The Lying Game Complete Collection - Sara Shepard Page 0,44

rang. Ethan gave Emma a parting smile. “If you’re sick of the pranks, you should tell your friends you want to stop. Just walk away from it, y’know? Everyone would thank you for it.” He tossed the coffee cup in the trash. “See you around.”

Emma watched him disappear down the hall. Her palms felt sweaty. She knew she needed to stand up, but her legs wouldn’t work. The dead faces on the IN MEMORIAM poster watched her with eerie, knowing smiles. And then what she needed to do zinged through her body like a dart. “I have to get out of here,” she whispered.

She’d never felt so sure of something in her life. Whatever Sutton was involved in, whatever the Lying Game was, it was scary and dangerous and way too intense. Just sitting here in the school hall made her feel like a target in a rifle range.

And maybe, I thought with a shudder, someone was already taking aim.

Laurel’s Jetta made a screeching noise as Emma wheeled it into the parking lot of the downtown Tucson Greyhound station. She hit the brake just before ramming into a cinderblock parking divider. Turning off the ignition, she looked cautiously around.

The air was oven-hot and the blacktop shimmered. Two old men outside the station gave Emma a squinty look. Across the street, three scruffy college kids shuffling into Hotel Congress turned and stared right at her, too. Even the sex kittens in the S&M window seemed to be watching. Emma slipped on Sutton’s big D&G sunglasses, but she still felt exposed.

It was later that afternoon, and Emma was supposed to be at tennis practice. She’d racked her brain all day for how she could get out of town—and where she’d go. Emma didn’t want to use Sutton’s ATM or credit cards to fund her escape—it would be too easy for the killer to track her.

And then she’d realized: the locker in Vegas. She’d stashed her two-thousand-dollar nest egg there, afraid to bring such a huge wad of cash to Tucson. The locker required a numerical combination, which Emma had set to Becky’s birthday, March tenth. If Emma could just get back to the money, she’d be okay for a while. She could take a cheap bus to the East Coast, where no one would find her. Maybe, if she got out of the way, people would realize Sutton was gone and start searching for her.

And maybe I’d finally figure out why—and how—I’d died. Or would I? If Emma left, would I go with her—to live her new, anonymous life in New York or New England? Constantly following her while she moved on? Or would I disappear forever once she left my life? What would happen to me then?

Emma had swiftly stolen Laurel’s keys from her tennis locker. Please forgive me, Laurel, she’d silently beseeched as she’d gingerly plucked the keys from the bag and slipped them into her pocket. Not a minute later, she was pulling out of the parking lot, stabbing Greyhound Bus Station into Laurel’s GPS.

Emma entered the bus station and stood in line behind a thin balding man with square-framed glasses and a frizzy-haired woman with a giant rolling suitcase. The shifty-eyed ticket attendant glanced up and stared straight at her, then went back to ringing up a sale. A sign over the woman’s head gave a bus schedule for Las Vegas. The bus left in fifteen minutes. Perfect.

The thin balding man leaned forward on his elbows at the ticket counter and made small talk about the weather. The overhead light made an anxious, high-pitched squeal. Every time the wind gusted, the door blew open and shut, making Emma jump. The hair on her arms stood on end. If only this line would move a little faster.

A Paramore song suddenly exploded from Emma’s bag. She pulled out Sutton’s ringing iPhone. LAUREL, said the Caller ID. Emma instantly hit SILENT.

The MISSED CALL message flashed on the screen, but then Laurel called right back. Emma muffled Paramore once again. Why wasn’t Laurel on the tennis court? Emma thought she had at least an hour before Laurel would notice her car missing. After another MISSED CALL message flashed, a new text appeared. Emma opened it. 911, Laurel wrote. DID YOU TAKE MY CAR? ARE YOU OKAY? IF YOU DON’T CALL BACK IN FIVE MINUTES I’M SENDING OUT A SEARCH PARTY.

The frizzy-haired woman in front of Emma peered at her curiously. The ticket attendant leered as she licked a finger to count out