The Lying Game by Sara Shepard Page B

wonder what she meant.

12
EMMA’S FIRST FAMILY DINNER DYSFUNCTION

    As soon as Emma stepped through the door from tennis practice, the smell of steak, baked potatoes, and crescent rolls swarmed her nostrils. Mrs. Mercer stuck her head through the kitchen doorway. “There you are. Dinner’s ready.”
    Emma pulled a hand through her wet hair.
Right now?
She’d hoped she’d get a couple minutes to herself before dinner. Maybe go upstairs, curl up in a ball, mourn the dead sister she’d never met, figure out what to do next …
    She dropped Sutton’s tennis bag in the foyer and stepped into the kitchen. Mrs. Mercer carried tumblers of water to the table while Mr. Mercer uncorked a bottle of wine and poured two glasses. Laurel was already sitting down, fiddling with her fork. She’d taken off after tennis practice without offering Emma a ride.
    Emma slid in next to Laurel. There was a tiny folded paper crane near her water glass. Laurel cleared her throat and nudged her chin toward it. “You should open that.”
    Emma stared at the crane, and then looked cautiously around the room. She’d rather
not
open it, thanks, especially if it was going to be another creepy note. But Laurel kept staring. The shiny origami paper crinkled as Emma slowly deconstructed the bird. On the plain white underside it read: I FORGIVE YOU. –L
    “I heard Nisha’s party sucked.” Laurel twisted a cloth napkin in her hands. “And I finally asked Char after tennis. She told me they kidnapped you.”
    Emma folded the origami paper back into a bird and touched Laurel’s arm. “Thanks.” It wasn’t much, but at least someone finally believed
something
she’d said.
    “You’re welcome,” Laurel said, shooting Emma a tiny hopeful look.
    Suddenly, a blurry flash about Laurel appeared before my eyes. I saw the two of us standing at a gate with a sign on it that said LA PALOMA SPA POOL—GUESTS ONLY! We both wore terry-cloth shorts and oversized sunglasses. “Just pretend like you belong here,” I instructed, taking Laurel’s hand. She gave me that same eager, loyal, you’re-the-big-sister-and-I-want-to-be-just-like-you look as she was giving to Emma now.
    So we’d been friends … once upon a time, anyway. It certainly hadn’t seemed that way from my memory of the hot springs.
    “Still, maybe you can make it up to me,” Laurel said to Emma, crossing her arms over her chest. “Manicures at Mr. Pinky next week before your birthday party? Maybe Thursday?”
    “Okay,” Emma said, although Thursday might as well have been in the next millennium. Would she even be here next week?
    Mrs. Mercer pulled a dish out of the oven with a loud clang. Mr. Mercer gathered shiny steak knives out of the drawer. Laurel leaned forward. The front of her blouse gaped so that Emma could see the top of her pink scalloped-edge bra. “Why did you run off this morning?” she whispered. “Mads told me she saw you getting out of a cop car during homeroom.”
    Emma stiffened. “I was trying to ditch,” she whispered back. “A cop driving by saw me. He said if I didn’t go back to school with him, he’d raise the impound fee on my car.”
    “That sucks.” A honey-blond lock of hair fell into Laurel’s eyes.
    They were interrupted by Mrs. Mercer rushing to the table with steaming plates. She dished out portions of steak, spinach, and baked potatoes to everyone. Mr. Mercer sneaked Drake a piece of roll, which the dog swallowed without chewing. When everyone had been served, Mrs. Mercer sat and unfolded a napkin on her lap. “I just got a call from Coach Maggie, Sutton. She said you were off your game today.”
    “Oh.” Emma sliced the baked potato with her fork. Tennis hadn’t exactly been successful, though at least she hadn’t had to wear the Smurf Dress—Maggie had told Emma they’d straighten out the uniform problem tomorrow. During practice, she’d returned a few shots—thanks, Wii!—but serves whipped past her head, and when she was