Sara Shepard - Two Truths and a Lie

Madeline kicked it off. “It looks lame on me.”

“It does not!” Charlotte scooped the skirt off the ground. “I’m totally buying this.”

“Char, don’t bother,” Madeline snapped, an edge to her voice. “My dad will never let me wear it. He’ll say it’s too short.”

Charlotte let the skirt slip between her fingers, her mouth flattening into a straight line.

The dressing room fell silent. The girls turned away, busying themselves with their piles of clothing and looking anywhere but at Mads. The mention of Mr. Vega had that effect.

Emma pulled a lavender dress over her head, carefully sliding the spaghetti straps over her shoulders. The silk was soft against her skin, and the waist nipped perfectly, making Emma’s rail-thin body look a little curvier than usual.

“Ooh, Sutton!” Charlotte whistled.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Laurel trilled, seemingly forgetting her sibling jealousy.

Emma tried not to stare at herself too hard in the mirror, but she couldn’t help it. The dress made her look amazing. Sutton would have been used to trying on expensive clothing that made her look like a million bucks, but Emma had always settled for good-enough pieces from Goodwill or hand-me-downs from other foster kids. It felt so special to be in something that fit her like a glove.

Laurel placed her hand on Emma’s shoulder. “You know who would love you in that? Ethan.”

Emma flinched. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve seen him talking to you at school,” Laurel said. “It’s obvious he has a crush on you.”

Emma widened her eyes at Laurel, hoping she could telepathically tell her to shut up. But Laurel continued, winding a tendril of blonde hair around her fingers. “You know what you should do? Get him to invite you back to his place so you can steal his poems.”

“Ooh, you mean for the prank?” Lili said.

“Uh-huh,” Laurel said. “We need poems to publish online to make him look like a plagiarist. You’re the perfect person for it, Sutton, since he’s already got it bad for you. And you’re awfully good at stealing, that little slip-up at Clique aside.” Laurel bumped her hip.

Emma stared at her hard, anger boiling beneath her skin. Apparently, Laurel was still furious at her. Then again, she hadn’t said anything to get Thayer out of jail, which meant Laurel wasn’t letting up on the Ethan prank.

She straightened up, deciding not to let Laurel get the best of her. “If he notices his poems went missing, he’ll know it was me who took them.”

“Oh, you’ll figure out a way to go unnoticed,” Laurel trilled.

“C’mon, Sutton. This plan rocks.” Madeline grinned. “Maybe you should even invite him to come help us set up before the party, really make him think you’re friends. Besides, we’ll need the man power.”

Now everyone was staring at Emma. Beads of sweat pricked the back of her neck. In the mirror, she could see a bloom of red spreading across her cheeks.

They were interrupted by an ice-blonde salesgirl who popped her head around the dark velvet curtain and asked if they were buying anything. Charlotte handed her several shirts, a dress, and a pair of jeans. Madeline shoved the green skirt at her, saying she didn’t want it. The Twitter Twins both bought leggings. Emma stared down at her pile of clothes, her brain racing. How was she going to get out of this Ethan prank? She thought about what Ethan had said on the roof: I want us to be totally honest with each other. She wasn’t exactly holding up her end of the bargain.

“Sutton, you coming?”

Emma jumped and looked up. The dressing area was empty. Charlotte had poked her head back through the curtain, a strange look on her face. All of the other girls were standing at the register, clothes in their hands.

“Uh, sure,” Emma mumbled, scooping up the lavender dress and Sutton’s bag. As she sauntered toward the register, she felt Laurel staring at her, a smirk on her face. But then, she felt a second pair of eyes boring into her from the esplanade. She whipped around and squinted. This time, the figure wasn’t quick enough to hide. The hair on the back of her neck bristled. The person was definitely male. He stepped into full view and met Emma’s gaze. Emma gasped.

And so did I. It was Garrett, and he looked pissed. After a beat, he stormed away.

On Tuesday afternoon, the Hollier High tennis team was on the courts for a doubles scrimmage. The sky was blessedly cloudy, meaning it was actually bearable to play. The sounds of a pop XM radio station filled the air—Coach Maggie always liked to have upbeat music to get the girls moving. A giant tub of Gatorade sat on the sidelines, tubes of extra balls were tipped over by the trash can, and Maggie, who was wearing her ubiquitous Hollier Tennis polo and khaki parachute pants, strutted up and down the courts, surveying ground strokes and serves.

“Out!” Nisha Banerjee’s shrill voice sounded across the net from Emma. She pointed her shiny black racket at the white line and shot Emma a look that said Too bad, bitch . “And that’s the match!”

Laurel, who stood on the baseline at Nisha’s side, laughed mirthfully. “Not even Sutton Mercer could return that power serve!” She raised her hand and slapped Nisha’s in a high five.

“Looks like the best women won!” Nisha tossed her black ponytail over her shoulder.

Emma rolled her eyes as Nisha and Laurel pranced across the court with their rackets held high. Maggie had emailed the team the previous night with a list of who would be matched with whom for the scrimmage, and Laurel and Nisha had preplanned matching hot pink workout shorts, tight white tank tops, and green wristlet sweatbands.

The whole thing made me bristle. Since when was my sister allying with Nisha, my biggest rival? Obviously this whole Thayer thing was making her go to extremes.

Emma turned to Clara, the sophomore who’d been assigned as her doubles partner for the day. “Sorry. I was not playing well today.”

“No, Sutton, you were great!” Clara’s voice rose hopefully. She was pretty enough, with jet black hair, a perky, upturned nose, and startling blue eyes, but she had such a desperate look on her face. She’d been deferential to Emma all afternoon, complimenting her sucky serves, contesting calls against Emma’s shots even though it was clear they were out, telling Emma repeatedly how pretty her sparkly hairband was. It was ridiculous how scared of Sutton people were, tiptoeing around her like she had the run of the school.

Or maybe , I thought, they were tiptoeing around me to make sure I didn’t play a Lying Game prank on them .

After watching a few more matches, Emma headed to the locker room. Coach Maggie caught Emma’s attention from the next court over and raised her fingers in a sympathetic wave. She tapped the base of her chin and mouthed Keep your head up .

The locker room was cool and smelled like freshly scoured tile. The brightly colored food-pyramid poster had come unpinned on one side and hung lopsided. A gaggle of girls in bathing suits pushed through the swinging doors that led into the locker room from the pool. The thick stench of chlorine filled the air as they made their way to the showers.

Emma turned in to a row of blue-gray lockers and found Laurel had made it there first. She had already changed out of her tennis gear into snug-fitting sweat shorts and a white tee and was sitting cross-legged on the long wooden bench, her back turned. Her iPhone was poised at her ear, and she was saying something in a hushed voice. It sounded like If she’s truly loyal, she’ll go along with it.