The Lying Game by Sara Shepard

“Yeah.”
    They looked at each other again. Fireflies danced around their heads. The air suddenly smelled like wildflowers.
    “Sutton?” a girl’s voice called through the darkness.
    Emma turned. The guy’s shoulders stiffened.
    “Where did she go?” someone else asked.
    Emma smoothed her hair behind her ears. She peered across the front yard and saw two figures in Nisha’s driveway. Lilianna’s black Doc Martens clonked as she walked. Gabriella held her iPhone outstretched, using a flashlight app to lead the way.
    “Be right there!” Emma yelled back. She glanced at the guy. “Why don’t you come over to the party?”
    He made an indignant scoff. “No thanks.”
    “Come on.” She kept smiling. “I’ll tell you all about the Slutty Star, the Nerd Star …”
    The girls reached the end of the guy’s driveway. “Sutton?” Lilianna yelled, squinting in the porch light.
    “Who is that?” Gabriella called.
    Slam.
Emma whipped around. The guy was gone. The dried wreath that hung on the front door shook back and forth, the lock closed with a click, and the blinds on the big bay window to the right quickly twisted shut.
Okaaaay.
    Emma walked slowly off the porch and across the yard.
    “Was that Ethan Landry?” Gabriella demanded.
    “Were you talking?” Lilianna asked at the same time. Her voice rippled with intrigue. “What did he
say?”
    Charlotte appeared behind the Twitter Twins. Her cheeks were flushed, and her forehead looked shiny. “What’s going on?”
    Gabriella paused from texting. “Sutton was talking to Ethan.”
    “Ethan Landry?” Charlotte’s eyebrows shot up. “Mr. Rebel Without a Cause actually
spoke?”
    Ethan.
At least I could now put a name to his face.
    And so could Emma. But then she took in the girls’ confused looks. Leave it to her to instantly bond with a guy who wasn’t one of Sutton’s preapproved friends. At that, she pulled out her phone again. There still weren’t any new messages or texts.
    Charlotte’s gaze felt like a piercing-hot laser; Emma had a feeling she had to come up with an explanation—fast. “I think I’ve had too much to drink,” she blurted.
    Charlotte clucked her tongue. “Oh, sweetie.” She grabbed Emma by the arm and steered her toward the long line of parked cars. “I’ll take you home.”
    Emma straightened up, relieved Charlotte had bought her story. Then she realized what Charlotte was offering. She was going to take her to
Sutton’s
home. “Yes,
please,”
she said, and followed Charlotte to her car.
    It was a relief to me, too. Back at my house, maybe we’d finally get some answers.

7
THE BEDROOM EMMA NEVER HAD

    Charlotte pulled her big black Jeep Cherokee alongside the curb and shifted it into PARK . “Here we are, Madam,” she said in a fake British accent.
    She had driven Emma to a two-story stucco house with big arched windows. Palms, cacti, and a couple of beautifully maintained flower beds covered the gravel front yard. Flowers in big stone pots lined the archway to the front door, wind chimes dangled over the front porch, and a terra-cotta sun sculpture hung over the three-car garage. Etched into the side of the mailbox at the curb was a simple letter M. Two cars sat in the driveway, a Volkswagen Jetta and a big Nissan SUV.
    I could only come up with one word for it:
home.
    “Someone sure got the short end of the twin stick,” Emma muttered under her breath. If only Becky had ditched
her
first.
    “What was that?” Charlotte asked.
    Emma picked at a loose thread on her dress. “Nothing.”
    Charlotte touched Emma’s bare arm. “Did Mads freak you out?”
    Emma regarded Charlotte’s red hair and blue dress, wishing she could tell her what was going on. “I knew it was them the whole time,” she said instead.
    “Okay.” Charlotte turned up the radio. “See you tomorrow then, drunky. Remember to take lots of vitamins before you pass out. And, hey, sleepover at my house on Friday? I promise it’ll be good. My