I GUESS SO, Ethan wrote back. Emma could feel his hesitation through the phone line. MY FIRST SOCCER GAME…AND I’M A SENIOR. LOL.
IF IT MAKES YOU FEEL ANY BETTER, IT’S MY FIRST GAME, TOO, Emma wrote back. I’LL PICK YOU UP AT 7. “Writing to Ethan?” Charlotte teased, sidling up to Emma and plopping down on the bench.
Emma covered the screen self-consciously. “How’d you know?”
“Because you have a big, dumb, love-struck look on your face.” Charlotte nudged her. “Before the dance was canceled, there were rumors that Ethan was going to be voted Harvest King.”
Emma’s mouth dropped open. “Really?”
“Don’t look so surprised. He’s dating you. Of course he’d be nominated.” Charlotte separated her ponytail down the middle and yanked it tighter.
“Are you ready, Hollier women?” a loud voice boomed.
Everyone looked over to see Coach Maggie in shiny navy blue Umbros and a white collared Hollier tennis shirt, standing with her hands on her hips at the edge of the courts. A couple of girls smirked. Maggie was always calling them “Hollier women,” or “women of Hollier,” or, once: “women of the racket.”
“Today’s practice will be a test of sheer will,” Maggie went on, pacing along the baseline. “I’ve pitted each of you against the player with whom your skills are most evenly matched. We’ll start with our cocaptains, Nisha and Sutton.” She paused dramatically as though expecting a round of applause. When she didn’t get one, she tossed two fuzzy tennis balls in Nisha’s direction. “Court six, ladies,” she said, gesturing to the court farthest from where the team sat.
Charlotte gave Emma a sympathetic glance—normally being paired with Nisha wasn’t something Sutton exactly celebrated.
Emma shrugged. “She’s okay,” she murmured.
Charlotte looked surprised, but didn’t say anything.
Nisha glanced sideways at Emma as they made their way across the court, like she was trying to gauge whether she and Emma would slip back into rival mode, or if their truce from the previous night would hold.
Emma gave Nisha a reassuring smile, hoping to put the girl at ease. “Can we stretch some more first?” she asked. “I’m sore after last night.”
Nisha sighed with relief. “Me, too.”
A series of footfalls sounded behind them, and the boys’ soccer team thundered past for their warm-up laps around the field. “Hey, Nisha,” Garrett called.
“Hey,” Nisha said faintly, waving back.
Then Garrett noticed Emma next to her. His expression soured.
There was an uncomfortable pause, and the girls walked quietly for a few seconds. “So you are still seeing Garrett?” Emma asked in as friendly a voice as she could muster, thinking about how Nisha had avoided the question last night.
Nisha adjusted the strap of her dark purple tank. “We were never really seeing each other,” she said. “He only went with me to get back at you.”
Then Emma remembered the real answer she had wanted from Nisha last night. “Can I ask you a weird question?”
Nisha put a hand on the hip of her neatly pleated white shorts and waited.
Emma swallowed hard. “Are you sure my sister was at the back-to-school sleepover the whole night?”
Nisha’s eyes flickered back and forth. “Why?”
“I just think she was somewhere else and lying to me about it. Sister stuff,” Emma said vaguely. “I’m not going to get you in trouble or anything. But if you remember something, please tell me.”
A few beads of sweat appeared on Nisha’s brow. Finally she let out a sigh. “I suppose I’m not a hundred percent sure she was there the whole night.”
Emma’s heart thumped. “Was she there when you woke up in the morning?”
Nisha pushed a strand of hair off her face. “Well, no.”
“Was she there for breakfast or anything?” Emma asked, clutching her racket.
Nisha raised one shoulder, then let it drop.
“So she wasn’t there the whole night,” Emma said. “But you said she was.”
Nisha’s eyes flashed. “God, Sutton. I was trying to piss you off, okay? I was mad that you told Laurel not to hang out with me. I wanted you to know that she went behind your back and did it anyway.”
Emma barely heard her. She stepped back and turned to face Laurel, who was dueling Charlotte on court one. Laurel smashed a lob overhead, sending the ball sailing past Charlotte’s outstretched racket. She did a happy victory dance like she was a normal, ordinary teenager. But Nisha had just given her confirmation. Laurel never went back to the sleepover that night. Suddenly, it felt like the air had been sucked from Emma’s lungs. She bent at the waist, staring down at the baked clay ground.
“Hey, are you okay?” Nisha’s shadow loomed over Emma. “You look like you’re going to pass out.”
“Um, I just…need water,” Emma stammered. “I’ll be right back.”
She took off in the direction of the school, doing her best to look casual. She pushed through the double doors of the girls’ locker room, the smell of plastic and stale bread making her feel sick. Half a chocolate-chip cookie was squished along the wooden bench lining the lockers. She checked the stalls, relieved that they were empty, then found Laurel’s locker, which was decorated with shooting stars, gold-foil tennis rackets, and Laurel’s name in purple bubble letters. She touched the lock and twisted the combination to zero. I just need to find something, she thought manically. Anything.