The room stil smel ed slightly of smoke. On the television, a lion sunned itself in the grass, blood from a fresh kil on its lips. Emma ran her fingers through her hair, her chest feeling hot and tight. Puzzle pieces began to slot into place. The Twitter Twins had been in al the right places at al the right times—with Sutton the night she died, in Madeline’s car the night Emma was kidnapped and mistaken for Sutton, at Charlotte’s sleepover when Emma had been strangled.
“I stil don’t know, guys,” Emma said, her vocal cords taut.
“After last time . . .” She trailed off.
Charlotte sniffed. “That was ages ago.”
“It’s just . . .” Emma swal owed hard. “I just don’t . . .”
“Stop being such a wuss.” Madeline reached over and shoved Sutton’s iPhone at Emma. “We’re doing this. You’re cal ing them.”
Emma stared at the phone’s black screen. “A-and tel ing them what?”
Madeline, Charlotte, and Laurel looked at one another. A plan unfolded in minutes, the events rocketing forward out of Emma’s control. They turned to Emma and nudged their chins toward Sutton’s phone. Emma pul ed her dark hair into a ponytail, scrol ed to find Gabby’s number, and pressed CALL. When the line began to ring, she put the cal on speaker.
Gabby answered. “Sutton! Have you been getting our tweets?”
Charlotte rol ed her eyes. Madeline snickered softly. “Of course,” Emma said brightly, tucking her trembling hands under her butt. “They’re awesome!” This made Sutton’s friends shake even harder with silent laughter. “So, listen, Gabs. Can you put Lili on, too?”
Gabby rustled up her sister, and soon both Twitter Twins were on the line “So, I have some information about the Court Ceremony,” Emma said, glancing at Sutton’s friends around her. They nodded encouragingly.
“It’s about time!” Lili tril ed. “This had better be good!”
“It’s awesome! Sort of a ghoulish Titanic meets Baywatch. Everyone wil wear bikinis.”
“Baywatch,” Laurel mouthed, bending over in silent laughter.
“Bikinis?” Gabby sounded skeptical. “Is the school going to al ow that?”
“Of course they’re going to al ow it,” Emma cooed.
“We’ve already had it approved.”
Charlotte swal owed a loud, snorting giggle.
“This ceremony is going to be fabulous, girls,” Emma went on. “Super glamorous in an old-school kind of way.”
For a split second, she wondered if Sutton would be proud of her. If Sutton were here, would she be laughing, too, squeezing Emma’s hand and egging her on?
I would . . . and I wouldn’t. Not with what I now knew about the Twitter Twins. Emma was skating on thin ice.
“Nice,” Gabby and Lili said in unison.
“We’re going to tel the other nominees soon, but I wanted to let you guys know first so you could get a jump on them and be the most fabulous court girls up there,” Emma said. “Go out and buy amazing suits this weekend. The skimpier, the better!”
“We’re on it.” Lili’s voice sang through the receiver.
“Wow, Sutton. You’re so good at this. Keep up the good work.”
As soon as they hung up, the girls col apsed into laughter. Laurel rol ed off the couch onto the floor. Charlotte giggled into a throw pil ow. Madeline kicked her legs in front of the TV screen, which now showed two hyenas perched on a rock. “They are so stupid!” she crowed.
“They’re going to look like the biggest idiots!”
Emma tried to laugh along, too, but Lili’s words clanged in her mind. You’re so good at this. Keep up the good work. She was almost positive Lili’s voice had a sinister edge, an unspoken subtext: Keep up the good work . . . of being Sutton.
Emma looked around at the laughing, smiling faces of Sutton’s friends. No matter how safe she final y felt with them, there was an entire world outside—a world where someone watched her every move and waited for her to slip up.
I couldn’t agree more. Trust no one, sister.
Chapter 15
An Opening . . . and a Closing
CAN YOU SNEAK OUT?
Emma rol ed onto her back to read the text Ethan had just sent. Pul ing one of Sutton’s soft blue throw blankets over her bare legs, she texted back: MERCERS ARE OUT TO
DINNER. I’D HAVE TO BE BACK BEFORE TEN.
I’LL PICK YOU UP IN FIFTEEN, Ethan responded. WEAR A DRESS.
A dress? Emma frowned. UM . . . OKAY, she wrote. CAN I ASK
WHAT WE’RE DOING?
NOPE. IT’S A SURPRISE.
Emma sprang from Sutton’s bed and padded to her closet. She pushed aside a row of soft cotton tops and skinny jeans and examined Sutton’s dress selection, which was plentiful and expensive. She touched a long black dress with gold straps. Too fancy, it seemed, for a Tuesday. Her fingers traced the feathered col ar of a short silver cocktail dress. Maybe it was too short. She ran her hands along the hem of a fire engine-red minidress. Too sex goddess.
I couldn’t help but groan. Was there even such a thing as being too much of a sex goddess? As far as I was concerned, Emma needed to get down with her sexy self. This had to be the night they were final y going to kiss, right?
Then Emma’s palms rested on a light gray oneshouldered dress. The gauzy silk felt soft beneath her fingertips. She slid it over her head and glanced at herself in the gold-framed ful -length mirror on the back of the door. It was perfect.
After mascara, lip gloss, black patent heels, and chandelier earrings that matched Sutton’s silver locket, she was ready. The phone beeped once more, and Emma ran to the bed, thinking it was Ethan. But it was from her friend Alex instead. YOU SHOULD DEFINITELY CHECK THIS PLACE OUT!