I leaned in closer, recognizing it immediately. My body flickered before me, as if it was shuddering. This was the photo I’d taken of everyone at the hot springs. My words clanged in my ears. Picture time! And when Laurel whined that she wasn’t in the photo, I’d smirked and said I planned it that way.
Emma kept eyeing the door, her fingers trembling. She flipped to the next photo. It was a shot of the same dark location, showing Sutton running after Laurel down a dark path.
Laurel! I’d called out. I’ll buy you a new necklace, okay? Just seconds later, that knife had pressed to my throat.
When the next photo appeared on the screen, Emma frowned. It was a close-up of Laurel sitting on a big red rock, the sun rising behind her. A round pendant on a silver chain hung around her neck. With shaking hands, Emma pulled the chain around her throat and examined the locket. It looked exactly the same as the one in the picture.
“Oh my God,” Emma and I whispered at the same time.
Emma wondered what Laurel was doing wearing Sutton’s locket—the locket someone had strangled her with. Could it be . . . ?
It could. After all, I’d thrown hers deep into the woods. The only thing that didn’t make sense now was, well, why? Why would my own sister want to kill me? I obviously hadn’t been the best sister in life—but how bad could I have been?
The doorknob jiggled. Emma dropped the iPhone. It landed in a heap of towels just as Madeline flung open the door. She’d changed into her skinny jeans, slumpy striped tunic, and wide belt. “I was just looking for . . . oh.” Her gaze dropped to her iPhone on the floor.
“Yeah.” Emma tried to smile, even though her insides were screaming. “I just noticed that, too. I was going to come after you.”
Madeline scooped up the phone and stuck it in her pocket. “Thanks.” She stared at Emma. Emma held her breath.
But then Madeline whipped around and opened the door. “See you in school tomorrow.” She waltzed through the door again, her long hair swinging. Emma leaned against the side of the tub and rolled Sutton’s round locket between her fingers.
I felt more dazed than ever before. Whatever was going on here was just like a mud bath. The deeper my sister plunged, the darker and dirtier it got.
Chapter 23
SOMEONE WAS A VERY, VERY BAD GIRL . . .
“So you see, Medea had to kill her children,” Mrs. Frost explained to the class on Wednesday. She paced around the room like she was some big-time defense lawyer pleading for an innocent victim’s life. “It was the only way Medea could get back at her husband, Jason, for his betrayal.”
Everyone in the class scribbled notes. Suddenly Emma felt a buzz inside her bag. She inched her fingers into the purse until she felt the iPhone’s smooth sides. Anything would be a welcome distraction from Mrs. Frost’s obsessive retelling of Medea. Something about the forcefulness of the English teacher’s literary interpretations made Emma wonder if Mrs. Frost had had a less than faithful husband.
“Miss Mercer?” a voice snapped. Emma looked up and saw Mrs. Frost standing right over her desk. She waved her tattered copy at Emma. “Drop the phone right now, or I take it for the rest of the year.”
Emma raised both empty palms in the air. “I surrender.” Everyone giggled.
Fortunately the bell rang right then, and English was the last class of the day. Emma fled into the hall, checking the iPhone screen for who had called. Even after all this time, even knowing what she knew, she still carried around a tiny seedling of hope that the incoming message might be from Sutton.
But it was just an email from Sutton’s mom. FINAL BIRTHDAY PARTY MENU was the subject. Emma scanned the list of crudités, appetizers, and desserts. LOOKS FINE, she began to write back, but then she noticed carrot cake cupcakes on the list. Carrot cake had always grossed her out—the raisins in the cake mix made her think of gerbil poop. MAKE THEM RED VELVET INSTEAD, she tapped on the screen.
The halls swarmed with students emptying out their lockers and kids in sports uniforms rushing to games. A knot of girls Emma didn’t recognize stood in the corner near the trophy case, whispering. Emma glanced quickly around the hall, her heart jumping whenever she saw blond hair that looked like Laurel’s or a willowy frame like Madeline’s. She’d avoided Sutton’s friends and her sister all day, claiming she had a photography project to work on at lunch—“Photoshopping unibrows on yearbook portraits again, Sutton?” Charlotte had joked—and ignoring their snarky texts and IMs. The idea of facing them right now made her skin itch. Why would Laurel have been wearing Sutton’s locket? And how come Madeline had taken that picture? Was it like some kind of trophy?
Emma ducked into the girls’ bathroom to splash some water on her face. Just as she reached for a paper towel, a hand touched her shoulder. Emma yelped and turned around.
“God.” Nisha stood next to her at the sink, shielding her face with her hand. “Jumpy much?”
Emma turned back and shakily twisted on the tap. “Oh. What’s up?”
Nisha raised a piece of hair behind her ear. “Did you forget already?”
“Forget what?”
Nisha placed her hands on her hips. She stared at Emma with disdain. “Decorating the lockers? The thing all captains do at the start of every year?”
Emma blinked. How was she supposed to know that?
“Uch.” Nisha made a frustrated noise at the back of her throat. “You know, some of us can’t do all of the work by ourselves. Some of us have college applications to fill out.”