OMG. I can’t believe this. Yes, I was totally adopted. But I never knew you existed until now. Can u meet me at the hiking base of Sabino Canyon in Tucson 2morro at 6 PM? Attached is my cell number. Don’t tell anyone who you are until we talk—it’s dangerous! See you soon!
Love, Sutton (your twin)
Of course, there was one problem with that note: I didn’t write it.
4REUNION INTERRUPTED
Late the following afternoon, Emma staggered off a Greyhound bus, her green duffel in tow. Heat radiated off the parking lot in waves; the air was so stifling that she felt like she’d just stepped into the barrel of a giant hair dryer. To her right were small adobe homes and a purple-stucco yoga studio for men called hOMbre. To her left was a large, crumbling building called the Hotel Congress, which looked haunted. Posters for upcoming concerts plastered the front windows. A couple of hipsters loitered on the street, smoking cigarettes. Beyond that was what looked like a shop for dominatrix hookers; whip-wielding mannequins in catsuits, fishnet stockings, and thigh-high boots filled the front windows.
Emma spun around again and faced the Greyhound bus station. TUCSON DOWNTOWN, said a low-slung sign out front. After hours of sitting on a bus next to a guy with a devil beard and a serious addiction to jalapeño-flavored Doritos, she was finally here. She was tempted to run up to the large Greyhound on the sign and give it a big, wet kiss, but then her phone vibrated in her pocket and she scrambled to answer it. Alex’s photo appeared on the screen.
“Hey!” Emma clutched the old BlackBerry to her ear. “Guess where I am?”
“You didn’t,” Alex gasped on the other end.
“I did.” Emma dragged her duffel to a bench under the awning and sat down to rest. Alex had finally written back to Emma’s YOU THERE? text last night. Emma had called her immediately, blurting out the whole story in one long, breathless sentence.
“I left Clarice a note,” Emma said, moving her long legs out of the way as an older couple pulling wheeled suitcases passed. “Social Services won’t check up on me, either—I’m too close to turning eighteen.”
“So what are you going to say to this Sutton girl? I mean, if she’s really your sister, do you think you’ll be able to move in with her? “ Alex sighed wistfully. “It’s like Cinderella, except without the lame prince!”
Emma leaned back on the bench and gazed at the purplish mountains in the distance. “I don’t want to get too far ahead of things,” she said. “Let’s just see if we even get along.”
It was all an act. The entire bus ride, Emma imagined how meeting Sutton might just change her life. Maybe she could move to Tucson and go to Sutton’s school. She could get to know Sutton’s adoptive parents, too. Maybe they’ll even let me move in with them, she dared to consider. Goose bumps rose on her arms. Okay, that was a long shot, but who knew? It was like a cooler version of Cinderella.
But first things first: the meeting today. Emma spotted a single neon-green cab on the other side of the bus station and waved it over. “Please don’t tell anyone, okay?” she said to Alex.
“I promise,” Alex agreed. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Emma hung up, climbed into the backseat of the cab, and gave Sabino Canyon as her destination, barely able to temper the giddiness in her voice. The cabbie pulled away and wove through Tucson’s streets. Emma stared out the grimy window, grinning at the various college buildings of the University of Arizona, including one that had PHOTOGRAPHY INSTITUTE on a big sign out front. Emma couldn’t wait to go inside and check out the exhibit. Next they passed the college green. Students loitered in the sun. A running group pranced by like a herd of deer. There was a girl dressed up as a marijuana plant in the middle of the courtyard holding a sign that said HONK 4 WEED! The cabbie honked.
Next they pulled onto Highway 10 and drove north. The houses grew larger and the streets were speckled with fancy gyms, cute bistros, gourmet markets, and upscale boutiques. Emma passed the entrance to La Encantada Mall, and then the lush Elizabeth Arden Red Door spa. Maybe Sutton and I can have a pedicure day, she thought.
Actually, that made her a little nervous. She’d never gotten a professional pedicure before. Whenever someone touched her feet, she let out a hitchy laugh like Ernie on Sesame Street.
As for me, all I felt was numbness as the car whipped past these landmarks. Certain emotions and senses flashed deep beneath the surface—vague blips of elation and thrill as we passed a restaurant called NoRTH, the smell of jasmine perfume as the cab swept past the shops at La Encantada—but nothing solid emerged. Questions buzzed in my head like a swarm of bees. Who had written back to Emma? Had anyone else discovered I was dead? I was desperate to get another look at my Facebook page, but Emma hadn’t clicked on it again. A whole day had passed since my death—maybe more; where did everyone think I was? And why hadn’t someone found my body? Then again, if someone had murdered me, I could be chopped up in a zillion pieces by now.
I wanted to cry out. I wanted to wail. But all I could do was follow Emma in a state of mute shock and panic. It was like those terrible dreams where I was falling down, down, down from the top of a tall building. I always tried to call out for someone to catch me, but no one ever answered.
The cab took a left, and a mountain rose up before Emma’s eyes. A pitted, wooden sign said SABINO CANYON. “Here you are,” the driver said, pulling to the curb.
This was it. Emma handed the cabbie a twenty and crunched across the gravel to a bench. She inhaled the jumbled scents of sunscreen, dust, and sun-baked rock. Evening hikers stretched their calves against a parking barrier a few feet away. The shimmering mountain range interrupted the blue sky. Little pinpricks of pink, yellow, and purple wildflowers dotted the trail.
It’s perfect, Emma thought. On instinct, she pulled her old Polaroid camera from the duffel. She hadn’t brought that much with her to Tucson—just her wallet, Socktopus, a change of clothes, the camera, and her journal, because she was afraid to go anywhere without it. She’d left most everything else, including her savings, in a storage locker at the vegas bus station. The device made a churning noise as she snapped a photo. Emma watched the picture slowly develop. Long-Lost Sisters Meet for the First Time, she mentally captioned.
It was six on the dot. She sat down on a bench, pulled out a Maybelline compact, and took stock of her reflection. She wore a striped jersey Gap dress that she’d found at Cinnamon’s, a secondhand shop near Clarice’s house, and she’d smeared a lot of shiny gloss over her lips. She covertly sniffed her skin, hoping she didn’t smell like bus exhaust or jalapeño Doritos. Meeting Sutton reminded her of walking into a new foster home for the first time. The parents always gave her a long, discerning look, instantly deciding whether she passed or failed. Please like me, she always thought as she stood in countless kitchens or on interchangeable front porches. Please make this bearable. Please don’t let me have a booger hanging out of my nose.
More people emerged from the canyon trail. Emma checked the clock on her phone. It was 6:10. What if Sutton was late to everything? People like that drove Emma crazy. And what were they going to say to each other, anyway? “Hi, Sutton,” Emma mouthed, practicing a smile. “So Becky lost you, too?” She pantomimed reaching out her hand, and then shook her head and pulled back. They’d hug, wouldn’t they? What if they just stood there awkwardly, staring into space?
The strange film fluttered through her mind again. Who agreed to be strangled for fun, anyway? She thought about the girls Travis had mentioned yesterday.
“oh!” cried someone behind her.
Emma jumped and turned around, looking at the unfamiliar man in shorts and a polo shirt standing a few feet away. With his salt-and-pepper hair and slightly round physique, he reminded Emma of Dr. Lowry, the only social worker she’d ever liked, mostly because he’d spoken to Emma like a human being and not a foster child freak. But then the photo on Facebook of Charlotte and Sutton standing on a tennis court with this guy popped into her head. Me, C, and Mr. Chamberlain at Arizona Tennis Classic. This was someone from Sutton’s world, not hers.
Not that I had much recollection of him.
There was a troubled look on the man’s face. “W-What are you doing out here, Sutton?”
Emma blinked hard, realizing what he’d called her. She gave him a wobbly smile. Her tongue felt bloated and heavy in her mouth. Don’t tell anyone who you are, the email had said. It’s dangerous.
“Um, just hanging out,” Emma answered, feeling ridiculously foolish. Her palms itched, too, just like they always did when she lied to adults.
“Are you going for a hike?” Charlotte’s dad pressed. “Is this where kids meet these days?”
Emma glanced toward the road, hoping she’d see a girlwho looked just like her pulling up to the curb to clear this up. A few cars passed without stopping. A couple of kids on Schwinn cruiser bikes rode past, laughing. “Um, not exactly.”
A dog across the path let out a bark. Emma stiffened—a Chow had bitten her when she was nine, and she’d been wary of dogs ever since. But the dog was straining at a rabbit that had suddenly emerged from around the bend. Charlotte’s dad pushed his hands in his pockets. “Well, see ya. Have a nice night.” He quickly walk-jogged away.
Emma slumped on the bench. Awkward. The clock on her phone now said 6:20. She clicked onto her NEW MESSAGES folder, but there was no text saying I’M LATE, BE THERE SOON! Uneasiness began to filter through her body, poisoning everything. Her stomach felt like it was eating itself. All of a sudden, the surroundings didn’t seem quite so magical anymore. The hikers making their way back down the mountain looked like twisted, dark monsters. There was an acrid odor in the air. Something felt very, very wrong.
Crack. Emma’s head whipped around at the sound. Before she could see what it was, a small hand covered her eyes and yanked her to standing. “Wha?” Emma called out. A second hand pressed against her mouth. Emma tried to wrench away, but a hard, cold object pressed between her shoulder blades. She instantly froze. She’d never felt a gun at her back before, but this couldn’t be anything else.
“Don’t move, bitch,” whispered a husky voice. Emma felt hot breath on her neck, but all she could see was the inside of someone’s palm. “You’re coming with us.”
I wished I could see who “us” was, but that was a little wrinkle in this being-dead thing: When Emma couldn’t see, neither could I.
5SHE IS ME
Emma’s feet tripped beneath her, dragging on the ground. The gun dug into her skin. Dark, blurry shapes fluttered through the blindfold someone had quickly tied around her eyes, and the sound of traffic roared in her ears. She let out a panicked whimper. The freaky strangling film flashed through her mind like whirling ambulance lights. Those hands pulling that necklace taut. Sutton slumping over lifelessly.
I thought of the same thing. Terror filled me.
Someone pushed Emma across the road. A horn blared, but then Emma’s foot hit the curb on the other side. As she staggered across the sidewalk, the sound of cars yieldedto loud, throbbing bass. The aroma of grilled hamburgers and hot dogs and cigarettes drifted into Emma’s nostrils. There was a loud splash. Someone giggled. Someone else cried, “Love it!” Emma’s hands twitched. Where was she?
“What the hell?”
Suddenly the scarf was ripped from Emma’s eyes. The world lit up for me again at exactly the same time. A familiar girl with long, reddish hair, pale skin, broad shoulders and a thick waist hovered in front of Emma. She wore a short blue dress with lace around the neck. Charlotte—the name came to Emma. “She’s learned her lesson already, don’t you think?” Charlotte snapped, throwing the blindfold behind a potted cactus.
Someone freed Emma’s hands from their confines behind her back. She no longer felt the gun pressed between her shoulder blades either. Emma whipped around. Three pretty girls in party dresses and sparkly makeup stood before her.
The tallest one had dark hair, jutting collarbones, a deconstructed ballerina bun, and a tattoo of a rose on the inside of her wrist. Madeline Vega, the girl in Sutton’s Facebook profile photo. Next to Madeline stood two girls with Crayola-maize hair and pale blue eyes. Both girls held iPhones. One was preppy, in a polo dress, a white headband, and wedge sandals with grosgrain ties. The other looked like she’d stepped off a Green Day video—shewore lots of eye makeup, a plaid dress, high boots, and a stack of black jelly bracelets around her wrists. They had to be Gabriella and Lilianna Fiorello, the Twitter Twins.
“Gotcha!” Madeline gave Emma a weak smile. The Twitter Twins grinned, too.
“Since when did we get all eco?” Charlotte sighed loudly behind them. ”Recycling is not part of our rules.”
Madeline pulled the short, white A-line dress she was wearing down her thighs. “It wasn’t technically a repeat, Char. Sutton knew it was us the whole time.” She raised a tube of lipstick into the air, then pressed it between Emma’s shoulder blades again. “My mom’s Chihuahua would’ve known this wasn’t a gun.”
Emma wrenched away. The tube of lipstick had definitely fooled her. Then, she realized something else—Madeline had called her Sutton, just like Charlotte’s dad had. “Wait a minute,” she blurted, struggling to find her voice. “I’m not—”
Charlotte cut her off, her gaze still on Madeline. “Even if Sutton knew it was you, it’s still poor form. And you know it.” She had a sarcastic voice and a penetrating stare. Although Charlotte wasn’t the prettiest in the crowd, she was clearly the alpha. “Besides, since when do we do things like that with them?” She pointed at Gabriella and Lilianna, who lowered their eyes sheepishly.
Madeline fiddled with the leather strap of her oversized watch. “Don’t be such a hater. It was spontaneous. I saw Sutton and just … went for it.”
Charlotte stepped a tiny bit closer to Madeline and puffed up her chest. “We made up the rules together, remember? Or do those tight buns you wear to ballet class cut off the circulation to your brain?”
Madeline’s chin wobbled for a moment. Her big eyes, high cheekbones, and bow-shaped lips reminded Emma of a figurehead on a ship. But Emma noticed Madeline slowly massaging a hot-pink rabbit’s foot on the key ring of her bag, as if all the beauty in the world hadn’t brought her luck. “It’s better than your too-tight jeans cutting off the circulation to your butt,” Madeline shot back.
I reached out to Madeline, but my fingers slipped through her skin. “Mads? “ I called out. I touched Charlotte on the shoulder. “Char?” She didn’t even flinch. Nothing new about them came back to me. I knew I loved them, but I really didn’t know why. But how could they stand there and think Emma was me? How could they not know their BFF was dead?
