Sara Shepard - The Lying Game

Madeline shrugged. “Do you honestly expect me to remember something that happened over a week ago? My brain’s too fried from a week of school.” But Emma noticed that she wouldn’t make eye contact with her. She fiddled nervously with a bracelet around her wrist.

“Char and I had plans that night, and she ditched me,” Emma lied, thinking quickly. “Sometimes I think she’s really pissed at me. She keeps making these little remarks to me about Garrett. I think I caught her spying on us on Saturday.”

And perhaps plotting to kill me , too , she silently added. Just like she killed Sutton.

A muscle next to Madeline’s right eye twitched. Steam swirled around her face. “I don’t think she’s pissed at you. She’s probably just worried about Garrett.”

“Worried? Why?”

The mud sloshed as Madeline shifted positions. “Come on, Sutton. You’re not exactly gentle on guys. You kind of destroy every boy you touch.”

“No I don’t.” Emma’s voice cracked.

But Madeline’s words shook me. I wanted Madeline to be wrong, only . . . maybe she wasn’t. I didn’t know what to believe about myself anymore.

Madeline sniffed indignantly. “Look at all those guys last year. You practically forced Brandon Crawford to break up with Sienna at Homecoming, and then you didn’t return his calls. You acted like you were dying to go out with Owen Haas, and then you treated him like crap. Look at Thayer,” she added.

Thayer? Was Sutton why he left?

I racked my brain to remember, to feel something. Nothing surfaced.

Madeline met Emma’s gaze without blinking. The room suddenly felt very small and close. Emma lowered her eyes and stared at the four slices of cucumbers floating on the surface of the mud.

Suddenly Madeline climbed out of the tub. Brown goop dripped from her stomach and legs.

“What are you doing?” Emma said, half rising.

“I totally forgot.” Madeline pressed a towel to her head. “I was supposed to be at my dad’s house right now. Can Laurel pick you up?” She turned her body away from Emma as she spoke. There were thick brown smudges on the towel from where she’d dried her arms.

“Wait, Mads—what’s going on?” Emma groped through the mud toward the stairs. It was just like the anxiety dream she sometimes had where she kept trying to run, only to realize the road was a backward-moving sidewalk.

Madeline had already stuffed her arms through the bathrobe sleeves. “I’ll talk to you in school tomorrow, okay?” she mumbled in a rush and slipped into the hall, leaving muddy footprints all over the tiled floor.

The door whooshed shut again. The only sounds in the room were the occasional burps from the mud tub; even the rainforest music had stopped. Emma climbed out of the tub and pressed a towel to her face. What the hell just happened? And what had Sutton done to Thayer?

Just as she was grabbing a second towel from the table, something on the floor caught her eye. It was an iPhone. She turned it over and inspected the back. There was a glittery sticker of a girl with devil horns doing a pirouette. SWAN LAKE MAFIA. Madeline’s iPhone.

Emma glanced at Madeline’s muddy footprints, then at the door, then back at the phone again. She rinsed her hands at the sink on the counter and took a deep breath. Should she do this?

“Yes!” I yelled at her as loudly as I could.

Emma slid the bar on the iPhone screen to unlock it. With shaking hands, she pressed on the little thought bubble icon to open Madeline’s texts. First on the list was one she’d written herself, inviting Madeline to the spa today. There were a bunch of texts about the prank on Nisha: Laurel writing to say she’d found the perfect actress to play the cop, Charlotte asking Madeline if she could pick up fake blood at the Halloween store in the mall. Emma scrolled backward through earlier messages. There were a few texts discussing travel plans to Nisha’s party the week before, though nothing about a fake kidnapping.

Footsteps sounded on the other side of the door, and Emma froze. Whoever it was whistled softly as he passed. Emma gripped the phone hard. Next she tapped the screen to view Madeline’s photos. A shot of an electric guitar popped up. Emma pulled the screen to the left. There was a photo of two ballet dancers on a stage, one of them Madeline. A shot of the jewelry display case at Anthropologie. A picture of Madeline and Sutton on chaise longues.

She flipped through more and more photos: A self-portrait of Madeline in a full-length mirror. A shot of Sutton, Madeline, and Charlotte by some kind of outdoor hot tub. Sutton and Madeline wore skimpy bikinis, but Charlotte wore a terry-cloth cover-up.

I leaned in closer, recognizing it immediately. My body flickered before me, as if it was shuddering. This was the photo I’d taken of everyone at the hot springs. My words clanged in my ears. Picture time! And when Laurel whined that she wasn’t in the photo, I’d smirked and said I planned it that way.

Emma kept eyeing the door, her fingers trembling. She flipped to the next photo. It was a shot of the same dark location, showing Sutton running after Laurel down a dark path.

Laurel! I’d called out. I’ll buy you a new necklace, okay? Just seconds later, that knife had pressed to my throat.

When the next photo appeared on the screen, Emma frowned. It was a close-up of Laurel sitting on a big red rock, the sun rising behind her. A round pendant on a silver chain hung around her neck. With shaking hands, Emma pulled the chain around her throat and examined the locket. It looked exactly the same as the one in the picture.

“Oh my God,” Emma and I whispered at the same time.

Emma wondered what Laurel was doing wearing Sutton’s locket—the locket someone had strangled her with. Could it be . . . ?

It could. After all, I’d thrown hers deep into the woods. The only thing that didn’t make sense now was, well, why ? Why would my own sister want to kill me? I obviously hadn’t been the best sister in life—but how bad could I have been?

The doorknob jiggled. Emma dropped the iPhone. It landed in a heap of towels just as Madeline flung open the door. She’d changed into her skinny jeans, slumpy striped tunic, and wide belt. “I was just looking for . . . oh.” Her gaze dropped to her iPhone on the floor.

“Yeah.” Emma tried to smile, even though her insides were screaming. “I just noticed that, too. I was going to come after you.”

Madeline scooped up the phone and stuck it in her pocket. “Thanks.” She stared at Emma. Emma held her breath.

But then Madeline whipped around and opened the door. “See you in school tomorrow.” She waltzed through the door again, her long hair swinging. Emma leaned against the side of the tub and rolled Sutton’s round locket between her fingers.

I felt more dazed than ever before. Whatever was going on here was just like a mud bath. The deeper my sister plunged, the darker and dirtier it got.

“So you see, Medea had to kill her children,” Mrs. Frost explained to the class on Wednesday. She paced around the room like she was some big-time defense lawyer pleading for an innocent victim’s life. “It was the only way Medea could get back at her husband, Jason, for his betrayal.”

Everyone in the class scribbled notes. Suddenly Emma felt a buzz inside her bag. She inched her fingers into the purse until she felt the iPhone’s smooth sides. Anything would be a welcome distraction from Mrs. Frost’s obsessive retelling of Medea . Something about the forcefulness of the English teacher’s literary interpretations made Emma wonder if Mrs. Frost had had a less than faithful husband.