Never Have I Ever

She tiptoed farther into the room to take a closer look at the col age of photos housed under a glass pane near Nisha’s bed. Most of the photos showed Nisha in action: hitting a backhand shot, a drop shot, serving, raising her hands above her head when she’d won a match. In the center of the col age, Nisha stood in the first-place spot on a podium, a shiny gold medal around her neck. Sutton stood in the third-place spot, scowling. There was a tancolored brace on her knee. Tacked along the border were several group shots of the tennis team: the girls holding a team tournament cup, Sutton standing as far away from Nisha as she could. Charlotte had darker hair in the photo, and Laurel’s hair was cut in a sleek blonde bob. Another photo showed the girls standing at an airport gate. Sutton posed off to the side, jutting her leg up on one of the benches and giving the camera a sexy pout. Emma noticed blinking slot machines in the background. Was that Vegas? Had she and Sutton been in the same city at the same time? For a fleeting moment, she pictured the two of them running into each other at the New York-New York casino where she had worked. Would Sutton have noticed her? Would they have smiled at each other?

A final team shot was pinned in the corner of the bul etin board, overlapping other photos as if it had been hastily stuck there. The tennis team gathered around Nisha’s dining table. Sutton and Charlotte were missing, but Laurel smiled broadly, her hair as long as it was today. BACK TO

SCHOOL TEAM SLEEPOVER was scrawled at the bottom of the photo. Emma’s finger traced over the date written in Nisha’s cal igraphic handwriting: 8/31. She had to stare at it for a few long beats before she believed it was real.

“What are you doing?”

Emma flinched. Nisha stood in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. She stalked over and pushed Emma’s shoulder. “I didn’t say you could come in here!”

“Wait!” Emma pointed at the photo. “When was this taken?”

Nisha inspected the photo and rol ed her eyes. “Can’t you read?” she asked in a smart-ass tone. “It says August thirty-first.”

Nisha placed her palm between Emma’s shoulder blades and shoved her out the door. She slammed it before turning to face Emma. “Attending team activities is what being on a team means. At least for those of us who care about supporting one another.”

“Even Laurel was there,” Emma said slowly, lifting her eyes to meet Nisha’s.

A haughty grin widened on Nisha’s face as she glanced over Emma’s shoulder. “Speak of the devil! We were just talking about you.”

Emma whipped around. Laurel stood at the end of the hal , a red plastic cup in her hand. “You were?” she asked, her gaze bouncing between the two of them.

“I was just tel ing Sutton about the ah-mazing time we al had at my back-to-school tennis sleepover a few weeks ago,” Nisha chirped.

Laurel’s cheeks flushed and her plastic cup made a crinkling sound as she squeezed it tighter. “Oh,” she said quietly. Her eyes flickered to Emma and then to the mauve carpet lining Nisha’s hal way. “Oh, Sutton, I’m sorry, I . . .”

“Is it real y that embarrassing?” Nisha slapped her arms to her sides. “You came, Laurel. I’d say you even had fun.”

Laurel’s mouth morphed from a smile to a frown to a wiggly line. “It was okay,” she whispered.

Nisha’s eyes gleamed triumphantly. She pul ed on her bedroom doorknob one more time for good measure and pushed past Emma and Laurel. She glanced at her father’s room, color draining from her face, and pul ed that door shut, too.

After Nisha disappeared down the hal , Laurel peeked at Emma sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Sutton. I know you and Nisha hate each other. But I thought the sleepover was mandatory. I didn’t know you and Charlotte weren’t going to come. Please don’t be mad at me.”

More giggles erupted from the den. The wind gusted outside, pressing up against the windows. Maybe the real Sutton would have been pissed to find out what Nisha had just told her—clearly Laurel hadn’t admitted she’d gone to Nisha’s tennis party because Sutton’s friends were supposed to be united in Nisha-hate. Sutton might’ve interpreted this as betrayal.

But Emma was delighted—relieved. Laurel attending Nisha’s tennis team sleepover meant she had an airtight alibi for the thirty-first. Neither she—nor Nisha—could have kil ed Sutton.

“It’s fine,” Emma said to Laurel, throwing her arms around Sutton’s sister’s neck so hard she knocked her off balance.

“Sutton?” Laurel said, her voice muffled in the sleeve of Emma’s flowy lavender top.

I twirled in an invisible circle next to the two of them. This was even better than clearing Charlotte and Madeline. My own sister was innocent.

Chapter 14

Double the Trouble

“What’s al that?” Madeline asked as she flung open the door to her house and stared at Laurel, Emma, and Charlotte on the porch. It was Saturday afternoon, and al three carried paint-spattered jeans, grubby T-shirts, and old sneakers.

“Our costumes for when we go home.” Laurel set the dirty clothes on the porch swing. “I told my mom that Char and I were volunteering with the Habitat for Humanity housepainting crew today. I said Sutton should come, too—I promised it would be a rewarding experience for her.”

“The lengths we go to free you, Sutton,” Madeline said dramatical y, batting a long black braid over her shoulder. Charlotte winked at Emma, and Emma giggled. She didn’t have to hold her breath around them anymore; they were Sutton’s friends, not her kil ers. She was so grateful she’d let Laurel have the last low-fat muffin this morning, and she’d given Charlotte a huge hug as soon as they’d gotten in her car. “Someone’s cheerful this morning,”

Charlotte had commented. “Are you in love?”

Now Emma glanced around. This was the first time she’d been in Madeline’s house, a bungalow with authentic adobe wal s, an old-school, pueblo-style fireplace, and a Mexican-tiled kitchen with cheerful red pendant lights. Outside the window was a stunning view of the Catalina Mountains; Emma could just make out a line of people hiking on one of the upper trails.

“C’mon.” Madeline grabbed a big bowl of popcorn from the kitchen island and padded into the den. Corduroy couches surrounded a large flat-screen TV in the corner. Scattered between wooden wal placards that said things like BLESS OUR HAPPY HOME and WE ARE FAMILY were framed photographs of Madeline and her brother, Thayer. Emma moved closer to the photos and tried to inspect them without Madeline noticing. There were pictures of Thayer in soccer gear. Thayer standing in front of a local Italian restaurant, pretending to take a big bite out of a large cardboard pizza sign. Thayer standing on top of a mountainous desert rock, dressed in a red T-shirt and khaki cargo shorts. The wind blew his black hair into his warm, hazel eyes, and there was a whisper of a smile on his clear-skinned, strong-jawed face. Every shot showed him grinning at the camera except one: a photo taken of the group, going to a prom. Sutton and Garrett stood together, dressed in formal wear. Madeline was with Ryan Jeffries, who Emma recognized from school, and Charlotte was with a dark-haired guy Emma didn’t know. Thayer stood a little off to the side, his arms crossed over his wel -fitted tux. His eyes were narrowed and his face was hard, like he was trying to look debonair. Mysterious Boy Disappears Without a Trace, Emma thought, giving the photo a caption.

But something in Thayer’s expression stirred an emotion deep inside of me. Thayer wasn’t trying to look debonair—

he was pissed. But what was he pissed about?

Who are you? Emma wished she could ask the boy in the photos. Why did you leave? And why, every time I see a picture you, do I get the chills?

That made two of us.

Madeline aimed the remote at the TV, and Jersey Shore appeared on the screen. She opened a big white binder labeled HALLOWEEN HOMECOMING in bright orange letters.

“Okay. Char, are we al set with the decorator?”

“Check.” Charlotte nodded, pul ing her light yel ow shorts down over her thighs as she sat on the shaggy cream carpet. “Her name’s Calista—my mom’s used her for lots of parties. We’re doing cauldrons, skeletons, werewolves, and a haunted house. The rest of the gym is going to look like MI6 in L.A. Dark and sexy.”

“A perfect place to sneak booze,” Madeline piped up.

“Or a perfect place to hook up with someone who isn’t your date,” Charlotte added. Then she turned to Emma.

“Don’t get any ideas, Sutton.”

Emma didn’t bother protesting. Let Charlotte make her jabs; she knew now that they didn’t mean anything.

“Now we need a theme for this court fete,” Laurel said. Charlotte rol ed her eyes. “It’s so stupid the court fete has to have a different theme than the dance. Sometimes I want to kil the seniors who came up with that tradition.”

Madeline walked to the window and heaved it open with her long, slender arms. “Oh, let’s just plan it and get it over with. I say it should be something spooky yet glam, but not so glam that the faculty wil be pissed and not let us do it.”

Laurel propped her legs up on the coffee table. “What about vampires?”

“Ugh.” Madeline made a face. “I’m tired of vampires.”

“What about a gala event for the dead?” Emma said.

“You know, a real y fancy party, except everyone invited is a corpse?”

Charlotte narrowed her eyes, thinking.

“Wish you’d thought of it yourself, don’t you, Char?”

Emma teased. She knew it was something Sutton would say.

Charlotte just shrugged. “It’s interesting,” she admitted.

“But it should be rooted in something real. Not just a party ful of dead people.”

A thought popped into Emma’s mind. “What about a fancy bal on the Titanic? Except it can be after the ship sank. So it can be at the bottom of the ocean, and everyone can be a corpse, but they’re stil partying in high style. Something Kate Winslet’s character in the movie would’ve approved of.”

Laurel widened her eyes. “I like that!”

“Agreed.” Charlotte clapped her hands. “I bet Calista could rustle up some real y good Titanic décor.”

Madeline reached into her pocket and extracted a pack of Parliaments and a pink lighter. A blue spark shot into the air, fol owed by the heady smel of cigarette smoke.

“Anyone want one?” she asked, exhaling out the window. Everyone shook their heads. “You should stop that, Mads.” Charlotte hugged a throw pil ow. “What’s Davin going to say when he goes to kiss you and you smel like an ashtray?”

“I’m not a hundred percent sure I’m into him yet.” Smoke poured out of Madeline’s nose. “Maybe ashtray breath wil keep him at bay.”

“Wel , don’t breathe on me.” Charlotte formed her arms into an X and held them out in Madeline’s direction. “I don’t want anything ruining my chances of hooking up with Noah.”