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Emma’s theory terrified me. How many times had I picked on Charlotte like I had at the hot springs? How many times did I put her down? Had stealing Garrett made her snap . . . or had it been something else?
“Sutton,” a voice called.
Emma turned to see a figure looming between the hedges. Whoever was there was backlit by the sun, and at first Emma couldn’t quite make out who it was. All kinds of things flashed through her mind in an instant. Her gut knotted with nerves.
Then Ethan stepped into the light. Emma’s muscles relaxed. “Hey,” Emma said gratefully. Ethan walked out to the track and fell into step with her. “I didn’t know you had gym right now.”
“I don’t,” Ethan said. “I’m supposed to be in calculus. But I’m so lost about functions it’s not even worth it to go.”
Their footsteps were nearly silent on the spongy all-weather track. The odor of bus exhaust wafted from the front of the school. A hummingbird darted to a tube-shaped feeder one of the groundskeepers had hung near the field house, its wings flapping lightning fast. “So did you do it?” Ethan asked after they’d made a lap. “Did you have a big no-more-pranks intervention with your friends?”
“Not exactly.” Emma attempted a laugh. “I’m still working on it.”
“Still think they’re evil?”
“Kinda.” More than you know, Emma wanted to say. Then her gaze fell to handwriting on Ethan’s arm: HOW FRAIL THE HUMAN HEART MUST BE—A MIRRORED POOL OF THOUGHT. She recognized it instantly. “You like Sylvia Plath?”
A bloom of red appeared on Ethan’s cheeks. “You caught me. I read depressing girls’ poetry.”
“It’s better than writing depressing girls’ poetry.” Emma laughed. “I have a whole notebook full of it.” A notebook that was stuffed into the pocket of a missing duffel bag. Emma felt a longing pang. She’d probably never see it again. “Have you read The Bell Jar?” she asked Ethan.
He nodded. “Loved it.”
“I read it three times this summer,” Emma said excitedly.
“Sutton Mercer read The Bell Jar?” Ethan shot her a quick surprised look. “And has a notebook full of depressing poetry? You’re a complex creature.”
Mr. Garrison blew the whistle, signaling for Emma’s class to return to the gym. Emma turned back to the hedge-lined path. “See ya.” She smiled at Ethan, heat rising in her cheeks. She whirled around and crunched back to the gym door, a smile on her face.
Beep.
It was the iPhone. Emma pulled it out and checked the text. I’D LOVE A SPA NITE, Madeline wrote back. LA PALOMA AT 7?
SOUNDS GREAT, Emma texted back. Maybe she’d finally start getting some answers.
“Miss Vega and Miss Mercer?” A freshly scrubbed, freckled woman in a lab coat stood at the door of the La Paloma waiting area. “Your room is ready.”
“Sweet.” Madeline minimized the gossip site she and Emma had been perusing on her iPhone. They’d been playing “punch-drunk”—the object was to punch one another first whenever they saw a picture of a drunk-looking celebrity. Double punches if the celebrity had a boob hanging out.
The aesthetician, whose name tag said SOFIA, opened a glass door and let the girls pass into a long, narrow hall. A male spa worker walked toward them, giving Madeline and Emma an appreciative once-over. Madeline met his gaze and giggled. As he passed, she quickly slapped his butt. The guy swiveled around, but Madeline sauntered on, her long hair swishing.
Sofia opened yet another glass door and revealed a large porcelain tub. A soft yellow haze shone down from recessed lights in the ceiling. Rain forest noises played softly through the speakers. “I’ll let you get settled,” Sofia trilled, shutting the door.
Madeline instantly dropped her robe to the floor, adjusted the ties of her black string bikini, and climbed the mini plastic stairs to enter the tub. “Coming in?” she called to Emma over her shoulder.
Emma undid the belt of her robe and carefully stepped into the tub. The mud was thick and grainy. It was like sitting in a big bowl of oatmeal. Madeline rested her head, a blissed-out expression on her face. Sofia appeared again and placed cucumber slices over the girls’ eyes. “Enjoy,” she lilted, turning down the lights, turning up the rain forest music, and shutting the door.
The mud tub burbled. Emma tried to enjoy the moment. The cucumber slices smelled fresh next to her nose, but the jungle music blared through the speakers so loudly that it was hard to relax. The sound of heavy rain morphed into tribal drums, followed by a buzzing insect. Birds tweeted and cawed. An African flute tooted. When a monkey let out a loud screech, Emma started to giggle. She heard a snort from across the tub and pulled the cucumbers from her eyes. Madeline’s lips were pressed tightly together, as if she were trying very hard not to laugh, which only made Emma’s shoulders shake harder. Then two monkeys started hooting together. Emma burst out laughing, and Madeline did, too. Emma covered her mouth, smearing mud all over her face. A cucumber fell from one of Madeline’s eyes and plopped into the murky liquid.
“Dude,” Madeline said between giggles. “I think the monkeys are doing it.”
“It’s definitely monkey mating calls,” Emma agreed, flicking a glop of mud at Madeline.
They settled back into the mud, every once in a while letting out another giggle or snort. Then Madeline took a long sip from the glass of lemon water near her head and sighed. “So what’s been with you this past week? You’ve seemed kind of . . . sedate. Like someone upped your meds.”
