The Lying Game Complete Collection - Sara Shepard Page 0,516

another high score. He turns to the crowd and bows.

Someone certainly has gotten over his shyness.

Char nudges me. “Check out his number-one groupie.”

She points to Nisha Banerjee, my tennis rival, who is glued to Thayer’s side. She nibbles at a rainbow snow cone that’s stained her lips a deep purple. She catches my eye across the crowd and scowls, but I avert my gaze frostily. Because of Nisha’s perma-smug expression, of course. And how she doesn’t bow down to me like she should. And because she’s a ridiculously good tennis player, and I hate having competition. Not because she’s standing next to Thayer. I don’t care about that.

Thayer sinks another ball down the 50-point chute, and the crowd roars once more. Lili nudges me. “Rumor has it he’s trying to win one of those huge toys for someone.” She points out the hulking plush dolls looming large on a rickety, overcrowded prize shelf at the back of the booth. There’s a Scooby-Doo, Flounder from The Little Mermaid, Snoopy, and that football-headed baby, Stewie, from Family Guy. “You have to get a thousand points to win one, though.”

“For Nisha?” Laurel says, sounding heartbroken.

“Maybe,” Gabby trills.

“Seriously?” The thought burns like bile in the back of my throat. There’s no way he likes her. Right?

Laurel looks at me, then glances at Scooby. “Oh my God, remember, Sutton? Scooby-Dooby-Doo!” She says it in Scooby’s goofy voice, shaking her head from side to side. “A couple of years ago? You tried to win him, too!”

I turn brusquely away from her. “No, I didn’t.” Did she have to say it so loudly? I hate when my little sister brings up dorky stuff from my past. Okay, okay, yeah, I used to really, really like Scooby-Doo. When Laurel and I were younger—when we were actually friends—I once played Skee-Ball just like Thayer is doing now, determined to get Scooby for myself. I didn’t get remotely close, though.

I take a big step away from Laurel, indicating I want her to drop it, now. Madeline is shaking her head as Thayer pumps his fist in a dorky victory gesture. “My brother seriously needs to get over himself,” she snaps.

Suddenly, Thayer looks at me. My eyes narrow into slits, but he doesn’t seem to notice. The corners of his mouth spread into a huge, gorgeous grin. And then he winks.

A rush of something goes through me, but I turn away, pretending to fume. “Yes,” I say to Madeline. “He definitely does.”

4

FLEAS AND THANK YOU?

An hour or so later, Madeline, Charlotte, Garrett, and I sit at a picnic table outside the soft pretzel stand, where we’re devouring warm pretzels dusted in cinnamon, sugar, and butter. Some things are totally worth the calories. The smoky tang of barbecue fills the air, and crickets chirp a peaceful rhythm. A toddler wobbles past us clutching a Mylar balloon. Just as I wonder who he belongs to, a tired-looking woman with a weary smile jogs briskly after him, an overstuffed canvas tote banging against her hip as she passes. The air is cool and dry against my skin, and even though crowds around us thrum with energy, I feel relaxed and happy. I bite greedily into my pretzel, washing it down with a tart, icy lemonade.

Char presses her side to Garrett’s and lets out a happy sigh. They’re sharing an ice-cream sundae loaded with hot fudge and whipped cream. Char doesn’t need the calories and she knows it, but like I said—she eats when she’s happy. I consider pointing it out, but then realize it would be too cruel to do it in front of her boyfriend, even for me.

Garrett suddenly leans across the table, eyeing my pretzel. “Can I have a bite?”

I nod, taking another swallow of lemonade. “Go for it.”

He reaches for the pretzel. As he does, his hand grazes my own.

I stiffen slightly. Was that … intentional? Something about Garrett’s fleeting touch felt a little … flirty.

A Mama Bear feeling flares up inside me … alongside a small, smug flicker of satisfaction. I’m not proud of it, but it’s there. Maybe it has to do with being given up for adoption when I was little, but it’s nice to be wanted.

The protective feeling wins out, and I glance at Charlotte, but she’s engrossed in an anecdote of Madeline’s about finding a girl from her ballet class puking behind a port-a-potty earlier. As for Garrett, he’s licking his fingers and peering at something on his phone.

I turn to Madeline, who is finishing her