Two Truths and a Lie: A Lying Game Novel. Sara Shepard

It was Ethan.

      “Hello?” Emma whispered.

      Ethan jumped to his feet and walked toward her, his stride even and calm. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his worn Levi’s. A tissue-thin T-shirt clung to his strong arms. “Hey,” he said. Even in the dark she could tell he was grinning. “Did you sneak out?”

      Emma shook her head. “I didn’t have to. The Mercers lifted my punishment—I guess all the homework I’ve been doing changed their minds. But Mr. Mercer asked me a million questions about where I was going.” She glanced over her shoulder at the dark trees beyond. “It’s a wonder he didn’t follow me. Then again, I guess I should be grateful. Nobody’s ever cared enough to know where I was at all times.” She laughed halfheartedly.

      “Not even Becky?” Ethan asked, raising an eyebrow.

      Emma gazed out at the twisted trees beyond the court. “Becky left me at a convenience store once, remember? She wasn’t exactly a model parent.” She felt guilty for trashing her mother. She had some good memories of Becky—like the time she had let Emma dress up in a silky slip and play Snow White around their hotel room, or the many nights Becky had set up treasure hunts for her—but they’d never make up for how she had abandoned Emma when she needed her most.

      “Well, I’m glad you made it,” Ethan said, changing the subject.

      “Me too,” Emma answered.

      She met his eyes for a brief moment. There was a long pause, and they both looked down. Emma kicked a loose tennis ball near the net. Ethan jingled change in his pockets. Then he reached out and took her hand. She caught the scent of his spicy aftershave as he leaned in close. “Lights on or off?” he asked. The tennis courts had manual lights—seventy-five cents for every thirty minutes.

      “Off,” Emma answered, excitement flooding her body.

      Ethan tugged her down until they were both lying on the cement. The ground was still warm from the day’s heat, and it smelled vaguely of tar and rubber sneakers. Above them, a silvery moon shone. An owl flapped to a high tree branch.

      “I can’t believe Thayer broke into your house,” Ethan said after a beat, holding her close. “Are you okay?”

      Emma rested her cheek against his chest, feeling suddenly exhausted. “I’m better now.”

      “So did Thayer sneak in to see Sutton?”

      Emma pulled back and sighed. “I guess so. Unless . . . ”

      “Unless what?”

      “Unless Thayer knows who I really am and came to remind me to stay in line.” Just saying the words aloud made Emma shiver.

      Ethan hugged his knees to his chest. “You think Thayer killed Sutton?”

      “It’s definitely possible. He’s the only one of her friends we haven’t been able to investigate. What do you think was going on between Sutton and Thayer before he ran away?” Emma placed her palm flat on the asphalt, feeling its heat. She needed to touch something solid, something she understood.

      An expression of regret crossed Ethan’s face. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I wish I did, but they weren’t my crowd.”

      “A couple of people hinted that he might’ve been fooling around with Sutton,” Emma said. One of them was Garrett, Sutton’s ex—he’d more or less accused Sutton of it at Homecoming on Friday. And Nisha Banerjee had pretty much spelled out how Sutton had stolen Laurel’s crush. Then there were the icy glances Laurel had been shooting Emma ever since Thayer had turned up in Sutton’s bedroom, and the cryptic thing she’d said. You just make his life worse. What was that about?

      “Then again, other people have made it sound like Sutton did something that caused Thayer to leave town,” Emma said slowly.

      “I heard something about that.” Ethan kicked at a crack in the court with the heel of his sneaker. “But who knows if it’s true? People only started whispering that recently. When Thayer first went missing, everyone assumed he’d just run away to escape his dad. He was always screaming at Thayer during soccer matches and putting a ton of pressure on him.”

      Emma winced, remembering something else from the night of the dance. At Homecoming, Emma had noticed purple bruises on Madeline’s arms. She said they’d come from her father. She’d also said he was hard on Thayer, too. The moment had been heart-wrenching, but it also felt special. It was the first time Emma had had a real, honest conversation with one of Sutton’s friends. She craved that connection: Other than her best friend, Alex, who lived in Henderson, Nevada, it had been hard to make many lasting friends because she’d moved around so much.

      I had to admit it made me sort of sad that Emma was bonding with my bestie. In some ways, Emma was a better version of me, Sutton 2.0, which really stung. Madeline had never shared her secret about her dad with me—she’d more or less implied that she thought I didn’t care. I’d definitely sensed something was up with Mr. Vega, though. One night, Charlotte, Laurel, and I had sat in Madeline’s bedroom as Mr. Vega flung pots and pans around the kitchen, screaming at Mads and Thayer about God knows what. When Madeline returned to her room, eyes wide and bloodshot, we’d all pretended nothing had happened. If only I’d taken the time to ask Mads if she was okay. She’d probably given me plenty of clues. My twin was turning out to be a better friend to Mads and Char than I’d ever been—and now there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.

      Ethan leaned back on his elbows, exposing a taut line of tanned stomach muscles. “Thayer could have left for a reason other than his dad or Sutton. I’ve heard people say that he was mixed up in some really dangerous stuff.”

      “Like what? Alcohol? Drugs?” Emma asked, recalling what Mr. Mercer had said.

      Ethan shrugged. “It was all just vague gossip. I can try to ask around. Now that he’s back, people will definitely be talking about him. It’ll just be a matter of separating rumor from fact.”

      Emma flopped down on the hard court. “Have I mentioned how frustrating this is? I have no idea how to find out exactly what happened between Thayer and Sutton without giving away who I really am.”

      Ethan linked his fingers through hers. “We’ll figure this out. I promise. We’re so much closer than we were a month ago.”

      Gratitude washed over Emma like a wave. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

      Ethan waved his free hand. “Stop that. We’re in this together.” Then he shifted his weight and pulled out a crinkled piece of paper from his back pocket. “Hey . . . so I wanted to ask you . . . Do you have any interest in going to this with me?”

      Emma smoothed the creases from the paper. 10TH ANNUAL POETRY SLAM CONTEST, a typewriter font read. The event was in early November. She glanced up at him questioningly.

      “I’ve read my poems at Club Congress the last couple of weeks,” Ethan explained. “I just thought it might be nice to have some moral support in the audience for once.”

      Emma couldn’t stop the grin that spread across her face. “You’re going to let me hear your poetry?” The very first night she’d met Ethan—which was also the very first night she’d been in Tucson—she’d seen him scribbling poems in a notebook. She’d been dying to read his work but was afraid to ask.

      “As long as you don’t make fun of it.” Ethan ducked his head.

      “Of course I won’t!” Emma clasped his hand. “I’ll absolutely be there.”

      Ethan’s eyes shone. “Seriously?”

      Emma nodded, moved by how vulnerable he seemed. Her fingertips touched the inside of his palm. Fireflies sparked in the distance, flitting back and forth between cacti and madrone trees. The wind gusted through the dark pieces of Ethan’s hair as he put his arm around Emma’s shoulders. Emma inched closer, her knees brushing against the denim of Ethan’s jeans. She thought of their