Sara Shepard - Two Truths and a Lie

On Sunday afternoon, Emma, Madeline, Charlotte, Laurel, and the Twitter Twins waited in line at Pam’s Pretzels, a shoddy stand propped in a corner of La Encantada on the outskirts of Tucson. Even though Sutton’s friends had sworn off carbs, the pretzels were worth breaking their diets for. They were covered in Mexican queso and contained a spice combination that was, as Madeline put it, “better than sex.” The smell of baked bread and mustard infused the air. Customers swooned as they took big, doughy bites. One woman looked like she was actually going to faint with pleasure as she chewed.

The line was long, and a bunch of college-age boys in band T-shirts and long, grungy hair stood in front of them. Madeline was inching away from them as though they had fleas. Charlotte, whose flaming red hair was tied back in a severe bun, elbowed Laurel, who was busy texting something to Caleb. “Does that bring back fond memories?” she said, gesturing to a four-by-four-foot raised garden box covered with felt.

Laurel giggled at what Charlotte was pointing at. “That Christmas tree was so much heavier than it looked. And I had tinsel in my hair for days.” She shook her hair around for effect.

Madeline covered her mouth and let out a snort. “That was priceless.”

“Seriously,” Emma said, even though she had no idea what the girls were talking about—probably an old Lying Game prank.

The line moved quickly, and soon it was the Twitter Twins’ turn. “One pretzel with queso, extra dipping sauce.” Lili shifted her weight from one black knee-high stiletto boot to the other. The other girls ordered more or less the same thing, and once the pretzels were ready they carried them to a courtyard table and sat down. Only Emma and Madeline lingered at the fixin’s bar, slowly salting their treats.

Emma looked around. The outdoor mall was bustling today with girls in short shorts, batwing-sleeved blouses, and high wedge heels. Everyone toted carrier bags from Tiffany, Anthropologie, and Tory Burch. She craned her neck and noticed the vintage store on the second level. Not long ago, she and Madeline had gone to that vintage store and had a great time. She’d felt like Emma that day, not The Girl Who Was Supposed to Be Sutton.

Madeline breathed in. When Emma turned, she noticed that Madeline was looking up at the vintage store, too. Then she faced Emma, her expression contemplative and a little awkward. “Listen, I don’t want to be pissed at you anymore,” she said.

“I don’t want you to be pissed at me either!” Emma exclaimed gratefully.

Madeline lifted a hand to shade her eyes. “No matter how upset I am about Thayer, I know him disappearing isn’t your fault. I’m really sorry I’ve been so awful to you.”

Relief coursed through Emma. “I’m sorry, too. I can’t imagine what this has been like for you and your family, and I’m sorry if I made things worse in any way.”

Madeline opened a packet of mustard with her teeth. “You do have a way of causing drama, Sutton. But you have to tell me the truth. You really don’t know why my brother showed up in your room?”

“I really don’t. I promise.”

A long beat went by. Madeline inspected Emma carefully, as though trying to read her mind. “Okay,” she said finally. “I believe you.”

Emma let out a breath. “Good, because I’ve missed you,” she said.

“I missed you, too.”

They hugged fiercely. Emma squeezed her eyes shut, but suddenly she got the distinct feeling someone was staring at her. She opened her eyes and looked into the dark parking garage next to the pretzel kiosk. She thought she saw someone crouch behind a car. But when she squinted harder, she didn’t see anyone.

Madeline linked her arms through Emma’s as they rejoined the girls. Charlotte grinned, looking relieved, too.

“I have exciting news, ladies,” Madeline announced. “We’re throwing a party on Friday night.”

“We are?” the Twitter Twins asked in unison, whipping out their iPhones, excited to break the news to their rabid followers. “Where?”

“You’ll know when you know,” Madeline said cryptically. “I’m only telling Sutton, Char, and Laurel.” She narrowed her eyes on Gabby and Lili. “It’s super private so we don’t get caught, and you guys aren’t exactly good at keeping secrets.”

Gabby’s plump lips popped into their trademark pout.

“ Fine ,” Lili said with an overdramatic sigh.

Laurel tossed the remnants of her pretzel into a garbage bin wrapped in a bright green poster that read, CAN IT FOR A BETTER PLANET! She adjusted the buckle closure on the strap of her bag. “What can we do to help? And what’s the dress code? Sundresses?”

Madeline took a long swig of lemon-lime seltzer. “It’ll start at ten, but we’ll have to get there early to set up. Leave the catering and drinks to me and Char. You handle the guest list, Laurel, and Sutton, you put together a playlist. And as for dress code, maybe shorts, heels, and a dressy top? Definitely something new. C’mon. Let’s get shopping.”

She grabbed Emma’s hand and pulled her up. Emma smiled, appreciating Madeline’s olive branch. The girls walked to a boutique called Castor and Pollux. As soon as they passed through the front doors, the smell of new clothes and sugary perfume swirled in their nostrils. Glassy-eyed mannequins dressed in pleated chiffon skirts and herringbone jackets posed with their hands on their narrow hips. Stiletto heels much higher than anything Emma had ever worn lined the perimeter of the store.

“These would look awesome on you, Sutton,” Charlotte said, holding up a silver wedge.

Emma took it from her and discreetly checked the price. Four hundred seventy-five dollars? She tried not to swallow her tongue as she set it back down. Even though she’d been here for a month, she still wasn’t used to the way Sutton’s friends shopped with abandon. The cost of each individual item in Sutton’s closet was close to what Emma normally spent on an entire year’s wardrobe. And that was a good year—when she was fourteen, she didn’t have money for any new clothes. Her foster mother, Gwen, who lived in a tiny town thirty miles from Vegas, insisted on sewing all of her foster kids’ back-to-school outfits on a 1960s Singer sewing machine—she considered herself something of a fashion designer. Worse, Gwen was into gothic romance, which meant Emma started eighth grade wearing long, flowing velvet skirts, cream blouses that resembled corsets, and hand-me-down Birkenstocks. Needless to say, Emma wasn’t the most popular girl at Cactus Needles Middle School. After that, she’d always made sure to have a job, so she could at least buy the basics.

Lili gravitated to a table stacked with paper-thin tees and tanks, while Gabby made a beeline for a rack of polo shirts. Charlotte steered Emma to a row of minidresses, pointing one out. “That lavender one would look amazing with your eyes,” she offered.

The girls convened in the curtained-off open-air dressing room surrounded by four three-way mirrors. When they tried on matching short skirts and flowing tops, it was as though a dozen Xerox copies were reflected back at them.

“That’s gorgeous, Mads,” Emma offered, eyeing the lime green cotton skirt Madeline had pulled on. It showed off her long, lithe, ballet-dancer legs.

“You should totally get it,” Charlotte said.

“I can’t,” Madeline mumbled.

“Why not?” A wrinkle formed on Charlotte’s brow. “Do you not have money? I’ll buy it for you.”