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Emma nodded slowly. It was good advice—she just wasn’t sure it really worked in her situation. This was a murder investigation, and she had to fight fire with fire. She couldn’t play a defensive game, not anymore. “It’s all just so complicated sometimes,” she said, wishing she could tell Thayer everything.
“Yeah, I know.” He exhaled loudly. “Believe me. Living with my dad, there’s so much I have to let go of. Sometimes I want to hit him, to punish him. I’ve done that, you know—before I went to Seattle, I took a few swings at him.” He shook his head. “But that’s just me thinking I can change him somehow. Make him sorry. I can’t, obviously.”
They sat there in the shadows, rocking back and forth, Poor Tony’s music still shaking the house. Emma was sobering up quickly thanks to the cool air and the rush of adrenaline from thinking Becky was on the porch. But she was still tipsy enough to admire Thayer without feeling self-conscious. She kept sneaking glances at his profile, studying the curve of his cheek, the small scar along his jawline. She wondered if that, too, was a reminder of the accident in Sabino Canyon.
“Thayer,” she whispered. He turned to face her, and the intensity of his eyes made her lose her breath for a moment. She coughed into her hand. “I never said this, but … I’m really proud of you.” It was true: She admired Thayer’s resolve, his strength. Even though she hadn’t known him before, she felt that he wasn’t the boy from the MISSING posters any longer. The boy who’d vanished without a word. He’d come back a new person. More than anyone else here tonight, he knew exactly who he was and what he believed. It was refreshing—especially after all the lies and pretending she’d been piling up.
“Really?” he asked.
“It takes guts to change,” Emma said quietly. “To start telling the truth to everyone, and mostly to yourself. I know it’s been hard for you. But the people who really care about you—we’re here to support you.”
She felt Thayer’s warm hands, calloused from all the yard work he’d been doing, wrap around her fingers. “The people who really care about me, huh?”
Her cheeks burned. “You know, Mads, Char, Laurel. Your dad, even. We all care about you.”
“Glad to hear it,” he said softly, drawing her closer. And then, before she knew it, his lips were on hers.
For a split second, she leaned into the kiss. Thayer’s mouth was so soft and inviting. All she’d wanted to do tonight was let go of being Emma and become Sutton, even if it had to end at the stroke of midnight like a fairy tale. And in this moment, tasting the sweetness of vanilla Coke on Thayer’s lips, the line between her and Sutton felt especially blurry. She moved unconsciously toward him on the swing, and his fingers slid around her waist.
As strange as this was for me, I understood Emma’s complicated feelings, about the line between us getting more and more confusing. We were both sinking deeper into each other, in danger of losing ourselves in the process. Watching Emma live my life and feeling the thrill of Thayer’s kiss on her lips was the next best thing to actually kissing Thayer myself. I couldn’t even decide whether I wanted to throw the Coke can at their heads or cheer them on.
But then Emma pulled away from Thayer with a jolt. What was she doing? Just because everyone called her Sutton didn’t mean she had turned into her twin. Guilt stabbed her like a knife. She’d betrayed Ethan and misled Thayer. All she’d done was break things right and left. Just like Becky, she thought bitterly.
“What the hell?”
An angry voice tore through her thoughts, and she looked up to see Ethan on the steps to the porch.
His eyes blazed in fury. His jaw was tight and clenched, his fists opening and closing as if he couldn’t figure out if he wanted to hit something or strangle it. Emma’s hands flew to her mouth.
“Ethan,” she exclaimed. “It’s not what you think—”
“You,” he snarled, ignoring her. His eyes were locked on Thayer. “You’re dead.”
Thayer barely had time to get to his feet before Ethan was on him, his fist landing square on the taller boy’s chin. He gripped Thayer by his shirt and slammed him against one of the porch’s pillars.
“Stop it!” Emma screamed. Blood trickled from a cut on Thayer’s head. He rammed an elbow into Ethan’s rib cage and Ethan leaned over, wincing. Thayer tackled him off the porch.
Poor Tony chose that exact moment to finish his set. Emma’s cries pierced the sudden quiet, and the doors quickly flew open, the confused and rowdy crowd spilling out onto the porch.
“Fight!” someone yelled, catching on to what was happening, and everyone took up the chant. “Figh! Fight! Fight!”
The spectators divided almost instantly into two sides. Most of the boys cheered on Thayer with cries of “Kick his ass, Vega!” and “Take that, Landry!” It was a testament to Sutton’s power and popularity that the girls, especially the younger ones, all started screaming for Ethan.
The two boys in the yard kept fighting, seemingly unaware of the crowd that had gathered. Blood pooled in the dirt and smeared muddily over them both. Someone’s shirt ripped audibly.
Emma locked eyes with Charlotte in the crowd, shooting her a pleading look. Charlotte understood, and quickly turned to Mark Bell, who hurried back to the house and yelled at someone Emma couldn’t see. A few moments later, two other boys—both of them on the varsity basketball team—hurried down the steps. Ricky Parker, the shooting guard who’d just been handed a full ride to Duke, latched onto Ethan and held his arms back while Andrew Collins and Mark Bell pulled Thayer in the opposite direction. Ethan and Thayer struggled to break free, staring at each other with open hostility.
