intel as she could about her personality, her past, and her friends, but there hadn’t been much she hadn’t already seen before. The only new thing Emma had learned about Garrett, for instance, was that Sutton cheered him on at his varsity soccer games, hung out with him and his younger sister, Louisa, and made all his fashion decisions for him. Sutton had even written posts like “Love the new shirt I picked out for my BF? He’s like my little doll! ”
At first, I felt like I needed to defend myself. Who was she to judge my life? But then I wondered—why did I care so much about what Garrett wore? Was it because I just wanted someone besides myself whom I could dress up … or was it because I was actually really controlling?
Emma had also started to use Sutton’s phone—it had rung a zillion times since she’d come into possession of it, and it would probably be weird not to answer it. She’d checked the past texts to see if they shed light on anything about Sutton, but all of them were either vague instructions on where to meet (MI NIDITO AT SEVEN) or timing issues (RUNNING LATE, C U IN 10) or insults shot back and forth—LOSER, she’d written to Charlotte, and Charlotte had shot back with BEE-YOTCH.
As for the night Sutton had written back to Emma’s Facebook note summoning her to Tucson, there was an answered call from Lilianna at 4:23, a missed call from Laurel at 8:39, and then three missed calls from Madeline at 10:32, 10:45, and 10:59. There were no voice mails, though.
And then there was the file cabinet underneath Sutton’s desk, the one that had the big pink padlock on it and the sign that said THE L GAME. Emma had searched everywhere for the key. She’d even taken a shoe to the handle, slamming it down hard on the lock, but all that had done was bring Laurel to her doorway to ask what in the world she was doing. She had to open it—but how?
