surprised by her own words. She thought this would be another thing to add to the Things That Are Awkward list, but she actually felt almost relieved to admit the truth aloud. Opening up to adults wasn’t something she’d ever done before, and by the cautious look on Mr. Mercer’s face, it wasn’t usual for Sutton either.
“Does this someone else know?” Mr. Mercer sounded intrigued.
“Sort of.” Emma’s voice cracked, wincing at the memory of the art museum date. It had been so . . . perfect. But then she remembered the look on Ethan’s face when he told her how he felt about her, and the utter disappointment in his eyes when she said they should just be friends. The tight feeling that had formed in her chest the moment those words had spilled out of her mouth still hadn’t gone away.
“Are you and this new guy . . . going out?” Mr. Mercer used the term tentatively, as though he wasn’t sure if it was the right lingo.
Emma reached for a clean rag from the metal garage shelves and twisted it into a knot. When she untied it and spread it out, she saw a faded silkscreened image of a crab and a clam dancing the tango. It advertised either a restaurant or a fish market; the lettering was too worn away to tell which.
“No,” Emma answered in a tired voice. “Things are . . . complicated.”
“Why is that?”
She shut her eyes. “I’m having a hard time trusting people, I guess.”
A pained look Emma couldn’t quite gauge crossed Mr. Mercer’s face. “You should trust people, Sutton. You shouldn’t let . . .”
Emma waited for him to finish, but Mr. Mercer just twisted his mouth and looked away. “Let what?” she finally asked.
“I just mean . . .” He fumbled through his tools. They made loud clanging noises as they banged together. “I only want what’s best for you. If it’s meant to be, honey, it’s meant to be.”
“Maybe,” Emma said thoughtfully. His wording made her think of the Boyfriend Star, burning brightly in the sky. Fate.
Then, placing the rag back on the shelf, she padded over to Mr. Mercer and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Mr. Mercer held her tentatively for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure the gesture was genuine. But then, slowly, he squeezed her hard. He smelled like cologne, black pepper, and motor oil.
It was a smell I knew so, so well. A wave of grief pounded my body until I felt like I would wash away. What I wouldn’t give to hug my dad one more time. As I watched their embrace, a dark image surfaced in my mind. My dad’s eyes widening when he turned and spotted me. Betrayal surging through me like he’d driven a stake through my heart. But before I could delve deeper into the memory, it submerged once more.
Chapter 17
X Marks the Spot
Thursday afternoon, during the last period of the school day, Emma, Charlotte, and Madeline stood backstage in the auditorium, dressed in black cocktail dresses and high heels. Old play props and sets, abandoned scripts from last year’s production of Oklahoma!, and several full-length mirrors were littered in the otherwise barren space, but the situation on the other side of the curtain was another story. That morning, with the help of the committee’s party planners, the girls had transformed the stage into an elegant, ghostly replica of the Titanic, complete with chandeliers, a sweeping faux-staircase, gilded fixtures, and tables set with fine china.
Emma shook her head in awe. “This is really beautiful.” It was too bad this couldn’t be the décor for the dance Friday night. But that would be held in the gym, not the auditorium.
Charlotte paced back and forth, tapping a clipboard. Her type-A personality made her the perfect detail-organizer. “Okay,” she said. “So after everyone files into the auditorium, we’ll announce the court nominees’ names. They’ll walk in and waltz with their escorts. The party will last until the late bus is called.”
Madeline gestured to the caterers in white uniforms scurrying around backstage and setting chrome tureens, platters, pitchers, and glasses on a long folding table. “We’ve got sparkling cider, hors d’oeuvres, cheeses. Non-dairy stuff for Norah, gluten-free stuff for Madison.”
“And don’t forget about Alicia Young,” Laurel said, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle on her cocktail dress. “She’s on that grapefruit-and-cayenne-pepper cleanse.”
Charlotte looked like she was going to explode. “That diet is nasty. She’s just going to have to suffer.”
A pang overcame me as I