Emma, alarm plain on their faces. She’d knocked her chair over, and she stood gripping the side of the table, her knuckles white. Her grandfather looked from her to the TV set, and then back to Emma, his eyes round and baffled. “Do you know that girl?”
Emma sat down slowly, shaking her head no, but they still stared. Laurel’s glass hovered halfway to her lips, frozen in midair. Mrs. Mercer gave her a worried look. Emma cleared her throat and forced herself to speak. “It’s just that that girl seemed to care about Emma a lot. No one else seems to miss her. It’s just so sad.”
Emma stared at her friend’s face. Alex was the only person from her old life who actually cared about her; she also happened to be the only person who could blow Emma’s cover.
Since coming to Tucson, Emma had been lying to Alex, just like she’d been lying to everyone. She’d told her friend back home that she and Sutton were getting along perfectly, that the Mercers had welcomed her to stay with them for a while. She’d been texting Alex on and off for the past three months—long after “Emma Paxton” was supposed to have died.
And now Alex could blow all of her lies wide open. All she had to do was mention the texts she’d gotten from her best friend, apparently from beyond the grave, and Emma would be through.
“We were joined at the hip,” Alex said. And then she looked directly into the camera, tears hanging from her long, dark eyelashes. “We used to meet at the rec center and talk for hours.”
And just like that, relief flooded Emma’s body. Alex wasn’t going to expose her. Alex was covering for her. The “rec center” had been their own private code for any kind of rule-breaking. It started when Emma was staying with the Stokeses; one night Alex had slipped out past her curfew for a date with a boy from UNLV. When Alex’s single mom came home early and asked where her daughter was, Emma had stammered out that Alex was swimming at the rec center. They both laughed about it later. Good thing my mom’s internal clock is all screwed up from working nights , Alex had teased, or she’d have wanted to know why that pool is open at midnight on a weeknight . From then on, “rec center” was synonymous for “I’ve got your back.”
Emma suddenly missed her old best friend more than ever. Hearing the news of her own death had made her feel horribly alone—as though she were a living ghost, invisible to the people around her. But here was Alex, clear as day, telling her she was on her side.
“I think I need to lie down for a little while,” Emma said cautiously. “May I be excused?”
“Of course.” Mrs. Mercer was still watching her with concern evident on her face. “Do you need anything, sweetheart?”
“No, I’m all right.” Emma gave a wan smile. “Just tired.” She stood up and carefully pushed her chair in against the table. She could feel their eyes follow her out the kitchen door.
It was all she could do to keep from taking the stairs three at a time. She forced herself to walk slowly, passing the gallery wall of family photos that ran up the stairwell. She knew the pictures by heart now, every smile, every outfit, the patterns on the wrapping paper in birthday and Christmas photos. It was a highlight reel of Sutton’s life, not hers—and yet after so much pretending, sometimes it was hard to remember that.
When she got to Sutton’s room, Emma rummaged at the bottom of the biggest desk drawer, where she’d hidden the old BlackBerry she’d brought with her from Vegas. Sure enough, Alex had messaged her. WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON? ARE YOU OK?
Emma winced, wishing Alex were in front of her right that minute so she could throw her arms around her with relief. She hit the button to reply.
I CAN’T EXPLAIN RIGHT NOW. DON’T CONTACT ME AGAIN—IT’S DANGEROUS. THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING. LOVE YOU ALWAYS.
Her heart was sick at the knowledge that she was about to cut off one of the few
Emma sat down slowly, shaking her head no, but they still stared. Laurel’s glass hovered halfway to her lips, frozen in midair. Mrs. Mercer gave her a worried look. Emma cleared her throat and forced herself to speak. “It’s just that that girl seemed to care about Emma a lot. No one else seems to miss her. It’s just so sad.”
Emma stared at her friend’s face. Alex was the only person from her old life who actually cared about her; she also happened to be the only person who could blow Emma’s cover.
Since coming to Tucson, Emma had been lying to Alex, just like she’d been lying to everyone. She’d told her friend back home that she and Sutton were getting along perfectly, that the Mercers had welcomed her to stay with them for a while. She’d been texting Alex on and off for the past three months—long after “Emma Paxton” was supposed to have died.
And now Alex could blow all of her lies wide open. All she had to do was mention the texts she’d gotten from her best friend, apparently from beyond the grave, and Emma would be through.
“We were joined at the hip,” Alex said. And then she looked directly into the camera, tears hanging from her long, dark eyelashes. “We used to meet at the rec center and talk for hours.”
And just like that, relief flooded Emma’s body. Alex wasn’t going to expose her. Alex was covering for her. The “rec center” had been their own private code for any kind of rule-breaking. It started when Emma was staying with the Stokeses; one night Alex had slipped out past her curfew for a date with a boy from UNLV. When Alex’s single mom came home early and asked where her daughter was, Emma had stammered out that Alex was swimming at the rec center. They both laughed about it later. Good thing my mom’s internal clock is all screwed up from working nights , Alex had teased, or she’d have wanted to know why that pool is open at midnight on a weeknight . From then on, “rec center” was synonymous for “I’ve got your back.”
Emma suddenly missed her old best friend more than ever. Hearing the news of her own death had made her feel horribly alone—as though she were a living ghost, invisible to the people around her. But here was Alex, clear as day, telling her she was on her side.
“I think I need to lie down for a little while,” Emma said cautiously. “May I be excused?”
“Of course.” Mrs. Mercer was still watching her with concern evident on her face. “Do you need anything, sweetheart?”
“No, I’m all right.” Emma gave a wan smile. “Just tired.” She stood up and carefully pushed her chair in against the table. She could feel their eyes follow her out the kitchen door.
It was all she could do to keep from taking the stairs three at a time. She forced herself to walk slowly, passing the gallery wall of family photos that ran up the stairwell. She knew the pictures by heart now, every smile, every outfit, the patterns on the wrapping paper in birthday and Christmas photos. It was a highlight reel of Sutton’s life, not hers—and yet after so much pretending, sometimes it was hard to remember that.
When she got to Sutton’s room, Emma rummaged at the bottom of the biggest desk drawer, where she’d hidden the old BlackBerry she’d brought with her from Vegas. Sure enough, Alex had messaged her. WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON? ARE YOU OK?
Emma winced, wishing Alex were in front of her right that minute so she could throw her arms around her with relief. She hit the button to reply.
I CAN’T EXPLAIN RIGHT NOW. DON’T CONTACT ME AGAIN—IT’S DANGEROUS. THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING. LOVE YOU ALWAYS.
Her heart was sick at the knowledge that she was about to cut off one of the few
Similar Books
