The Lying Game Complete Collection - Sara Shepard Page 0,528

her—or maybe I didn’t want to. I only hope Garrett doesn’t say anything, either. Char might think I was deliberately hiding it or something.

We enter the living room, which is spacious and decorated in stylish neutrals. A cluster of tiny tea lights twinkle from a marble console table, and the smell of gardenia mixed with beer envelops me. Almost all of my classmates are here—at least, the ones who should be here, chatting eagerly and enjoying the very last gasp of summer. Starling Russe, who’s on the tennis team, spots me and waves broadly, brandishing a giant plastic red cup. The florid hue of her pert nose tells me that whatever she’s drinking, it’s not her first. There are discarded red plastic cups on the floor, a bunch of chips spilled on the table, and a splash of something suspicious on one of the walls. The music is so loud it’s making everything vibrate.

“Did we miss anything good?” Madeline asks Gabby loudly, craning her neck to take in everything at once.

Gabby rolls her eyes. “Not really. Nisha’s freaking, though. I guess she assumed we were going to keep this place spotless or something.”

I snort. “She’s wound so tight.”

Then I spy Nisha at the foot of the stairs, holding court among a cluster of other girls from the team. But she doesn’t look stressed to me. She’s gesticulating lavishly and tossing her glossy dark ponytail over one shoulder. Several of the tennis girls glance my way and wave, but Nisha just gives me a snottily arched eyebrow. Whatever. My presence here makes the party, and she knows it.

I continue surveying the room. There’s Jeff Katz from the football team, and Greg Richter, the actually cool class president. A couple of senior girls dressed in BCBG frocks stand impassively by the sliding-glass doors, glancing at their phones. My gaze sweeps across the faces again and again, but then I realize: Thayer isn’t anywhere. Is it possible he didn’t come?

I lean over to Madeline. “It’s too hot in here. I’m gonna get a drink and head to the backyard.”

She nods. “Good luck finding my brother.”

I freeze, wondering if I’ve somehow given myself away. Does she know how I feel? Does she realize that for me, it’s not a prank anymore? But Madeline is smiling at me excitedly without a trace of guile in her expression. I breathe out, feeling drunk even though I haven’t had a sip of anything yet. Suddenly, I really do need to get outside to cool down.

I push through pockets of people, making my way through the house. The kitchen is where the crowd is thickest, kids milling around an overflowing keg, draped across the punch-stained kitchen table, and perched, legs swinging, on the limestone countertop. Garrett works the pump for a throng of beefy jocks, though he doesn’t hold a cup of beer himself. I debate getting his attention to let him know that Charlotte’s arrived, but I quickly decide against it. He might think I deliberately sought him out.

Then a wave of Polo cologne almost knocks me on my butt. “Hey, Sutton, looking good,” says a voice, and a freckled, green-eyed face pops up into my field of view. It’s Aidan Grove, my five-second summer crush. Now he’s looking at me eagerly, like tonight might be the night for us. But he’s not who I’m here for.

“Hey, Aidan,” I say distractedly, glancing over his shoulder into the backyard. Where is that messy dark hair, those twinkling hazel eyes? What if Thayer decides not to come? I think of the conversation we had in the middle of the night. Are you going to Nisha’s? Probably. Why, do you want me to go?

“So how’s your summer been?” Aidan asks. “Looking forward to going back to Hollier?”

“Uh, sure,” I say, my eyes still on the crowd. Then I have an epiphany: Maybe Thayer is running late, later than me. Which is infuriating, because I timed our arrival for maximum impact, but maybe Thayer knows how to beat me at my own game.

I reach into my bag and pull out my cell. Maybe he texted. But I can see right away that my home screen wallpaper is completely undisturbed. A recent snapshot of Charlotte, Madeline, and me greets me brightly, unmarred by a text bubble or missed call notification.

“How’s your tennis game this year?” Aidan asks.

I look up, astonished he’s still standing there. “Uh, you know.”

“You want a beer?”

I barely mumble a response. My insides feel like they’re on fire. I