Finally, she clicked on Sutton’s Wall. Sutton had written a post just a few hours before: Ever wish you could run away? Sometimes I do. Emma frowned. Why would Sutton want to run away? It looked like she had everything.
I had no idea, but that post told me tons. If I’d written it only a few hours before, it meant I hadn’t been dead for long. Did anyone even know I’d been killed? I looked at the rest of my Wall that was visible on the screen. No RIP, Sutton notes or plans for a Sutton Mercer memorial. Maybe no one knew then. Maybe no one had found me? Was I lying in a field somewhere, my necklace still at my throat? I gazed down at my shimmering body. Even though no one else could see me, every so often I could just make out a tiny flicker of myself—a hand here, an elbow there, a pair of terry-cloth shorts and yellow FitFlops. I didn’t see any blood. My skin wasn’t blue.
Just as Emma was about to close up the computer, some more posts on Sutton’s Wall caught her eye. Can’t wait for your b-day party! Charlotte had written. It’s going to be sick! Emma’s birthday was coming up, too. She checked Sutton’s Info tab. The birthday listed was September 10, the same as Emma’s.
Her heart pounded. That was some coincidence.
I felt scared and hopeful and confused, too. Maybe it was real. Maybe we were twins.
After a moment, Emma opened a new window and logged into her own Facebook page. It looked paltry and pathetic next to Sutton’s—her profile picture was a blurry close-up of herself and Socktopus, and she only had five friends: Alex, an old foster sister named Tracy, Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey, and two of the cast members from CSI. Then she found Sutton’s page again and clicked on the button that said SEND SUTTON A MESSAGE. When the window appeared, she typed: This will sound crazy, but I think we’re related. We look exactly the same, and we have the same birthday. I live in Nevada, not too far from you. You’re not by any chance adopted, are you? Write back or call if you want to talk.
MESSAGE SENT! the screen announced. Emma stared around the quiet room, the small fan on the desk blowing warmish air in her face. After the possibly life-altering thing that had just happened, she expected the world to have miraculously and drastically transformed—a leprechaun to dance through the open window, Clarice’s kitschy terra-cotta patio sculptures to come to life and start a conga line, something. But there was still the long, jagged crack in the plaster in the ceiling and the blotchy, M-shaped stain on the carpet near the closet.
The little clock in the corner of the laptop screen clicked from 10:12 to 10:13 P.M. She refreshed her Facebook page. She peeked out a slit in the dusty blinds at the night sky and found the Mom, Dad, and Emma stars. Her heart rollicked in her chest. What had she done? She reached for her phone and dialed Alex’s number, but Alex didn’t pick up. YOU THERE? she texted Alex, but there was no response.
The traffic on the highway grew sparse and whispery. Emma let out a long sigh, thinking of what came next. Maybe she could move back to Henderson, live in Alex’s spare room, and pay rent to Alex’s mom. She’d work full-time—perhaps night shifts at the twenty-four-hour Target near Alex’s house—and somehow finish high school, too. Maybe she could even intern at the local newspaper on the weekends. . . .
Bzzzzzzz.
Emma’s eyes popped open. Out the window, the moon had climbed high in the sky. The clock on the side table said 12:56 A.M. She’d dozed off.
Bzzzzzzz.
Her phone was flashing. She stared at it for a long moment, as if she was afraid it might leap up and bite her.
There was an envelope icon on the screen. Her heart churned faster and faster. Trembling, she clicked OPEN. Emma had to read the Facebook message four times before the words really sunk in.
OMG. I can’t believe this. Yes, I was totally adopted. But I never knew you existed until now. Can u meet me at the hiking base of Sabino Canyon in Tucson 2morro at 6 PM? Attached is my cell number. Don’t tell anyone who you are until we talk—it’s dangerous! See you soon!
Love, Sutton (your twin)
Of course, there was one problem with that note: I didn’t write it.
Chapter 4
REUNION INTERRUPTED
Late the following afternoon, Emma staggered off a Greyhound bus, her green duffel in tow. Heat radiated off the parking lot in waves; the air was so stifling that she felt like she’d just stepped into the barrel of a giant hair dryer. To her right were small adobe homes and a purple-stucco yoga studio for men called hOMbre. To her left was a large, crumbling building called the Hotel Congress, which looked haunted. Posters for upcoming concerts plastered the front windows. A couple of hipsters loitered on the street, smoking cigarettes. Beyond that was what looked like a shop for dominatrix hookers; whip-wielding mannequins in catsuits, fishnet stockings, and thigh-high boots filled the front windows.
Emma spun around again and faced the Greyhound bus station. TUCSON DOWNTOWN, said a low-slung sign out front. After hours of sitting on a bus next to a guy with a devil beard and a serious addiction to jalapeño-flavored Doritos, she was finally here. She was tempted to run up to the large Greyhound on the sign and give it a big, wet kiss, but then her phone vibrated in her pocket and she scrambled to answer it. Alex’s photo appeared on the screen.
“Hey!” Emma clutched the old BlackBerry to her ear. “Guess where I am?”
“You didn’t,” Alex gasped on the other end.
“I did.” Emma dragged her duffel to a bench under the awning and sat down to rest. Alex had finally written back to Emma’s YOU THERE? text last night. Emma had called her immediately, blurting out the whole story in one long, breathless sentence.