The Lying Game Complete Collection - Sara Shepard Page 0,388

put down their phones.

“Is she, like, glowing?” Charlotte asked the others.

“I’d say she definitely made up with Ethan okay.” Madeline grinned.

Emma hugged her knees to her chest and beamed through her blushing cheeks. Laurel poked her in the side. “Talk, woman!”

“Okay, okay!” Emma said. “Ethan and I … last night, we … you know …”

The end of her sentence trailed off, but it didn’t matter. The room roiled with shrieks and giggles. Only Nisha was looking at Emma with concern. Emma cringed, remembering how she’d spilled the story of Ethan’s file to Nisha last night.

Emma ducked, trying to fend off the girls’ demands for details. “Use your imagination, ladies,” she said.

Madeline smirked. “You don’t want us to do that,” she deadpanned.

After that, all was forgiven, and the Twitter Twins started typing away on their phones, alerting their followers to “stay tuned” for a big event that night.

“Don’t give it all away,” grumbled Madeline. “If Celeste catches wind of anything, the whole thing is blown.”

“I don’t think she gets Twitter feeds on Mars,” said Gabby.

Laurel put on the new Rihanna album, and soon they were all sprawled across the floor, making various props and chatting about how the séance would turn out.

Emma went downstairs to grab a bag of pretzels and some Diet Cokes from the kitchen. She stopped in the living room, where Drake was curled up happily atop a sofa he definitely wasn’t allowed on. His tail flopped lazily against the cushions as she stroked his neck. For the first time in ages, she felt as if she was where she belonged.

“Hey.” Nisha’s voice interrupted her thoughts. She came over and rested a hand on Drake’s ear. “I love this dog,” she said, scratching him. “My dad’s allergic, so we’ve never been allowed to have one. I’d probably get something little that I could put clothes on, though.”

“You could wear matching tennis outfits and carry it in your duffel,” Emma said. They both laughed at the image.

“So did you and Ethan talk about … you know?” Nisha asked.

Emma flushed and craned her neck to look up and down the hall. Mrs. Mercer was in the backyard gardening, and Mr. Mercer was out playing golf. She pulled the key card from her pocket and handed it back to Nisha.

“Yeah, he explained everything to me. It’s not a great story—things haven’t really been easy for him.” She blinked uncomfortably. “I’m sorry I unloaded all of that on you, and I’d really appreciate it if you could, you know, keep it to yourself.” She lowered her gaze. “But thank you for checking on me,” she added. “You’ve been a really good friend.”

Nisha opened her mouth as if she was about to say something, then closed it again. They stood looking at each other, secrets still hanging in the air. Then another burst of laughter came from Laurel’s room.

“I guess we’d better get back to work,” Emma said.

Nisha looked down, suddenly shy. “Sutton—thanks for letting me do this with you guys. I’m really excited about it.”

Emma hooked her arm through her friend’s and straightened her shoulders. “No, thank you. For the idea, and for all your help with my mom. Now, let’s go put on a show.”

“Let’s punk this bitch,” Nisha agreed. And arm in arm, my twin sister and my former archrival went upstairs.

30

THINGS THAT GO BUMP IN THE NIGHT

A car door slammed in the darkness, and a middle-aged woman wearing a shiny gold turban stepped into the clearing. The sun had just slipped behind the mountains. Sabino Canyon was alive with sounds: Crickets and birds sang in the undergrowth, while farther away a chorus of coyotes started their nocturnal howls. An early owl swooped overhead.

Along with the turban, the woman had on a long purple velvet cloak and dramatic blue eyeshadow that swept up to her thinly plucked brows. Enormous gemstones glittered on each of her fat fingers. She lit a cigarette and took a long drag. “This is the séance?” she asked, blowing twin tusks of smoke out through her nose.

“Great, you made it,” Madeline said, walking over to the strange woman and shaking her hand. She’d told the other girls that she had a last-minute surprise for them, but Emma hadn’t imagined it would be this good. “Ladies, this is Madame Darkling. She’s a, um, real medium.”

The other girls barely concealed their grins. Madame Darkling looked as if she’d just come from central casting for a phone-a-psychic infomercial. Emma could see a grubby gray tennis shoe poking out from