Garrett and Nisha.
Today, Nisha wore a fitted kel y-green tennis sweater and Lacoste sneakers and a glare that made Emma’s blood run cold. Even though Emma hadn’t realized they were friends, Garrett sat hip-to-hip with Nisha, his needling gaze on Emma, too. His disgusted expression seemed to say I know about you. I know about Ethan.
Could Garrett know? Had he been the one idling outside the Paulsons’ pool last night? Maybe he and Nisha had been there together. Emma gave Garrett a smal , hopeful wave, but Garrett just shook his head ever so slightly and whispered something into Nisha’s ear. Nisha giggled at whatever Garrett said and smirked at Emma.
Suddenly, Emma couldn’t take their little secrets anymore. Bal ing her fist, she glared at the petite, darkhaired girl. “Can I help you with something, Nisha?” she asked, not bothering to hide her sarcasm.
Nisha flashed a saccharine smile and inched closer to Garrett, resting her bloodred fingernails possessively on his arm. “I was just about to remind you that the mandatory team dinner is at my house on Friday. I mean, I would’ve involved you in the planning, but who knows if you’l even show?”
Emma bristled. “Wel , maybe I’d show if you ever threw something worth attending.”
Good for you, Em, I thought. Emma was getting better at standing her ground and summoning her inner me. Maybe there was some truth to that nature versus nurture debate after al .
Then Nisha’s gaze brightened at someone behind Emma. “You’re coming, aren’t you, Laurel? Or wil Sutton not al ow it?”
Emma turned to see Laurel plopping her lunch tray down on the table. Laurel shot daggers in Nisha’s direction, saying nothing. “Since when are team dinners mandatory?”
she muttered under her breath. “Someone needs to tel her that just because she’s cocaptain doesn’t make her queen.”
“She’s just pissed because Sutton didn’t show up last time.” Charlotte dropped into a seat, too, slapping a striped canvas lunch bag on the table. She looked at Emma. “If you don’t want us to go to this one, Sutton, we won’t.”
Laurel turned to Emma and nodded, too. Emma had noticed that, as the de facto Lying Game leader, Sutton’s friends always deferred to her.
But I wasn’t sure they were thril ed about that. Charlotte stared at Emma wearily, as though she was tired of Sutton Mercer’s mercurial rules and regulations.
“So where were you today?” Madeline interrupted, sliding into the bench next to Emma. “Why weren’t you at The Hub?”
Emma squinted. “We were supposed to meet at The Hub?” That was the name of the school store and coffee bar next to the cafeteria. The place mostly sold Hol ier sweatshirts, dance raffle tickets, and Number 2 pencils.
“For Court planning, yes! Hel o, tradition?” Madeline handed Emma a coffee from a cardboard carrier.
“Whatever. I got a latte for you. I guess someone’s a little distracted today, huh? Perhaps from her time in the slammer last night?”
Laurel opened her Sprite Zero with a sharp thwock. “I told them about it this morning.” She held Emma’s gaze, innocently batting her eyelashes as if to say, And guess what else I’ll tell?
“Apparently you weren’t going to.” Charlotte rested her hands on a Tupperware container ful of spinach salad.
“What happened?”
Madeline fidgeted with a plastic knife, running her fingers along the jagged edge. “Since when do you shoplift without us?” She looked annoyed, like Emma had slighted her.
“And getting caught at Clique?” Charlotte clucked her tongue. “We had that place mastered by eighth grade!”
“Laurel told me you took a Tori Burch clutch.” Madeline wrinkled her nose. “Sutton, Tori is not worth stealing.”
Emma removed the top from her coffee cup, and steam bil owed into her face. “You know how it is when you’ve just got to have something,” she said vaguely. “I would’ve total y gotten away with it, too, if the bitch working the register had been actual y doing her job instead of obsessing over me. I think she has a little crush.”
“Someone’s losing her touch,” Charlotte sing-songed, biting into a carrot with a decisive crunch. She seemed almost happy Emma had gotten caught.
Emma took a dainty sip of the latte and winced—it was piping hot. “I’ve blown my chances for going to Homecoming. I’m grounded for the next mil ennium.”
“Oh please. You’re going.” Madeline popped a yogurtcovered raisin into her mouth. “We’l find a way. And you’re going camping with us afterward, too.”
Then, Madeline snickered at something behind her.
“CourtZil as at twelve o’clock.”
Even though the twins traditional y dressed like opposites—Gabby had a Stepford Wife thing going, with preppy headbands and grosgrain-piped everything, and Lili went for the Taylor Momsen look, with plaid flannels, übershort skirts, and lots of raccoonish eye makeup—today they both wore tight-fitting pink dresses with frothy tul e skirts and mile-high platform heels that laced up their thin ankles. As usual, they clutched their iPhones. Everyone—
from the band kids in the corner to the sul en, arty types by the stucco wal —stared at them.
“Hi, girls!” Gabby tril ed as she reached their table.
“Ciao!” Lili said. “Did someone say camping? Where are we going this year?”
“We are camping at Mount Lemmon,” Charlotte said pointedly. “I don’t know where you are camping.”