Twisted by Lisa Harrington Page A

my throat. I swallow, hoping to wash it away.
    â€œLynnie,” Liam says, “this is Lyssa, the rookie.” He looks at me and winks. “Well, you’ve been here over a week now, so I guess you can probably lose that title, right?”
    â€œUm …” I can’t think. I’m not even sure what he just said.
    But he doesn’t seem to notice how stunned I’m acting. “Wow. Get a load of us. Lyssa, Lynnie, Liam. We should start a band.” He gives the slut a squeeze.
    â€œYeah, you’re so musical,” she says out of the corner of her mouth. Then she turns to me. “Nice to meet you, Ly—” she pauses, tilts her head, “—ssa.”
    And just like that, she’s figured it out. I hear her suck in a breath. She holds it forever. We both stand there, eyes locked. The very same way we did in Kyle’s apartment.
    She exhales and blinks a few times, touches her fingers to her temple. “I’ll — I’ll just wait for you back at the table,” she says slowly to Liam.
    â€œOkay. Did you want anything?”
    â€œNo, I, uh, Suzanne already bought me one.” She holds up her mug. “But it had … spots.” And she walks away in a daze.
    Liam frowns and shakes his head. “Don’t mind her. She gets like this when she has a big assignment due.”
    I nod, make his latte, hand it to him, collect his money, all without uttering a single word. Again, he doesn’t seem to notice as he gives me a loonie tip on a three-dollar coffee and joins Rosalyn at her table of friends.
    I go out back to the kitchen and slump against the coolness of the stainless steel fridge. This can’t be happening. What are the odds of Rosalyn being Lynnie? It’s like something you’d see on Gossip Girl . And what am I supposed to do now? Say now?
    â€œHey, are you okay?”
    Anna’s voice startles me. “Uh, yeah, I’m fine.”
    She slips on her apron, moves closer, and peers at my face. “Are you sure? You don’t look so hot.”
    â€œJust a headache,” I whisper.
    â€œWell, go home and lay down or something.”
    â€œI will.”
    â€œAnd thanks for covering for me,” she says handing me my coat and hustling me over to the service entrance. “Take some Advil,” she adds.
    â€œWill do.” I smile weakly, mock salute her, and march out the back door.
    Thankfully, the forecasted freezing rain ends up being light flurries. I flip up my hood and stuff my hands in my pockets. Before I even step onto the sidewalk I hear, “Lyssa!”
    Through the glow of the street lamps, I make out a figure, a girl, standing on the corner. I know it’s Rosalyn. I stay where I am and watch her walk toward me.
    â€œAren’t you supposed to be going to a movie?” I say.
    â€œI told Liam I had to run across to the drugstore first,” she says, her eyes darting back to the front door of the coffee shop, “because I had a headache.”
    â€œThere’s a lot of that going around.”
    She twists up her mouth, gives me a good glare. “Listen, I don’t know what you’re planning …”
    â€œPlanning?” I ask innocently. She’s squirming, and I can’t deny that I’m enjoying it a bit.
    Then she turns on a dime. Her face falls, her eyes get all huge and glassy. “Please don’t tell,” she pleads. “I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t tell him.”
    I keep silent. I don’t want to have this conversation with her. I don’t want to have any conversation with her. And her … emotionalness is making me uncomfortable.
    â€œThat’s what you’re going to do, isn’t it? You’re going to tell him.” Her words come out fast and full of panic.
    Part of me wants to say yes, push her aside, run screaming into the shop, and broadcast the news, but the other part of me … the other part of