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“What happened?” Emma whispered.
“We lost power.” Charlotte sipped the last of her drink. She sounded annoyed.
There was a knock at the door, and everyone yelped. Charlotte quickly stuffed the vodka bottle and glasses under the bed. Moments later, Mrs. Chamberlain shone a flashlight into the room. “You girls okay?”
“Is the power out at the neighbors’, too?” Charlotte asked. Emma noticed she was trying to enunciate very precisely, which just made her sound even drunker.
Mrs. Chamberlain walked to the window and looked out. Golden light spilled from the windows of the house nearest to them. “Guess not. Spooky, huh?”
Emma shifted from foot to foot. Yes.
“Oh, don’t worry, girls,” Mrs. Chamberlain said. “It’s just a power outage. If you light candles, blow them out before you go to sleep.”
She shut the door again. Everyone turned back to the center of the circle and exchanged wide-eyed glances. Suddenly there was a whirring sound, and the lights snapped back on. The stereo, which had been playing an iPod mix before the power went out, blared, making everyone jump. Charlotte’s printer in the corner groaned, warming back up. All the girls rubbed their eyes. After a beat, the Twitter Twins simultaneously grabbed their phones and started typing.
Charlotte reached into the bowl of chips in the center of the room and took a greedy handful. “Okay, Sutton. Tell us how you did it.”
“Did what?” Emma blinked. The girls looked at her hard. “The power?” Emma squeaked, suddenly realizing what they meant. “I had nothing to do with that!”
“Yeah, right.” Madeline leaned on a large striped bolster pillow. “Good timing, though. Just when we were grilling you about losing your touch, you make the lights go out. I don’t know how you did it, Sutton.”
“She’s a regular enchantress,” Charlotte said wryly. “Broomstick and all.”
“I didn’t do it,” Emma protested. “I swear.”
“Cross your heart, hope to die?” Madeline demanded.
Emma paused, confused. Madeline had said it quickly, like a chant. “Yes,” she answered. “Absolutely.”
But then she remembered what she’d been thinking in the bathroom before the lights went out: it was possible her sister was close—really close. Which meant this craziness might come to an end very, very soon. The animosity that had soared through her veins instantly yielded to anticipation. Was she finally going to meet Sutton, the evil pranking genius, face-to-face? Would she be strong enough to stand up for herself and scold Sutton about how she’d sent her emotions on a wild roller-coaster ride, all for a prank . . . or would she buckle as soon as she saw her twin, filled with relief that Sutton wasn’t dead, brimming with gratitude that she finally had someone to call family?
Emma glanced out the window. The backyard was empty. A pool glistened, the solar lights on the path glowed. Then she covertly lifted the dust ruffle on Charlotte’s bed with her foot and peeked underneath. The only thing she saw was an old copy of Vogue and a sports portrait of Garrett, a soccer ball wedged under his arm. She even looked in the bathroom again, thinking maybe Sutton would pop out of the sauna, a big grin on her face. But the only Sutton in there was the many versions of her on the walls.
Everyone agreed they were too tipsy to continue Never Have I Ever. Charlotte refilled the bowl of pretzels and stuck the first season of The Hills into the DVD player. Everyone settled in on the couches, in sleeping bags, or on Charlotte’s bed. It was like the power outage had had a sedative effect on everyone but her. Emma felt more awake and sober than she had before. Is Sutton in the house? Is she close? Every tiny sound, every movement, Emma glanced at the door, certain Sutton was going to cartwheel into the room.
She was so convinced, I half expected it to happen myself.
One by one, the girls’ heads went limp and their eyes closed. Charlotte snuggled into her bed. Madeline snored softly on the trundle. Lilianna burrowed into a black sleeping bag, and Gabriella climbed into a pink one. Laurel had curled up on the couch next to Emma; her fingers slowly and sleepily twitched. Emma watched the DVD until the last episode aired and the credits rolled. She tried to close her eyes, but she wasn’t sleepy. Come out, come out, Sutton. What would her life be like once Sutton returned? Once again she pictured their first meeting. Your life is so crazy! Emma might say to Sutton. Surely after putting Emma through so much turmoil, she’d let Emma stay with her for a while. After all, if this was some sort of demented test, Emma had passed with flying colors, hadn’t she? She envisioned the Mercers’ slack-jawed expressions when they found out Emma was telling the truth that first morning at breakfast. Perhaps they’d let her sleep in a guest room. Set a place for her at the table. Was it too much to hope for?
I didn’t think it was. Not that it could ever come true.
Emma’s mouth felt cottony from all the vodka. She groped for her water glass, but she couldn’t find it. She slid from the couch as quietly as she could and tiptoed out the door and down the stairs toward the kitchen. The marble floors in the foyer felt like ice cubes on the soles of her feet. An angular coat rack by the front door resembled a giant tarantula. Emma sucked in her breath and stepped toward a glowing light down the hall.
The digital clocks above the microwave and stove shone a stoic green. A metal chandelier hung over the center island. Emma’s skin prickled in a mix of fear and excitement. She cocked her head and listened for sounds of Sutton sneaking up on her. Breathing. Giggling. Waiting.
