The tallest one had dark hair, jutting collarbones, a deconstructed ballerina bun, and a tattoo of a rose on the inside of her wrist. Madeline Vega, the girl in Sutton’s Facebook profile photo. Next to Madeline stood two girls with Crayola-maize hair and pale blue eyes. Both girls held iPhones. One was preppy, in a polo dress, a white headband, and wedge sandals with grosgrain ties. The other looked like she’d stepped off a Green Day video—she wore lots of eye makeup, a plaid dress, high boots, and a stack of black jelly bracelets around her wrists. They had to be Gabriella and Lilianna Fiorello, the Twitter Twins.
“Gotcha!” Madeline gave Emma a weak smile. The Twitter Twins grinned, too.
“Since when did we get all eco?” Charlotte sighed loudly behind them. “Recycling is not part of our rules.”
Madeline pulled the short, white A-line dress she was wearing down her thighs. “It wasn’t technically a repeat, Char. Sutton knew it was us the whole time.” She raised a tube of lipstick into the air, then pressed it between Emma’s shoulder blades again. “My mom’s Chihuahua would’ve known this wasn’t a gun.”
Emma wrenched away. The tube of lipstick had definitely fooled her. Then, she realized something else—Madeline had called her Sutton, just like Charlotte’s dad had. “Wait a minute,” she blurted, struggling to find her voice. “I’m not—”
Charlotte cut her off, her gaze still on Madeline. “Even if Sutton knew it was you, it’s still poor form. And you know it.” She had a sarcastic voice and a penetrating stare. Although Charlotte wasn’t the prettiest in the crowd, she was clearly the alpha. “Besides, since when do we do things like that with them?” She pointed at Gabriella and Lilianna, who lowered their eyes sheepishly.
Madeline fiddled with the leather strap of her oversized watch. “Don’t be such a hater. It was spontaneous. I saw Sutton and just . . . went for it.”
Charlotte stepped a tiny bit closer to Madeline and puffed up her chest. “We made up the rules together, remember? Or do those tight buns you wear to ballet class cut off the circulation to your brain?”
Madeline’s chin wobbled for a moment. Her big eyes, high cheekbones, and bow-shaped lips reminded Emma of a figurehead on a ship. But Emma noticed Madeline slowly massaging a hot-pink rabbit’s foot on the key ring of her bag, as if all the beauty in the world hadn’t brought her luck. “It’s better than your too-tight jeans cutting off the circulation to your butt,” Madeline shot back.
I reached out to Madeline, but my fingers slipped through her skin. “Mads?” I called out. I touched Charlotte on the shoulder. “Char?” She didn’t even flinch. Nothing new about them came back to me. I knew I loved them, but I really didn’t know why. But how could they stand there and think Emma was me? How could they not know their BFF was dead?
“Um, guys,” Emma tried again, staring across the wide avenue. The entrance to Sabino Canyon glowed beckoningly in the sunset. “There’s somewhere I need to be.”
Madeline gave her a duh look. “Uh, yeah? Nisha’s party?” She looped her arm around Emma’s elbow and yanked her toward the small wrought-iron gate that led to the backyard of the house whose driveway they stood in. “Look, I know you and Nisha have issues, but this is the last party before school tomorrow. It’s not like you have to talk to her. Where have you been anyway? We’ve been calling you all day. And what were you doing sitting in front of Sabino? You looked like a zombie.”
“It was freaky,” Lilianna piped up.
“Super freaky,” Gabriella agreed in an identical voice. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small prescription bottle. Popping off the cap, she shook two pills into her hand and pushed them into her mouth, washing them down with a swig from a Diet Coke bottle. Party girl, Emma thought warily.
She stared at the four girls. Should she tell them who she really was? What if it really was dangerous? Suddenly she felt her shoulder and realized that she’d lost her duffel bag in the fake kidnapping. When she looked across the street, it was still there. She’d slip away and get it as soon as she could. And if Sutton showed up, maybe she’d see it and know Emma had been there.
“Hang on a second.” Emma stopped short next to a large flowering barrel cactus. She wriggled her arm from Madeline’s grasp and pulled her phone out of her pocket—at least it wasn’t in the duffel, too. No new messages. She shaded the screen with one hand and composed several new texts to the cell number Sutton had given Emma in her Facebook reply last night: Your friends found me. I’m at a party across the street. They think I’m you. I didn’t know what to tell them. Txt me with further instructions, K?
Emma typed quickly—she knew the third-place finish in the speed-texting contest in Vegas two years ago would come in handy someday—and pressed SEND. There. Sutton could meet her here and straighten out who was who . . . or Emma could meet her later and just pretend she was Sutton for the duration of the party.
“Who are you writing to?” Madeline leaned over Emma’s phone, trying to get a look at the screen. “And why are you using a BlackBerry? I thought you got rid of that thing.”
Emma slipped her phone back into her pocket before Madeline could see. Sutton’s Facebook posts flitted into Emma’s mind. She straightened up and gave Madeline the same coy look she’d seen her sister make in the YouTube videos. “Wouldn’t you love to know, bitch.”
As soon as she’d finished saying the words, Emma clamped her mouth shut and sucked in her stomach. She wouldn’t have been more surprised if a bouquet of daisies had popped out of her mouth. Comments like that ended up on her CISS list, not in her day-to-day conversation.
Madeline let out a haughty sniff. “Fine, ho beast.” Then she whipped out her iPhone. A big sticker of a ballet dancer on the back said SWAN LAKE MAFIA. “Smush in!”
Everyone pressed together and smiled. Madeline held the phone outstretched. Emma stood on the end, grinning weakly.