The Lying Game Complete Collection - Sara Shepard Page 0,247

heat melts some of the ice. How do you like that, missy?”

He hitched up his pants and rubbed his nose, and Emma suddenly realized he was impersonating Mr. Beardsley, their science teacher at Hollier. She burst out laughing. Mr. Beardsley was a zillion years old, forever talking in that nerdy voice, and calling all the girls “missy” and all the guys “son.”

“You’re good,” she said, “but to really nail it, you have to lick your lips a bit more. And pick your nose.”

Ethan made a face. “The idea of that guy picking his nose and then touching my test paper…”

“Horrifying.” Emma shivered.

“I wish teachers made space more interesting,” Ethan said, strolling to the next exhibit. His brow furrowed in concentration as he studied the photograph. His deep-set blue eyes glanced over the words written below it, his lips moving the tiniest bit as he read. “They make it so dry and bland, it’s no wonder no one cares.”

“I know what you mean,” Emma said. “That’s why I like Star Trek: The Next Generation. They make space so fantastical that you don’t even realize when you’re learning something.”

Ethan’s light eyes widened. “You’re a Trekkie?”

“Guilty.” Emma ducked her head, immediately cringing that she’d revealed something so dorky.

I quickly glanced around. Thank God no one I knew was in this place to overhear Emma’s shameful admission. The last thing I needed to hit the gossip mill was that Sutton Mercer was into the ultimate nerd TV show.

Ethan just grinned. “Wow. You really are the perfect girl. I started a Next Generation fan club in seventh grade. I thought we could have marathon parties, dress up as our favorite characters, go to the convention, that sort of stuff. Shockingly no one joined.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I would have. I always had to watch the show alone. I couldn’t tell you how many foster brothers and sisters made fun of me for it.”

“Tell you what,” Ethan said. “How about we have a Trekkie marathon party one of these days? I have DVDs of all the seasons.”

“Deal,” Emma answered, resting her head on his shoulder.

Ethan looked down at her. A slight flush passed over his face. “Any chance this Trekkie has a shot at taking you to the Harvest Dance?”

“I think that could be arranged,” Emma said coyly. A headline flashed through her mind: Foster Girl Gets Asked to Harvest Dance: Miracle! She’d been making up diary headlines for her life ever since she could remember, and this was one for the front page.

There had been posters for the school’s Harvest Dance up for a while now, touting the band they’d hired for the festivities, the float parade, and, of course, the Harvest Dance King and Queen. It was the kind of dance out of a movie, something Emma never thought she’d attend. Her mind played images of Ethan dressed in a dark suit, his arms around her waist as they slow-danced. She pictured the dress she’d wear from Sutton’s closet, a short teal one that looked great against her pale skin and chestnut-brown hair. She’d feel like a princess.

I wanted to shake her. Didn’t she know Sutton Mercer always got new dresses for dances?

A small child darted past Emma and pressed his hands against the glass in front of the comet display, breaking her from her reverie. She focused on the exhibit in front of them, a photograph of a black hole surrounded by a navy sky spotted with blazing stars. A black hole is a region of space in which nothing, not even light, can escape, read a placard next to the photo. Emma shivered, suddenly thinking of Sutton. Was this where she was now? Was this what the afterlife looked like?

Uh, not exactly, I thought.

“You okay?” Ethan asked, his brows knit in concern. “You just got really pale.”

“Um, I need some air,” Emma mumbled, feeling light-headed.

Ethan nodded and led her out the door marked EXIT and into a circular courtyard. Six stone paths were arranged like the spokes of a wheel. In the center was a massive, antique black telescope. Hedges opened up into a small alley, and across the road was a homey restaurant called Pedro’s. Colorful Mexican pots sat in the windows, and chili-pepper lights were strung from the ceiling.

Emma and Ethan sat on a bench. She took several deep breaths as a wave of guilt crashed over her.

“Thinking about Sutton, aren’t you?” Ethan asked, as if reading her mind.

Emma looked up at him. “Maybe I shouldn’t be kissing boys and