Sara Shepard: 4.5 The First Lie

“I can be pretty adventurous,” I admit. “But maybe not garlic-ice-cream adventurous. Everyone has their limits.”

“So what kind of ice cream would you eat?” Thayer asks. “Chili pepper?”

“Why not?” I shrug. “I like some spice.”

“How about miso?”

“Totally—I love sushi.” I point to him. “What about prosciutto?”

“As in ham?” He makes a face. “Not sure about that one.”

I feign shock. “Have I grossed out the unflappable Thayer Vega?”

“Maybe,” Thayer says, and we both chuckle. Suddenly, something strikes me: standing here, hanging out on the Donovans’ front walk, talking to Thayer like he’s … a guy feels so normal and natural. More than that, it’s fun, and it fills me with a sparkly feeling I can’t ignore.

But then a voice inside me speaks very, very loudly: This is just a prank. Nothing more.

I straighten, hitch my shorts back up over my hips, and clear my throat, suddenly clamming up. “Well, I should get going.”

“Wouldn’t want to keep your adoring public waiting,” Thayer quips.

I bite my lip. “No, definitely not.” My eyes dart across his lithe body again, just for good measure. “Don’t work too hard.”

“I won’t,” he assures me. “Anyway, I’ll see you later.”

I raise my eyebrows, feeling a skip in my chest. “You will?”

He nods. “I’m hanging out with Laurel.”

Of course. “Cool,” I say. I’m about to turn and wander back home when Thayer reaches forward, placing a hand on my forearm. The contact sends a thrill straight to my core. “Watch out,” he says, gesturing to the rake I was about to step on.

“Right,” I say, regaining my balance. But I feel like he meant watch out in another way, too. Watch out, Sutton. You’re getting in over your head.

“And … breathe …”

It’s Tuesday evening, and Alexis, my favorite instructor at Prana Yoga, winds her way through the studio, her cleanly pedicured feet nearly soundless against the sleek, blond bamboo flooring. The silver toe ring nestled around her left third toe makes a tiny click with each step, but it’s barely audible over Charlotte’s labored ujjayi breathing. It’s not very yogic, and I have to restrain myself from pinching her so she’ll quiet down.

Om , I remind myself. Breathe. I focus on the clicks of Alexis’s toe ring tapping out a steady, rhythmic Morse code and draw my concentration inward. If I can make my mind blank, maybe I’ll stop thinking about Thayer’s lazy smile. Or the way he touched my arm before I left the Donovans’ yard yesterday. Or how he said watch out like it meant something. Or the fact that I actually slept with my arm tucked around Scooby last night. And when I woke up at 2 A.M. and couldn’t find him, I kind of freaked out a little. He’d only been on the floor, but really—how old was I? Didn’t I stop sleeping with toys when I was three?

I bend my right leg until my thigh is nearly parallel to the floor, sinking lower into the release of the muscle as Alexis gently nudges my extended front arm into proper alignment. “One long line,” she reminds me, nodding as I make the adjustment. Her sandy corkscrew curls bob as she surveys Madeline’s posture, which is, of course, ballerina perfect.

“ Chaturanga to up dog,” Alexis intones, her voice low and hypnotic, like car tires crunching over gravel. Madeline drops gracefully into a firm, strong plank on my left while, from the right, Charlotte grunts as she lowers into the pose. We all invert back into down dog, then stand, shake out for a moment, and drag our sticky mats to the wall for headstands.

“Remember that headstands, like all inversions, are about clarity . Perspective, ” Alexis says. She kneels at the front of the studio and lights a cluster of eucalyptus candles, then rises and dims the overhead lights. The room is bathed in a soft glow, the candles giving off a clean, fresh scent.

Clarity. Perspective. It’s a good thing we’re here, I think. I could use some of both of those.

Thayer never did come by to see Laurel yesterday. And what’s worse is that I noticed. And cared.

What’s wrong with me?

I mean, I can’t actually like Thayer, can I? And I definitely can’t be seen dating him or anything like that. I have my reputation to think of. Still, though—thinking about yesterday, his skin on mine, the jokes back and forth, the easy way I felt around him, I feel the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

This is so totally not okay. There’s only one thing left to do.

I have to call the prank off, shove my feelings down into some kind of emotional lock box before they become anything more, and pretend none of this insanity ever happened in the first place.

I press my fists firmly into the ground and send all of my energy to my legs, imagining them shooting straight up into the sky. But then Thayer’s face materializes in my mind again. I wince, and my legs wobble.

There’s a soft thud beside me as Charlotte allows her legs to fall over her head in plow pose. As if she can read my mind, she whispers, “How’s it going with Thayer, Sutton?”

Here goes , I think. No time like the present.

“I don’t know, guys,” I say, working as much boredom into my tone as I can. I’m grateful that Charlotte and Madeline are both twisted up like human pretzels and can’t see my face when I answer. “I’ve been thinking, and pranking Thayer seems kind of … lame. I think it might be beneath the standards of the Lying Game.”

They’re silent next to me. Maybe they’ll be cool with it. “Besides,” I go on, “what if people actually believe that I like him? I do have my reputation to think about. No offense, Madeline,” I add as an afterthought.

Madeline doesn’t look remotely offended—in fact, her face is a mask of tranquility, her delicate features serene and open—but Charlotte looks vindicated.

“I knew it!” she crows, her voice gleeful.

“Knew what?” I ask shakily, turning my face away. My heart suddenly thuds. Is it obvious how I’m starting to feel? Does Mads know, too?

“You don’t think you can get Thayer to fall in love with you, do you?” Char asks triumphantly.

What? I break out of the pose and stare at her. I hadn’t expected her to say that. “No, I—”

Madeline cuts me off. “Oh, please,” she says, the beatific expression on her face never wavering. “He’s already half in love with Sutton. He has a picture of you in his bedroom,” she says to me, tilting her chin toward me slightly while keeping her eyes closed.

As much as I wish it wouldn’t, my pulse quickens at the thought. “He does?”

“Yeah, he’s had it since last year at least,” Madeline says. “I found it underneath one of his math books. Don’t ask me where he got it from or what he does with it”—she shudders, causing her willowy frame to waver briefly—“but this prank should be a gimme for you.”

Then she giggles. “I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he realizes it’s all a joke. I mean, come on . My baby brother with a hot older girl? Never. Gonna. Happen.” From upside down, her grin actually looks like a frown, filling me with a queasy foreboding.

“He deserves to be pranked just for thinking it could!” Charlotte chimes in. “It’s going to be so good, don’t you think, Sutton?”