“You guys, it’s not like that!” Emma said, hoping to avoid what was clearly a touchy subject. “Thayer and I are just friends.”
“Oh yeah?” Charlotte looked across the field at Thayer, whose eyes were still locked on Emma. “That’s a friendly look he’s sending you.”
Emma felt her face getting warm. Fending off boys was a new experience for her. She’d never stayed in one school long enough to connect with any would-be boyfriends. She leaned over to retie her shoelaces, trying to ignore Charlotte’s accusing glance.
When she straightened, she noticed another familiar figure on the other side of the field, and her heart lifted. She waved at Ethan, but he didn’t seem to see her. Then she caught his expression. He was watching Thayer with fire in his eyes. Emma recoiled. She knew he was jealous of Thayer, but she had never seen him look so venomous before.
“Ethan!” she yelled, but the crowd shifted and he disappeared from her line of sight.
“So which one of them are you bringing to my party in two Saturdays?” Charlotte asked with a smirk.
“You’re having a party? Since when?” Madeline interrupted, fingering the collar of her T-shirt, which she’d cut into a boat neck.
“Since about an hour ago,” Charlotte said coyly. “I just found out my parents are going to Vegas that weekend. We can’t let an opportunity like that pass us by, can we?”
“Nice,” Gabby whispered, reaching for her iPhone and starting to type. Lili followed suit. In twenty seconds, the whole school would know about it, thanks to their Twitter feeds.
“Well, I’m taking Ethan, obviously,” Emma said. She looked for him across the field again, hoping she’d just imagined the terrifying look he’d given Thayer. A headline popped into her mind, an old habit from the days of imagining herself an investigative journalist: Rumored Love Triangle Drives Teen Couple Apart; Details on Page 11.
The referee blew his whistle, signaling the players to assemble in the middle of the field. Emma, Madeline, and Charlotte were with Mr. Mercer on the red team. Ethan joined them, giving Emma a kiss on her cheek. Laurel and Mrs. Mercer stood on the other side in blue, along with Nisha and Thayer.
“You’re going down!” Laurel screamed at Emma from across the field. Emma rolled her eyes good-naturedly. Not long ago, a threat like that from Laurel would have scared her, but she and Laurel were now on good terms. And Laurel definitely wasn’t Sutton’s murderer.
“Okay, everyone,” Mr. Mercer said, tucking a yellow flag into his waistband and gesturing for the group to huddle. “Madeline, Charlotte, you girls flank us and keep those blues off our backs. After the snap, Sutton, you run downfield as fast as you can. I’ll pass it to you when it looks clear.” Then he squeezed her arm. “I’m glad you’re playing this year.”
Emma couldn’t keep the smile off her face. Since she’d discovered Mr. Mercer was her grandfather, she’d felt close to him, not just as Sutton but as herself. But then the usual guilt flooded back. He didn’t know her secret. And as much as she wanted to tell him, she couldn’t. She thought about the locket tightening around her throat at Charlotte’s house, the stage light that had crashed dangerously close to her head, all the times the murderer had warned her never to tell anyone. She couldn’t bear the thought of her grandfather being hurt—and if he knew the truth, his life would be in danger, too.
The referee blew the whistle again. Emma saw the ball snap back and bolted, weaving quickly in and out of blue cotton shirts. The Twitter Twins’ high voices chanted from the sidelines: “We’ve got beauty, we’ve got class, the other team can kiss our …”
“Sutton!” Mr. Mercer cried, drowning out the rest of the cheer. Nisha was in front of him, trying to grab the flag from his belt, but he danced backward a few steps and threw.
Emma’s body tensed as the ball hung in the air. It fell neatly into her arms, and she took off toward the goalpost.
“Where do you think you’re going?” From the corner of her eye she saw Mrs. Mercer come her way. Her grandmother was surprisingly dexterous, limber from the hot yoga she did three times a week. Emma zigzagged around her and put on a burst of speed. Laurel joined the chase, and she and Mrs. Mercer flanked Emma as she pelted up the field.
Emma’s hair came loose from its knot and billowed behind her. I was pulled along by her speed, but I couldn’t feel the wind in my hair or the earth pushing away under my feet. I wondered how many times I’d gone to this tournament only to stand on the sidelines with my friends, complaining about the heat. Maybe I should have actually played once, just to experience it for myself.
The goalpost loomed in the distance, so close Emma could taste it. Suddenly, a pair of arms encircled her waist. She tumbled to the ground, the football rolling away from her. When she flipped to her back, Thayer’s face hovered over hers. “Gotcha,” he said softly, in the same feathery tone of voice he might use to say I love you.
Time stood still for a moment. Emma smelled the sweet grass, saw the light freckles on his cheeks. His face was so close to hers, she thought they might kiss.
I would have given anything in that moment to be able to feel what Emma did.
Then Thayer cried out as someone lifted him from behind. Emma looked around, confused, and saw Ethan shoving Thayer to his feet.
“This is flag football,” Ethan said angrily. “You’re going to hurt someone.”
Thayer pushed Ethan away. “Touch me again, man, and I’ll hurt you.”