A chil coursed through Emma’s veins. “You said yourself that Sutton’s friends looked like they wanted to kil her the night of the snuff film, right?”
Ethan gazed down the street, his top teeth sinking into his bottom lip. “That’s what it looked like to me,” he final y said. “Even though they said it was a prank, Sutton seemed real y scared.”
“Sounds like payback,” Emma said.
Ethan had a better memory of that night than I did. When I’d seen Ethan standing over me, I’d felt woozy and vulnerable. If only I could remember the hours and days after the strangling incident . . . had I real y resumed normal activities with my friends as if it hadn’t mattered? Had I been able to shake off my fear that easily?
“But I’m not sure we should write off the Twitter Twins either,” Emma said. “Gabby went to the hospital, after al —
maybe she was real y hurt. They were at Charlotte’s sleepover, too. And I’ve seen them driving up and down this street, watching me. Plus they’ve been giving me real y weird looks in school.” She shut her eyes, thinking about Garrett. “Then again, a lot of people have been giving me weird looks.”
Ethan nodded. “You can’t write off any of them until they have a clear alibi.”
Emma arched her neck up to the sky and let out a groan. Everything felt so . . . difficult. “Sutton’s parents would kil me if they knew I was out here,” she said, eyeing the dark windows in the house. “I’m already grounded for life.”
Ethan shifted in the gravel. “So this is your only night of freedom?”
“You could say that. Tomorrow there wil probably be a big bolt on my window.”
Ethan smiled. “We’d better do something more fun than talk about Sutton’s murderer, then.”
Slowly, Emma raised her eyes to his. “Like what?”
“There’s a pool in your neighbor’s yard.” Ethan gestured over the block wal that separated the Mercers’ house from the neighbors’. “Wanna go for a swim?”
“They’l see us!” Emma cried. The Mercers’ next-door neighbors, the Paulsons, had waved to Emma a few times from their driveway. They wore matching J.Crew outfits, drove matching champagne-colored Lexuses, and plastered their last name over everything—a big PAULSON
on the mailbox, PAULSON, ESTABLISHED 1968 on a stone plaque in the front garden, even their vanity plates read PAULSON1 and PAULSON2. They seemed friendly enough, but Emma doubted they took kindly to pool crashers. Ethan pointed to their driveway. Several blue plasticwrapped newspapers lay near the mailbox. The lights in the house were dark, and there wasn’t a car in the driveway. “I think they’re out of town.”
Emma paused. She knew she should march back inside and get into bed, but a devilish little voice in her head pointed out Ethan’s deep-set eyes and hopeful smile, egging her on.
Maybe the devil was me. Emma deserved to have a little fun.
“I’m in,” Emma said with a grin.
Within seconds, they’d scaled the Paulsons’ wal and reached the oval-shaped pool in the middle of the patio. Inner tubes and rafts were stacked neatly on the deck. A black Weber gas gril stood under the pergola, and a beehive-shaped fire pit loomed farther out in the yard. Two towels, both with purple monogrammed Ps in the center, hung over the chaises. Emma glanced cautiously once more at the Paulsons’ dark house. No lights snapped on. It took Ethan less than five seconds to strip off his T-shirt and jeans, kick off his New Balance running sneakers, and dive into the pool. When he surfaced, he grinned at Emma.
“The water’s awesome! Come in!”
Emma kicked out a pajama leg. “Uh, I’m not exactly dressed for swimming.”
Ethan waggled his brows. “Take ’em off. I don’t mind.”
Emma mock-glared at him, but shed her pajama
bottoms, grateful she was wearing opaque, black cotton boy shorts underneath. Tiptoeing to the edge, she lowered her body into the pool, the cool water slipping over her skin inch by inch. She pushed off from the wal and did a couple of br**ststroke pul s underwater. Her camisole bil owed out beneath her like an inflated parachute. When she came up for air, Ethan had stopped in the center of the pool. The golden lights reflected off his cheekbones, showing off his slicked-back hair, angular face, and broad, golden shoulders. Ethan caught her eye and smiled back, but Emma quickly looked away. She didn’t want him to think she was staring.
“This was a good idea,” Emma said, twisting around to float on her back.
“Told you.” Ethan paddled toward the diving board. “I have a confession to make,” he said a moment later, his strong arms cutting the water. “I’m a serial pool crasher. When I was younger, I used to sneak into my neighbor’s pool al the time.”
“Wel , I’m a pool-crashing virgin,” Emma said, hoping the night was dark enough that Ethan couldn’t see her blushing at the word virgin.
“I always wanted my own pool.” Ethan reached up and grabbed both sides of the diving board. “My parents never went for it. My mom thought I’d be one of those kids on the news who drowned.”
It occurred to Emma how little she knew about Ethan’s life. “What are your parents like?”
Ethan shrugged. “They’re . . . wel , my mom’s a chronic worrier. And my dad’s . . . absent.”
“He’s gone?” Maybe the two of them had something in common.
Air slowly escaped Ethan’s lips. “Not exactly. He just travels a lot. His work means everything to him. He got an apartment in San Diego that’s close to his company’s main office, and he’s there more than he’s home. He probably likes being away from us.”