Emma resisted the urge to rest her head on the desk and fall asleep. This was getting exhausting. Sure, she wanted to be an investigative journalist when she grew up, and uncover corporate scandal and horrific crimes, but it was different when her life was on the line.
“Earth to Sutton!” Polished fingernails snapped in front of Emma’s face. Charlotte’s green eyes bored into her.
“Are you okay?” Charlotte asked, looking concerned.
“You went kind of comatose for a second.”
“I’m fine,” Emma murmured. “Just sort of … bored.” Charlotte raised an eyebrow. “If you remember, you were the one who convinced both of us to take Fashion Design.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I keep saying this, but you’ve seemed so weird lately. You know you can talk to me, right?”
Emma ran her fingers along the fabric of her dress, considering. If only she could tell Charlotte about Thayer.
But it would be a mistake—if she let on that Sutton and Thayer had been romantically linked, Charlotte would immediately accuse her of cheating on Garrett. Garrett was always a touchy subject with Charlotte—he’d broken up with Charlotte to be with Sutton, and Emma suspected she’d never gotten over it.
I was almost positive that was true.
But then Emma got an idea. She reached into her pocket and unearthed the small silver key. “I found this in my room this morning and can’t for the life of me remember what it unlocks. Do you know?”
Charlotte plucked the key from Emma’s palm and turned it over in her hands. It glinted in the harsh overhead light. Emma noticed Madeline peering at her out of the corner of her eye, but then she quickly turned and faced front.
“It looks like it unlocks a padlock, maybe,” Charlotte said.
“A locker?” Emma guessed eagerly. Maybe Charlotte had seen Sutton open a secret locker Emma didn’t know about.
“Maybe a filing cabinet.” Charlotte handed it back to her. “What does a key have to do with your bizarre attitude lately? Does it unlock your sanity?”
“I don’t have a bizarre attitude,” Emma said defensively, slipping the key back in her pocket. “You’re imagining things.”
“Are you sure?” Charlotte tried.
Emma pursed her lips. “I’m positive.”
Charlotte stared at her for a beat, then picked up her drawing pencil. “Fine.” She furiously doodled swirls and stars across her fashion sketchbook. “Be secretive. I don’t care.”
The bell rang, and Charlotte jumped up. “Char!” Emma called after her, sensing that Charlotte was more irritated than she let on. But Charlotte didn’t turn. She sidled up to Madeline and disappeared into the hall. Emma remained at her desk, feeling drained. When she trudged into the hall, she endured yet more stares from random students whose names she didn’t yet know.
“Did you hear that a soccer scout from Stanford came here asking about Thayer?” a girl in a denim jacket whispered to her dark-haired friend, who was wearing an eighties-style off-the-shoulder striped shirt.
“Totally,” her friend murmured back. “But because Thayer’s in jail, there’s no shot of him getting in there.”
“Oh, please.” The girl in the denim jacket waved a hand. “His lawyer is getting him out. He’ll be free by next week.”
Please, no, Emma thought.
“But even so, what about that limp?” Eighties Stripes asked. “I heard it was really, really bad. How do you think he got it, anyway?”
The answer, to them, was obvious. The two girls whipped around and looked at Emma as she passed, their eyes blazing.
It felt like everyone was whispering about her, even the teachers. Frau Fenstermacher, her German professor, nudged Madame Ives, one of the French teachers. Two cafeteria workers stopped their conversation and stared.
Freshman, seniors, everyone looked at her as if they knew all of her business. Would you just leave me alone?
Emma wanted to scream. It was ironic: When she school-hopped as a foster kid, she’d been a nobody, a ghost in the hallways. She’d longed to be someone everyone knew. But notoriety came with a price.
Didn’t I know it.
As Emma rounded the corner into a windowed hallway and looked out onto a courtyard dotted with cacti and potted ferns, she caught a glimpse of Ethan’s dark hair a few inches above the other students. Her heart pounded against her chest as she maneuvered her way through the swarming crowd.
“Hey,” she said, taking his elbow.
A smile lit up Ethan’s face. “Hey, yourself.” Then he noticed Emma’s gloomy expression. “Are you okay? What happened?”
She shrugged. “It’s one of those days where it’s a little hard to be Sutton Mercer. I would give anything to get out of here. Get a break from being Sutton for a while.” A wrinkle formed on Ethan’s brow, and then he held up one finger in an aha gesture. “Absolutely. And I know exactly where I can take you.”
Three hours later, Ethan angled his car off of Route 10 at an exit marked PHOENIX. Emma frowned. “Can’t you tell me something about where we’re going?”
“Nope,” Ethan said, a sly smile playing across his lips.
“Just that it’s somewhere no one has ever heard of Sutton Mercer, Emma Paxton, or Thayer Vega.”
I wanted to laugh. When I was alive, I had the notion that everyone had heard of me— everywhere. And it was sweet that Ethan had driven my twin all the way to Phoenix to get her away from the madness.
Once off the highway, Ethan turned down a dilapidated downtown Phoenix street lined with big Dumpsters overflowing with drywal scraps, broken glass, and empty paint cans. An unfinished apartment building loomed over the street, boasting a sign that said units would be available for rent starting in November. Taking in the windowless façade, Emma seriously doubted that claim was true.