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Ethan popped an M&M into his mouth. “When I was little, my dad made me a Belgian waffle we called Bob. Bob was a regular waffle with two big blueberries for eyes, a whipped cream nose—”
“—and let me guess,” Emma interrupted drolly. “A bacon smile?”
“Wrong.” Ethan pointed at her. “A piece of honeydew!”
“Melon on a waffle?” Emma stuck out her tongue. “Blegh.”
Ethan grinned at her and shook his head. “I can’t imagine Sutton Mercer playing with her food.”
“There are lots of things you don’t know about me,” Emma teased. “I’m a huge mystery.” More than you know, she silently added.
Ethan nodded approvingly. “Mystery is cool.” He leaned toward her a little more, his hand bumping Emma’s shoulder. He didn’t immediately pull away. Emma didn’t either. For a moment, it felt like he was smiling at her, not the girl he thought was Sutton Mercer.
Click. The overhead lights faded, flooding the court in darkness. Emma stiffened and let out a little yelp. “It’s okay,” Ethan said. “The meter for the lights just ran out.”
Ethan helped Emma up, and together they fumbled for the door. After climbing into his car and starting the engine, Ethan poked his head out the window and gave her a long, curious look. “Thanks, Sutton,” he finally said.
“For what?” Emma asked.
He gestured out the window to the court and sky. “This.”
Emma grinned in question, hoping he’d say more. He pulled out of the lot and headed for the exit. “Fireflies” by Owl City wafted from the stereo speakers. The song was one of Emma’s favorites. As he turned toward the street, Emma slid down the chain-link fence to the warm asphalt. At least someone here was normal. Too bad it was the one person who seemed to want nothing to do with Sutton’s life.
But watching from above, I wasn’t so sure about that. There was something about Ethan that made me think he had more to do with my life than he let on.
Chapter 14
VINTAGE EMMA
Ominous thunderclouds opened up on Thursday afternoon, and Coach Maggie made an announcement over the loudspeaker after seventh period that tennis practice was canceled. Emma was so relieved she contemplated throwing her arms around her Arizona History teacher. Her legs ached from practice yesterday and hitting with Ethan last night.
At the end of the day, as Emma entered the combination to Sutton’s locker, a hand slithered around her waist and pulled her tight. Emma whirled around to see Garrett shoving a bouquet of tulips in her face. “Happy first-week-of-school-almost-birthday!” he proclaimed brightly, leaning in for a kiss.
Emma tensed as his lips touched hers. He smelled like turpentine from art class.
“Get your hands off him!” I wailed. But—you guessed it—nobody heard me. I mean, I got it that Emma had to pretend like everything was normal. I really did. But seeing Garrett affectionately touch someone else filled me with both jealousy and sadness. Garrett wasn’t mine anymore. He would never be mine again. I kept waiting for the moment Garrett would stand back, cross his arms over his chest, and say, Oh my God. You’re someone else. I kept hoping for it. But it didn’t come.
“You’ve been such a stranger lately.” Garrett shifted his backpack on his shoulder.
Yes! I thought. Someone noticed!
Emma had the same response, immediately working up a defense. But then Garrett added, “I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks. Want to go to Blanco for nachos?”
Emma peered inside the locker. “What, right now?”
Garrett crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, right now. You don’t have tennis, right? I don’t have soccer, either. And don’t freak—one plate of nachos isn’t going to make you gain five pounds. And anyway I’d still love you even if you did gain five pounds.”
Emma scoffed. She wasn’t balking because of that—she’d gotten honorable mention in a hot dog–eating contest in Vegas the year before. A tiny Japanese girl with an apparently hollow leg had edged her out. It was more that she felt strange going out with Garrett . . . alone. I’d still love you, he’d just said. If he really loved Sutton, wouldn’t he have realized Emma wasn’t her?
“I’m kind of busy,” she murmured.
Garrett took Emma’s hands in his. “We really need to talk. I’ve done some thinking about . . .” He trailed off. “You know, what we talked about this summer? I think you’re right.”
“Uh-huh,” Emma said warily, suddenly feeling like the conversation was taking place in a language she didn’t speak. It was exhausting to pretend she understood what everyone was talking about all day.
Last night, after tennis with Ethan, she’d logged onto Facebook on Sutton’s computer, desperate to find out anything she could about Sutton—who she was, what she liked to do . . . who might have wanted to kill her. Thanks to autofill, the site had loaded Sutton’s profile, her screen name, and her password. Emma had read Sutton’s Facebook posts again, trying to glean as much intel as she could about her personality, her past, and her friends, but there hadn’t been much she hadn’t already seen before. The only new thing Emma had learned about Garrett, for instance, was that Sutton cheered him on at his varsity soccer games, hung out with him and his younger sister, Louisa, and made all his fashion decisions for him. Sutton had even written posts like “Love the new shirt I picked out for my BF? He’s like my little doll!”
