AM WOMAN, HEAR ME ROAR
The following day, Emma stood in the Hollier parking lot, baking beneath the brutal Tucson sun. The girls’ soccer team ran laps around a dusty field in the distance. Emma had no idea how they weren’t keeling over—it had to be almost 110 degrees outside. She’d played thirty minutes of tennis at practice and felt like she needed to be hooked up to an IV for rehydration.
I remembered hot tennis practices like that. But weirdly, floating next to Emma, I felt neither hot nor cold. Just… nothing. It sounds strange, but I’d love to be sweaty and short of breath one more time. It surprised me that I desperately missed even those parts of being alive.
A horn honked, and Charlotte pulled up in her silver Mercedes. “Get in, bitch,” she called out the window.
“Thanks for the ride,” Emma said, throwing her tennis gear and purse in the backseat. “My sister is so lame for abandoning me.” They were all meeting at Madeline’s house for a prank-planning session today, but after tennis, Laurel had vanished without waiting for Emma. Luckily, Charlotte hadn’t left school yet, though Emma would have given anything to skip the meeting. The last thing she wanted to do was embarrass Ethan. When she’d seen him in the halls today she’d felt terrible, sure he knew that she was keeping something from him. She felt stuck: If she told Ethan what they were up to and blew the prank, Sutton’s friends would never forgive her. But if she didn’t tell him, she might lose him forever.
As soon as Emma was inside, Charlotte hit the gas and the car lurched out of the parking lot onto the highway. Within minutes they were passing a long stretch of desert, then a mini mall packed with local clothing boutiques, a 1950s-looking ice cream parlor, Starbucks, and a video store. Charlotte took a right into a familiar housing development. Emma was glad Charlotte was driving. She’d only been to the Vegas’ house once, when she and the girls had been planning a prank on the Twitter Twins, and she didn’t really remember where it was. It was one advantage of Sutton’s car having been missing for all this time—if Sutton’s friends thought she couldn’t find her way around Tucson, they’d probably check her into the mental hospital.
As they waited at a stoplight on Orange Grove, the local news came on. “Tucson is abuzz with the story about Thayer Vega, the missing boy from this summer,” a woman reporter said. Emma sat up straighter and tried not to gasp.
“Mr. Vega broke into an alleged girlfriend’s house early Saturday morning, and now he’s being held on a fifteenthousand-dollar bail for breaking and entering, resisting arrest, and carrying a concealed weapon,” the reporter went on. “However, Geoffrey Rogers, the lawyer assigned to his case, is convinced he’ll get it dismissed.”
A man’s voice boomed through the stereo speakers. “My client is a minor—he should not be tried as an adult,” Thayer’s lawyer said. “This is a matter of bad blood between him and a certain member of the Tucson police force.”
“Bad blood?” Emma said aloud before she could stop herself.
Charlotte looked at her. “Yeah, between him and Quinlan. Remember how that guy spearheaded the Find Thayer campaign? Thayer was like his white whale. He was furious that he couldn’t find him. Everyone’s saying that’s why his punishment is so harsh—and that Quinlan made up the part about how Thayer resisted arrest.”
Emma raised her eyebrows. What if that was true? What if the lawyer could get Thayer out before his trial? She didn’t want to think of what might happen then.
“So Laurel’s pretty pissed at you, huh?” Charlotte asked.
Emma nodded. “She thinks it’s my fault that Thayer’s in jail.”
“Right,” Charlotte said noncommittally, her expression giving nothing away. Emma wondered where she stood on the Thayer debate. While Madeline and Laurel had been out-and-out accusatory of Emma,
The following day, Emma stood in the Hollier parking lot, baking beneath the brutal Tucson sun. The girls’ soccer team ran laps around a dusty field in the distance. Emma had no idea how they weren’t keeling over—it had to be almost 110 degrees outside. She’d played thirty minutes of tennis at practice and felt like she needed to be hooked up to an IV for rehydration.
I remembered hot tennis practices like that. But weirdly, floating next to Emma, I felt neither hot nor cold. Just… nothing. It sounds strange, but I’d love to be sweaty and short of breath one more time. It surprised me that I desperately missed even those parts of being alive.
A horn honked, and Charlotte pulled up in her silver Mercedes. “Get in, bitch,” she called out the window.
“Thanks for the ride,” Emma said, throwing her tennis gear and purse in the backseat. “My sister is so lame for abandoning me.” They were all meeting at Madeline’s house for a prank-planning session today, but after tennis, Laurel had vanished without waiting for Emma. Luckily, Charlotte hadn’t left school yet, though Emma would have given anything to skip the meeting. The last thing she wanted to do was embarrass Ethan. When she’d seen him in the halls today she’d felt terrible, sure he knew that she was keeping something from him. She felt stuck: If she told Ethan what they were up to and blew the prank, Sutton’s friends would never forgive her. But if she didn’t tell him, she might lose him forever.
As soon as Emma was inside, Charlotte hit the gas and the car lurched out of the parking lot onto the highway. Within minutes they were passing a long stretch of desert, then a mini mall packed with local clothing boutiques, a 1950s-looking ice cream parlor, Starbucks, and a video store. Charlotte took a right into a familiar housing development. Emma was glad Charlotte was driving. She’d only been to the Vegas’ house once, when she and the girls had been planning a prank on the Twitter Twins, and she didn’t really remember where it was. It was one advantage of Sutton’s car having been missing for all this time—if Sutton’s friends thought she couldn’t find her way around Tucson, they’d probably check her into the mental hospital.
As they waited at a stoplight on Orange Grove, the local news came on. “Tucson is abuzz with the story about Thayer Vega, the missing boy from this summer,” a woman reporter said. Emma sat up straighter and tried not to gasp.
“Mr. Vega broke into an alleged girlfriend’s house early Saturday morning, and now he’s being held on a fifteenthousand-dollar bail for breaking and entering, resisting arrest, and carrying a concealed weapon,” the reporter went on. “However, Geoffrey Rogers, the lawyer assigned to his case, is convinced he’ll get it dismissed.”
A man’s voice boomed through the stereo speakers. “My client is a minor—he should not be tried as an adult,” Thayer’s lawyer said. “This is a matter of bad blood between him and a certain member of the Tucson police force.”
“Bad blood?” Emma said aloud before she could stop herself.
Charlotte looked at her. “Yeah, between him and Quinlan. Remember how that guy spearheaded the Find Thayer campaign? Thayer was like his white whale. He was furious that he couldn’t find him. Everyone’s saying that’s why his punishment is so harsh—and that Quinlan made up the part about how Thayer resisted arrest.”
Emma raised her eyebrows. What if that was true? What if the lawyer could get Thayer out before his trial? She didn’t want to think of what might happen then.
“So Laurel’s pretty pissed at you, huh?” Charlotte asked.
Emma nodded. “She thinks it’s my fault that Thayer’s in jail.”
“Right,” Charlotte said noncommittally, her expression giving nothing away. Emma wondered where she stood on the Thayer debate. While Madeline and Laurel had been out-and-out accusatory of Emma,
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