Sara Shepard: The Lying Game

Emma leaned into the cushions. Even though she wanted to admit that she’d seen the video, even though she wanted to believe Laurel, Sutton’s sister , was innocent in all this, trusting her was dangerous.

Emma’s brain swirled with what she needed to do. According to Ethan, the snuff film had happened almost a month ago—not the day before Emma had arrived. That meant Sutton had been around for weeks after that video was made and before her death. For all Emma knew, the strangling incident, the snuff film, had blown over long ago. But what had happened in between?

Emma looked up and regarded Laurel coldly, her face drained of feeling. All at once she knew what she should do. “I did see something in your room,” she said in a monotone.

Color drained from Laurel’s face. “What?”

Emma rose to her feet and slowly advanced toward Laurel. Laurel gasped when Emma wrapped her hands around her neck. Her eyes bulged. “Sutton!” she whimpered.

Emma froze for a long moment, her hands lightly around Laurel’s throat. Then she pulled away, rolled her eyes, and smacked Sutton’s sister playfully on the cheek. “Gotcha, bitch.”

It took a few seconds for relief to flood across Laurel’s face. She sat back in the chair and ran her hands over her throat. “You are so evil.”

“I know. But now we’re even.” Emma breezily returned to her seat. But her hands trembled as she moved a pillow out of the way. None of this was going to be easy. She was back to square one again— everyone was a suspect.

“There’s our birthday girl!” Mrs. Mercer’s voice rang out from the hall. She swept into the living room. Mr. Mercer followed with four cupcakes on a pink plate. A sparkler candle stuck out of the biggest one, which he positioned on the coffee table right in front of Emma. Red velvet. Her favorite.

Mrs. Mercer perched on the ottoman, lifting her hands as though conducting an orchestra. “Ready, everyone?”

They launched into a rousing version of “Happy Birthday,” Mr. Mercer trilling the high notes, Laurel singing loudly and strongly off-key. This was the first time this many people had sung “Happy Birthday” to Emma all at the same time.

When the song was over, Mrs. Mercer wrapped her arms around Emma’s shoulders. Mr. Mercer followed, then Laurel.

“Happy birthday, baby girl,” Mrs. Mercer said. “We love you.”

“Now make a wish,” Mr. Mercer instructed.

The sparkler on the cupcake crackled and snapped. Emma leaned forward and closed her eyes. Her birthday wish had been the same ever since Becky vanished: for a family. And now, amazingly, backwardly, technically, it had finally come true. But there was something bigger Emma needed to wish for now, something that eclipsed all of that: to find who had murdered her twin sister, Sutton. Once and for all.

I leaned in close. That was what I wanted, too. Even dead girls deserved birthday wishes.

Emma repeated the wish once, twice, three times in her head and exhaled strongly, like she was blowing away all her past. The sparkler flickered and went out. Everyone applauded and Emma smiled.

And so did I. My sister had blown out the candle in one breath. That meant our wishes were definitely going to come true.

I hung around my bedroom as she got ready to go to sleep that night, waiting, thinking. Staring at the items that used to be mine. Waiting for memories to come. They didn’t.

The three flashbacks I’d been given back blazed through my head on a continuous loop: my friends’ cruel giggles. The necklace pulling at my throat. The desperate look in Ethan’s eyes as he waited for me to breathe again. But what had happened after that memory—and that video—ended? My friends might not have killed me that night, but someone got me later. It could have been Madeline or Charlotte or Laurel . . . but it also could have been someone else.

Whoever had pulled this off was doing quite an acting job though. There were still so many possibilities and questions, too. What had I done to deserve such a horrible prank from my BFFs, anyway? The Lying Game was all about one-upmanship—so what had warranted my almost murder? And what about our poor Twitter Twins, excluded from the Lying Game’s inner sanctum? They claimed they had a lot of killer prank ideas up their sleeves— killer being the operative word. And then there was the mysterious missing Thayer Vega. Would we ever hear from him again? Would we ever find out what I’d done? A guy disappearing shortly before a girl’s murder seemed awfully suspicious . . .

I watched Emma as she floated toward sleep, her face untroubled and unsuspecting. I wished we could’ve had one day together, one hour. I wished I could whisper in her ear and tell her what I knew for sure: Always sleep with one eye open. Never take anything for granted. Your best friends might just be your enemies. Most important, she shouldn’t trust a single thing she knew about me yet. I wasn’t sure how I knew, but something deep inside, something I couldn’t quite comprehend, told me I was the trickiest member of the Lying Game by far.

Sweet dreams, long-lost twin sister. I’ll see you in the morning . . . even though you won’t see me.

Wow, starting a new series is hard! I’ve forgotten how difficult it is, and I absolutely could not have done it without the help of Lanie Davis, Sara Shandler, Josh Bank, Les Morgenstein at Alloy Entertainment, and Farrin Jacobs and Kari Sutherland at HarperTeen. All of you were so amazingly instrumental in making the first book in The Lying Game work, from fiddling with the voice and the structure to drilling down to the teensiest minutia that gives it polish and panache. I cannot overstate how very grateful I am for all your encouragement and support these past few months—especially Lanie, who probably had to edit this, what, six times? We are definitely a team, and I hope we will stick together for a long, long while.

Also a big thanks to Andy McNicol and Anais Borja at William Morris for their supervision and enthusiasm. To Kristin Marang at Alloy Entertainment for your creativity and spirit, and to Liz Dresner for designing the book’s beautiful cover. To Joel, my husband, who read a late-late draft and told me, even though I didn’t want him to because I didn’t want to write another sentence, what wasn’t working and what would make it better. To my good friend Andrew Zaeh, the quickest learner on a surfboard I have ever met—watch out for the scary Mini Marts! To my parents, Mindy and Shep—scary county fair carnival!—and my sister, Ali—owl!—and to Caron and Melissa Crooke, girls one should never walk into a Mexican restaurant with unless you’re prepared to do shots. And a huge shout-out to all the readers I’ve met both this year and in past years for reaching out and telling me what you think. You guys rock, each and every one of you!

And because I love all of you too much to lose any of you, please don’t try any of these Lying Game pranks at home. I hope you agree that what happens in The Lying Game stays in The Lying Game . . . and nowhere else.