The downstairs hallway was decorated with huge framed family photographs: school pictures, shots from family vacations to Paris and San Diego, and a portrait of the Mercer family at what looked like a fancy wedding in Palm Springs. Emma followed the sound of the morning news and the smell of coffee to the kitchen. It was a huge room with sparkling, floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto a brick patio and the mountains beyond. The counters were dark, the cabinets white, and there was a bunch of pineapple paraphernalia all over the room—wooden pineapples atop the cabinets, a ceramic pineapple cylinder that held spatulas and slotted spoons, a pineapple-shaped placard near the back door that said WELCOME!
Mrs. Mercer poured coffee at the sink. Sutton’s sister, Laurel, dissected a croissant at the kitchen table, dressed in a flowing printed top that looked identical to a shirt Emma had seen in Sutton’s closet last night. Mr. Mercer stepped in through the door, carrying plastic-wrapped copies of the Wall Street Journal and the Tucson Daily Star. Emma noticed his doctor’s coat, which said J MERCER, ORTHOPEDIC SURGERY. Like Mrs. Mercer, he was also a little older than most of the foster parents Emma had known, possibly a well-preserved fiftysomething. Emma wondered if they’d tried to have kids on their own before adopting Sutton. And what about Laurel? She had the same square jaw as Mrs. Mercer and the same round blue eyes as Mr. Mercer. Perhaps she was their biological daughter. Maybe the Mercers had finally conceived as soon as the adoption had gone through—Emma had read about that phenomenon somewhere.
Everyone looked up when Emma appeared in the doorway, including an enormous Great Dane. He rose from a striped doggie bed by the door and trotted over. He sniffed her hand, his big jowls grazing her skin. DRAKE, glinted a bone-shaped tag on his collar. Emma stood absolutely still. In seconds, Drake would probably start barking his head off, knowing Emma wasn’t who everyone thought she was. But then Drake snorted, turned, and trotted back to his bed.
A flash about Drake suddenly bubbled to the surface for me. His loud panting. The feel of his tongue on my face. How he’d howl goofily whenever an ambulance roared by. I felt an achy longing to wrap my arms around his big neck and kiss his cold, wet nose.
Mrs. Mercer set down a bottle of vitamins and walked over to Emma. “Drink.” She shoved a glass of orange juice toward Emma. “Do you have cash for lunch?”
“I need to tell you something,” Emma said loudly and sharply. Everyone stopped and stared at her. She cleared her throat. “I’m not Sutton. Your daughter is missing. She might have run away.”
A spoon clattered against a plate, and Mrs. Mercer’s eyebrows arched. Emma braced herself for something awful to happen—alarms to go off, fireworks to erupt, ninjas to emerge from the laundry room and take her down, anything that might indicate what she’d just revealed was very, very dangerous. But then Mr. Mercer just shook his head and took a sip of coffee from an ALOHA FROM HAWAII! pineapple mug. “And who, pray tell, might you be?” he asked.
“I’m her . . . long-lost twin sister, Emma. I was supposed to meet Sutton yesterday. But she’s . . . gone.”
Mrs. Mercer blinked rapidly. Mr. Mercer exchanged an incredulous look with Laurel.
“Save the creativity for English class.” Mrs. Mercer plucked a croissant from a platter on the island and pushed it toward Emma.
“I’m serious. My name is Emma,” she told them.
“Emma, hmm? And what’s your last name?”
“Pa—” Emma started, but Laurel slammed her coffee cup to the table. “You seriously don’t believe her, do you, Mom? She’s just trying to get out of school.”
“Of course I don’t believe her.” Mrs. Mercer pushed a folded piece of paper into Emma’s hand. “Here’s your schedule. Laurel, can you get Sleeping Beauty’s shoes and tennis bag from upstairs?”
“Why do I have to do it?” Laurel whined.
“Because I don’t trust your sister.” Mrs. Mercer grabbed a set of keys from a pineapple-shaped holder by the cordless phone. “She might fall back to sleep.”
“Fine.” Laurel groaned and scraped back her chair.
Emma stared blankly at the shiny brass buttons on Mrs. Mercer’s business suit, then at the new-agey crystal necklace at her throat. How could this be happening? Why didn’t they believe her? Was it that crazy?
Maybe. Even though I wanted my parents to believe what Emma was saying, it did kind of sound insane.
Laurel walked across the room toward the stairs. “Thanks a lot for last night, jerk,” she hissed at Emma as she passed.
Emma stepped back as if Laurel had just slapped her. Then she remembered Charlotte’s remark at the party. Did you ditch Laurel again? You’re a bad, bad sister. There was also the text from Laurel on Sutton’s phone: THANKS FOR NOTHING, BITCH.
“I didn’t ditch you.” Emma spun around and stared at Laurel’s receding back. “I was waiting for Sutton when Madeline dragged me to the party. I had no control.”
Laurel backtracked and stopped right in front of Emma. “Sure, Sutton. Just blow off the one thing I asked you weeks ago to do. I was basically stranded at Red Door. I bet you rigged it so you knew my phone was about to die, too, huh?” She had natural highlights and tiny freckles across her nose. Her wide jaw worked a fresh piece of Juicy Fruit gum. “Where’s your locket?”
Emma’s hand fluttered to her collarbone and she shrugged helplessly.
Laurel’s lips parted. She let out a low scoff. “But I thought it was so special to you,” she said icily. “Something no one else has. ‘The only way someone’s getting this from me is if they chop off my head!’” Her voice took on a singsong quality as she mimicked Sutton’s.