The Lying Game Complete Collection - Sara Shepard Page 0,328

cotton shirts. The Twitter Twins’ high voices chanted from the sidelines: “We’ve got beauty, we’ve got class, the other team can kiss our …”

“Sutton!” Mr. Mercer cried, drowning out the rest of the cheer. Nisha was in front of him, trying to grab the flag from his belt, but he danced backward a few steps and threw.

Emma’s body tensed as the ball hung in the air. It fell neatly into her arms, and she took off toward the goalpost.

“Where do you think you’re going?” From the corner of her eye she saw Mrs. Mercer come her way. Her grandmother was surprisingly dexterous, limber from the hot yoga she did three times a week. Emma zigzagged around her and put on a burst of speed. Laurel joined the chase, and she and Mrs. Mercer flanked Emma as she pelted up the field.

Emma’s hair came loose from its knot and billowed behind her. I was pulled along by her speed, but I couldn’t feel the wind in my hair or the earth pushing away under my feet. I wondered how many times I’d gone to this tournament only to stand on the sidelines with my friends, complaining about the heat. Maybe I should have actually played once, just to experience it for myself.

The goalpost loomed in the distance, so close Emma could taste it. Suddenly, a pair of arms encircled her waist. She tumbled to the ground, the football rolling away from her. When she flipped to her back, Thayer’s face hovered over hers. “Gotcha,” he said softly, in the same feathery tone of voice he might use to say I love you.

Time stood still for a moment. Emma smelled the sweet grass, saw the light freckles on his cheeks. His face was so close to hers, she thought they might kiss.

I would have given anything in that moment to be able to feel what Emma did.

Then Thayer cried out as someone lifted him from behind. Emma looked around, confused, and saw Ethan shoving Thayer to his feet.

“This is flag football,” Ethan said angrily. “You’re going to hurt someone.”

Thayer pushed Ethan away. “Touch me again, man, and I’ll hurt you.”

“Oh yeah, you going to knock me down like you did my girlfriend?” Ethan shoved him again, this time a little harder.

Thayer took a few steps back. A dangerous grin broke over his face. “I’m going to enjoy kicking your ass,” he snarled. Then he lunged. Soon the two were a tangle of limbs and dirt thrashing around on the ground.

“Stop it!” Emma cried, struggling to her feet. There was blood on Ethan’s cheek. Thayer’s shirt was torn at the collar. The referee’s whistle blasts kept breaking through the air uselessly. Spectators stood with their hands clapped over their mouths. People ran toward them, including Mr. Mercer.

“Break it up, boys!” he yelled. But only a few feet from the fight, a divot of grass snagged his foot. He went flying face-first into the turf, rolling a few feet before coming to a stop. A low groan of pain escaped his mouth. Ethan and Thayer stopped fighting and stared at him.

“Dad!” Laurel screamed, dropping to his side. Emma and Mrs. Mercer were just behind her.

Mr. Mercer let out another groan. Both of his shins were skinned, and blood trickled into the grass. He clutched his left knee, which had already swollen to twice its usual size.

“Oh, man,” whispered Thayer, wiping his own blood from his purpling nose.

Mrs. Mercer looked into the impotent crowd, her face pale. “Can someone help me get him to the car?” she asked firmly.

Thayer and Ethan scrambled to either side of Mr. Mercer. Between the two of them, they managed to get him unsteadily to his feet, guide him across the field, and angle him into the family SUV. Mr. Mercer groaned the whole way. Emma followed, her heart pounding loudly in her chest. She barely felt Madeline’s hand on her shoulder or heard Charlotte’s promises that he was going to be okay. She and Laurel climbed into the backseat, and Mrs. Mercer turned the ignition. No one spoke as they pulled out of the space.

Emma turned and stared back at the parking lot. Ethan and Thayer stood several feet away from each other, looking sheepish. Ethan’s arms were crossed over his chest. Thayer rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Still think they’re not fighting over you?” Laurel mumbled.

Emma didn’t answer. She didn’t want to be squabbled over like some medieval damsel. Maybe they’d learned their lesson since Mr. Mercer