Mrs. Mercer perched on the ottoman, lifting her hands as though conducting an orchestra. “Ready, everyone?”
They launched into a rousing version of “Happy Birthday,” Mr. Mercer trilling the high notes, Laurel singing loudly and strongly off-key. This was the first time this many people had sung “Happy Birthday” to Emma all at the same time.
When the song was over, Mrs. Mercer wrapped her arms around Emma’s shoulders. Mr. Mercer followed, then Laurel.
“Happy birthday, baby girl,” Mrs. Mercer said. “We love you.”
“Now make a wish,” Mr. Mercer instructed.
The sparkler on the cupcake crackled and snapped. Emma leaned forward and closed her eyes. Her birthday wish had been the same ever since Becky vanished: for a family. And now, amazingly, backwardly, technically, it had finally come true. But there was something bigger Emma needed to wish for now, something that eclipsed all of that: to find who had murdered her twin sister, Sutton. Once and for all.
I leaned in close. That was what I wanted, too. Even dead girls deserved birthday wishes.
Emma repeated the wish once, twice, three times in her head and exhaled strongly, like she was blowing away all her past. The sparkler flickered and went out. Everyone applauded and Emma smiled.
And so did I. My sister had blown out the candle in one breath. That meant our wishes were definitely going to come true.
Epilogue
I hung around my bedroom as she got ready to go to sleep that night, waiting, thinking. Staring at the items that used to be mine. Waiting for memories to come. They didn’t.
The three flashbacks I’d been given back blazed through my head on a continuous loop: my friends’ cruel giggles. The necklace pulling at my throat. The desperate look in Ethan’s eyes as he waited for me to breathe again. But what had happened after that memory—and that video—ended? My friends might not have killed me that night, but someone got me later. It could have been Madeline or Charlotte or Laurel . . . but it also could have been someone else.
Whoever had pulled this off was doing quite an acting job though. There were still so many possibilities and questions, too. What had I done to deserve such a horrible prank from my BFFs, anyway? The Lying Game was all about one-upmanship—so what had warranted my almost murder? And what about our poor Twitter Twins, excluded from the Lying Game’s inner sanctum? They claimed they had a lot of killer prank ideas up their sleeves—killer being the operative word. And then there was the mysterious missing Thayer Vega. Would we ever hear from him again? Would we ever find out what I’d done? A guy disappearing shortly before a girl’s murder seemed awfully suspicious . . .
I watched Emma as she floated toward sleep, her face untroubled and unsuspecting. I wished we could’ve had one day together, one hour. I wished I could whisper in her ear and tell her what I knew for sure: Always sleep with one eye open. Never take anything for granted. Your best friends might just be your enemies. Most important, she shouldn’t trust a single thing she knew about me yet. I wasn’t sure how I knew, but something deep inside, something I couldn’t quite comprehend, told me I was the trickiest member of the Lying Game by far.
Sweet dreams, long-lost twin sister. I’ll see you in the morning . . . even though you won’t see me.