The Lying Game Complete Collection - Sara Shepard Page 0,39

last been wearing (an oversized polo shirt and camo cargo shorts), where he’d last been seen (the hiking trails near the Santa Rita mountains in June), and recounting that there had been a search that had yielded nothing, not a missing shoe, not an empty water bottle, absolutely no trace of Thayer. There was an 800 number for people to call if they had any information. Sutton wasn’t Facebook friends with Thayer, so Emma couldn’t get to his private page and find out anything more. She did notice that Laurel interacted a lot with Thayer—there were shared pictures of them horsing around, YouTube posts on their Walls, and comments back and forth about upcoming rock shows at the U of A. But Laurel’s page didn’t tell her much else. In fact, Laurel didn’t even comment on Thayer’s disappearance—her only entry the day he went missing was a post that said, “I’m going to see Lady Gaga in November! Super psyched!”

The windshield wipers squeaked and groaned. The rain had cleared, stopping almost as quickly as it had started, and the pavement glittered. A rainbow appeared on the horizon. Emma pointed it out. “Look. That’s good luck.”

Madeline sniffed. “Luck is for dumb bitches.”

Emma eyed the rabbit’s foot swinging on Madeline’s keychain, wondering if she really believed that. “You know, runaways usually do okay,” she said gently. “Wherever Thayer is, he’s probably found other kids like him. They’re probably taking care of each other.”

Madeline’s eyes flashed. “Where did you hear that?”

Emma ran her fingers along the hem of the striped dress from Anthropologie she’d picked from Sutton’s closet that morning. She knew tons of foster kids who’d run away to escape their crappy situations. In fact, she’d even run away once, escaping from the violent Mr. Smythe. After a particularly volatile night, she’d packed a bag and took off, hoping to get to Los Angeles or San Fran or somewhere far away. She’d run into a couple of other kids hanging out in an abandoned trailer park on the way there. They had set up a little campsite with several tents, blankets, and pots and pans. Somehow they found food, and they’d even foraged a couple of bikes, a skateboard, and a PSP whose battery they regularly recharged at the local Dunkin Donuts. Because Emma was barely eleven, the older runaways took her under their wing, always letting her sleep in a tent, always making sure she had enough to eat. In some ways, they’d taken better care of her than most foster parents had. The police had come on the fourth day, just when Emma was getting comfortable. Everyone got sent back to various foster homes or juvie.

“I guess I saw it on TV,” Emma finally explained.

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter.” Madeline flicked a lock of long, shiny hair over her shoulder. Her face snapped back into its hard, beautiful expression. “It’s nothing a little credit card damage can’t fix. I want to wear something new to Charlotte’s sleepover tomorrow night. Maybe one of those short shirt-dresses from BCBG. And didn’t you want new J. Brands for your birthday party?”

They pulled into the big parking lot at the sprawling outdoor mall. Madeline found a space and shut off the engine. The two of them started toward the escalators to the upper level. The air felt fresh and clean after the rain. Muzak played softly over the mall speakers. As they emerged on the ground level, Emma spied a storefront in the very back of the mall: BELLISSIMO SECONDHAND. A butterfly flapped in her chest.

“Can we stop in there for a sec?” Emma pointed.

Madeline followed her finger and made a face. “Ew. Why?”

“Because you can find amazing things in secondhand stores.”

Madeline narrowed her eyes. “But we never go in there.”

Emma linked her arm in Madeline’s. “Chloë Sevigny’s really into vintage. So is Rachel Zoe.” She pulled Madeline down the corridor. “Come on. We need to break out of our comfort zones.” In truth, there was no way Emma was shopping for two-hundred-dollar skinny jeans. That was way out of her comfort zone—she’d feel terrible spending the Mercers’ money on something so frivolous. Besides, she couldn’t let all of her personality disappear just because she’d stepped into her sister’s life.

The bells jingled as Emma pushed through the front door. The store smelled like all vintage shops did, a little like moth balls and cardboard boxes and old ladies. A bald, smooth-skinned black guy wearing what looked like a snow leopard–skin jacket sat behind the