Never Have I Ever (10 page)

“I still 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 swallowed 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 calling them.”

Emma stared at the phone’s black screen. “A-and telling 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 pulled her dark hair into a ponytail, scrolled to find Gabby’s number, and pressed
CALL
. When the line began to ring, she put the call on speaker.

Gabby answered. “Sutton! Have you been getting our tweets?”

Charlotte rolled 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 trilled. “This had better be good!”

“It’s
awesome
! Sort of a ghoulish
Titanic
meets
Baywatch
. Everyone will wear bikinis.”

“
Baywatch
,” Laurel mouthed, bending over in silent laughter.

“Bikinis?” Gabby sounded skeptical. “Is the school going to allow that?”

“Of course they’re going to allow it,” Emma cooed. “We’ve already had it approved.”

Charlotte swallowed 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 tell 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 collapsed into laughter. Laurel rolled off the couch onto the floor. Charlotte giggled into a throw pillow. 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 finally 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 rolled onto her back to read the text Ethan had just sent. Pulling 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 collar 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 finally going to kiss, right?

Then Emma’s palms rested on a light gray one-shouldered dress. The gauzy silk felt soft beneath her fingertips. She slid it over her head and glanced at herself in the gold-framed full-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!
Attached was a website for a vintage store near the University of Arizona.
I KNOW HOW YOU LOVE YOUR THRIFT SHOPS
, Alex added, with an emoticon smiley. Emma wrote back a quick thank-you followed by a series of
X
s and
O
s. Then she glanced at herself in the mirror, dolled up in Sutton’s designer dress, jewelry, and expensive shoes. Would Alex even
know
her right now?

She sat on the bottom step of the Mercers’ staircase, the house quiet around her. Laurel was out with a friend at
Les Misérables
—since Emma was grounded, she couldn’t use the ticket Laurel had given her for her birthday. Only Drake watched her from his sprawled-out post on the living room floor, and he was too lazy to get up.

Bright headlights shone in the driveway. Emma rose, carefully opened the front door, and looked both ways as she stepped off the porch. Some of the windows in the houses next door were lit; she hoped no nosy neighbors would mention this to the Mercers.
Your daughter looked lovely all dressed up! And who was that dashing young man escorting her?

Ethan had gotten out of the car to open the passenger door for her. He wore a dark suit jacket, khaki pants, and shiny black shoes, a huge change from his usual disheveled shorts and tees.

“Wow.” Emma paused for a moment before getting into the car. “You look so . . .
handsome
.”

“Handsome, huh?” Ethan grinned.

Emma blushed. “Yeah, handsome like a Ken doll.”

Ethan’s eyes traveled along her body. “And you look really pretty,” he said, his words spilling out awkwardly. “But
not
like a Barbie.”

Emma pressed her lips together in a bashful smile. After a moment, she swung into the passenger seat. Ethan jogged to the driver’s door and revved the engine. Emma rested her hand on the console between them, wondering for just a moment whether Ethan would try to link his fingers through hers. Instead, he took out a plaid handkerchief from the inside of his coat and turned to face her.

“You’re going to have to wear this,” he said, a mischievous grin crawling across his face. “Our destination is a secret.”

She burst out laughing. “You can’t be serious.”

“Serious as a heart attack.” He motioned for her to twist and tied the scarf around her head. In moments, Emma was enveloped in darkness. She felt the car lurch into reverse and then pivot to the right, onto the street. With anyone else, she probably would’ve been freaked out by such a gesture—Madeline and the Twitter Twins had kidnapped her at Sabino Canyon in a similar fashion, after all. But with Ethan, she felt safe. Excited.

“It won’t be too long,” he assured her. Emma heard the soft
tick-tick-tick
of the turn signal. “No peeking!”

A new song by the Strokes played softly on the stereo. Emma sat back and shut her eyes, wondering where they were going. Yesterday in school, she’d told him about Madeline’s, Charlotte’s, and Laurel’s alibis, and Ethan had nodded, businesslike—he’d been cordial but distant since the almost-kiss. The bell had rung before she could tell him about her new suspects, the Twitter Twins. There had been no mention of anything personal. There had been no mention of what had happened at the pool. Maybe Ethan just wanted to forget it had happened. But then again, this seemed a lot like a date.

She felt a slight jerk as the car stopped for a light. Close by, a car stereo thudded.

I tried to look at where they were going, but ran up against one of the weird side effects about my dead life with Emma—whenever her eyes were closed or covered, mine were, too. It made me wonder who or what was behind all this—not my murder, but
me
, here, trailing Emma from beyond the grave. Believe me, I hadn’t been a what-does-it-all-mean kind of girl when I was alive, reading philosophy and praying to Buddha or whatever. But this opportunity with Emma, as scary as it was, made me feel kind of . . . blessed. Undeserving, too. I’d clearly been a bitch in life; why was I given this special gift? Or was this what happened to
everyone
after they died, or at least those with unfinished business?

Finally, Emma sensed the car easing to a stop and heard Ethan shift it into
PARK
. “Okay,” he said softly. “You can look now.”

Emma lowered the scarf and blinked. They were downtown, near the college. A large, sand-colored building stretched across the horizon. Sweet-smelling lemon trees lined a stone walkway. Golden lights illuminated the grand front steps. Across the front of the building was a black banner that read
TUCSON PHOTOGRAPHY INSTITUTE.

“Oh!” Emma cried, feeling more confused than ever.

“There’s an exhibit for three London-based photographers starting tonight,” Ethan explained. “I know you like photography, so . . .”

“This is great!” Emma breathed. Then she looked down at her dress. “But why are we dressed up?”

“Because tonight’s the opening party.”

“And we’re . . . invited?”

Ethan shot her a devious smile. “Nope. We’re going to crash.”

Emma’s hands went slack in her lap. “Ethan—I can’t get in trouble again. The Mercers will kill me if they know I’m out. I’m supposed to be in Sutton’s bedroom right now, repenting my life as a criminal.”

Ethan gestured to two party guests climbing the grand stairs. A tuxedoed man at the top smiled at them and politely opened the doors without checking for credentials. “Live a little. I promise you we won’t get caught.”

“But what does this have to do with Sutton?”

Ethan sat back against his seat, looking a little surprised by the question. “Well, nothing. I just thought it would be fun.”

Emma gazed from the photo institute’s elegant columns back to Ethan’s face. A fancy party with Ethan? That
would
be fun. Maybe she deserved some time to relax and just be herself.

“Okay.” She pushed open the door, casting a grin over her shoulder. “But at the first sign of trouble, we’re leaving.”

Good girl
, I thought. For a second, I had been sure Emma was going to demand that Ethan take her home. The problem with Emma being grounded was that I’d been cooped up for days, watching her pace in my bedroom. Crashing a party is just what the boredom doctor ordered.

They ascended the stone staircase. The punishing heat of the day had broken, and a cool breeze tickled their cheeks. The scent of lemon trees and a musky mix of women’s and men’s colognes hung in the air. The tuxedoed man eyed them as they approached, and Emma sucked in her stomach. Was he ticking off his mental list of invitees? Could he tell they were high school students?

“Act naturally,” Ethan murmured to Emma, apparently noticing how stiff she’d become. “The opposite of how you acted when you stole that handbag.”

“Very funny.” When Emma reached Mr. Tuxedo, she shot him the most carefree smile she could muster. “Good evening,” the man said, opening the door for them.

“See?” she whispered when they were safely in the lobby. “I totally played it cool. I’m not as big a loser as you think I am.”

Ethan looked at her sideways. “I most definitely don’t think you’re a loser.” Then he touched the back of Emma’s arm to guide her inside the exhibit. For a moment, all sounds and sights dulled, and Emma felt like she and Ethan were the only ones in the universe. When he let go at the end of the lobby, she adjusted the strap of Sutton’s silky dress and tried to breathe normally.

The museum was dark and smelled like fresh flowers. Guests mingled around the wide, terra-cotta-tiled space, some gazing at the black-and-white photos on the walls, some chatting with one another, others scoping out the crowd. Everyone wore sleek gowns, chic party dresses, and dapper suits. There were clusters of people surrounding three awestruck guys who looked like they were in their twenties, probably the artists. A jazz band played an Ella Fitzgerald song, and waitresses in simple black sheaths swirled around with trays of canapés and drinks. A couple of guests glanced at Emma and Ethan curiously, but Emma tried to stand as straight and confidently as she could.

“Stuffed shrimp?” a waitress asked as she floated past. Emma and Ethan each took a treat.

A second waitress materialized, offering them flutes of champagne. “Of course,” Ethan said, taking two glasses and handing one to Emma. The crystal sparkled, and the bubbles rose to the top of the glass.

Champagne.
How I wished I could have one tiny, beyond-the-grave sip.

“Cheers,” Ethan said, offering his glass in a toast.

Emma clinked her champagne flute to his. “How did you know about this?”

A slight flush crawled up Ethan’s neck. “Oh, I just came across it online.”

Warmth spread through Emma’s chest as she imagined Ethan sitting at his computer, scrolling through events they could attend together.

They walked toward the artwork. Around each photograph was a large black square frame. Small beams of light from the ceiling illuminated each image. The first photo was of a long, straight road as seen from the inside of a car. It was printed in black archival pigment ink on cotton paper, and there was something haunting about the dark trees and eerily lit sky. Emma glanced at the small placard off to the side. Besides listing the artist’s name, it also showed the price. Three thousand dollars.
Whoa.

“So I haven’t told you the latest,” Emma whispered as they moved to the next photo, a triptych of desert vistas. The champagne tickled her throat, and she felt increasingly aware of how close Ethan stood to her as he examined each photo. To outsiders, they probably looked like boyfriend and girlfriend. She took another sip of champagne. “I’m almost positive Sutton was with the Twitter Twins at Clique on the night she died.”

Ethan lowered his glass from his lips. “What makes you say that?”

Emma explained the conversation she’d had at Madeline’s house on Saturday. “It’s too much of a coincidence. They had to be the friends Sutton was with when she shoplifted. And what if they . . .” She looked away, fixating on a fire extinguisher mounted to the wall across the room.

“Gabby and Lili, killers?” Ethan tilted his head and squinted as if trying to picture it. “Those two are definitely off-kilter, that’s for sure. They have been for years.”

Emma skirted around an enormous potted plant with spidery leaves to get to the next photo. “Part of me thinks they’re too vapid to pull it off.”

“They’re the poster girls for vapid,” Ethan agreed. “But whatever happened to Gabby on the night of the train prank gives them motive.”

“And maybe that ditzy-girl act is just that—an act,” Emma said. She’d certainly known fake ditzes before, like her foster sister, Sela, who acted like the quintessential dumb blonde in front of their foster parents but sold pot out of an abandoned split-level at the back of the neighborhood.

“They’re good actresses, then.” Ethan walked to another photograph. “Did anyone tell you that Gabby ran over Lili’s foot last year with their dad’s Beemer?”

“No . . .”

“And then when Lili came home with a cast on, apparently Gabby was like, ‘Oh my
God
! What happened to you?’”

Emma giggled. “She did not!”

“There’s another story about Gabby somehow locking herself inside her gym locker in ninth grade.” Ethan paused to take another canapé from the tray. “I didn’t even know someone could
fit
inside one of those. And when we were in junior high? Someone caught Lili and Gabby talking in British voices on the playground, calling each other ‘Miss Lili Tallywacker’ and ‘Gabby Pony Baloney.’ They had no idea the terms were slang for penis; they just thought they sounded funny. They didn’t live that down for a long time.”

Emma almost coughed up a mouthful of champagne. “Oh my God.”

“But despite all that, something tells me you shouldn’t write them off so easily,” Ethan said. “You should be careful around them, figure out what they know.”

Emma nodded. “Madeline and the others want to prank them. But I think it’s a terrible idea.”

“I’d stay away from that plan. If they are the killers, the last thing you want to do is piss them off more.”

The AC clicked on, and the air suddenly felt chilly. The band played something more appropriate for a 1920s speakeasy, and a couple of the drunker attendees started to dance. Ethan waved his hands around his face to dispel a cloud of cigar smoke.