“What’s going on?” Mr. Mercer demanded.

“Laurel’s trying to kill me!” Emma screamed.

“What?” Laurel backed away from the bed as though it were on fire.

Emma shuffled back until she was pressed against the headboard. Her chest heaved with sobs. “She was trying to suffocate me.”

Laurel let out an indignant squeak. “No, I wasn’t!” She gestured to the digital clock next to the bed. The red numbers flashed 12:01. “I came in here because I wanted to be the very first one to wish you a happy birthday.”

“Don’t deny it.” Emma held the sheets to her chest. “I saw you!”

“Sutton, honey, Laurel wouldn’t do something like that,” Mr. Mercer said gently.

“You probably just had a nightmare.” Mrs. Mercer rubbed her eyes. “Are you worried about your birthday party?”

“Why would I be worried about a birthday party?” Emma snapped. She whipped a finger in Laurel’s direction. “She. Tried. To. Kill. Me!”

But when she looked at the Mercers again, sleepy skepticism was obvious in both of their faces. “Honey, why don’t you go downstairs and have a glass of milk?” Mrs. Mercer suggested.

And then, yawning, they turned for the door. Drake and Laurel followed. But before Laurel turned in the hall, she wheeled around and met Emma’s gaze. Her eyes narrowed. The corners of her mouth arced down. Fire shot through Emma’s veins. The words Becky had said in the dream flashed into her mind once more. Things are about to get very dangerous.

The words swirled in my mind, too. Talk about a dream come true.

Chapter 27

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, NOW DIE

“There’s the birthday girl!” Madeline cried, tottering across the patio in bright blue stilettos, a silver party dress, and a foil crown. She plopped an almost identical crown on Emma’s head, which said 18 in pink numbers.

“Smile!” Charlotte darted up to them, dressed in a short striped dress and espadrilles. She smushed close to Emma and held a digital camera out from their bodies. Just as the flash went off, Laurel leapt into the picture, throwing her arm around Emma and grinning broadly.

“Cheese!” Laurel said overenthusiastically, her smile as white as the gauzy tunic she wore over black leggings. Emma tried her best to smile, but she had a feeling she just looked scared.

Sutton’s friends broke from the hug and launched into another round of “Happy Birthday.” Charlotte belted it out at the top of her lungs. Madeline sang it like Marilyn Monroe when she serenaded JFK. And Laurel sang sweetly, innocently. Emma took a slight step away from her.

It was 9 P.M., and Sutton’s birthday party was in full swing. A DJ spun records on the patio table near the grill. Throngs of kids swayed and twirled on the dance floor. Girls from the tennis team held plates of canapés. Mrs. Mercer had strung tiny pink Christmas lights all around the patio and filled punch bowls with virgin sangria. At least twenty-five cheapo digital cameras were strewn around the patio. Three laptops sat on a table near the door; each had USB cords to upload photos to Facebook and Twitter. The Mercer parents had mapped out a radio-controlled car obstacle course in the desert-dust part of the backyard. The air smelled like a mélange of everyone’s perfume and hair products, with a slight undertone of booze. A large card table near the door held a pile of wrapped birthday presents, more than Emma had ever seen in her life.

Not that Emma was able to enjoy any of it. She might have been dressed up in the pale-pink minidress that she’d found hanging in Sutton’s closet with the word birthday written on the hanger; she might’ve spent an hour in the salon getting her hair curled just so; and she might’ve been wearing high-heeled booties that probably cost more than her entire year’s clothing budget. But it didn’t mean she felt particularly festive. Every time a flash went off, she winced and wheeled around. Every time someone touched her to say hi, she stiffened. Every firework Mr. Mercer and some of the boys set off at the end of the yard made her flinch. They sounded like gunshots. It felt like any minute might be her last.

I hoped she was wrong.

After they finished Happy Birthday–ing, Madeline, Charlotte and Laurel surveyed the picture on the preview screen. “Madeline looks drunk,” Charlotte said.

“And I look drugged.” Laurel sidled up to Emma and showed her the camera. “You’re the only one who looks normal. If you put this on Facebook, you have to Photoshop all of us out of it.”

Emma slowly inched away from Laurel’s muscular frame; being this close to her made her tingly with nerves. All night, she’d watched Laurel. She’d been on the dance floor for most of the party, requesting fast, edgy songs that got everyone moving. An hour ago, she’d cornered Emma by the pool and presented her with a birthday gift, two tickets to a revival of Les Misérables the following week. “You can take anyone you want, but I’d love to go,” Laurel said bashfully. “Remember how we used to act out the scenes when we were little? You always insisted on being Cosette.”

I remember, I wanted to shout out. Not that I did exactly, but I wished I could. Something seemed so wrong about this. How had Laurel and I gone from playing Les Miz to hating each other? How could my sister have killed me?

But Emma was convinced Laurel had done it—the memory of Laurel trying to suffocate her this morning burned brightly in her brain. What she couldn’t figure out was why. Wouldn’t she want to keep Emma alive so that no one would know Sutton was missing? Maybe Emma wasn’t playing Sutton well enough. Maybe Emma was asking too many questions, poking around too many places.

Something across the patio caught Emma’s eye. A tall guy with shorn hair and dressed in a slim-cut black button-down and jeans pushed through the back gate. There was a box of Godiva chocolates under his arm and a tense scowl on his face. He looked around the crowd as if searching for someone. Emma’s heart did a flip. Ethan.

Emma handed the digital camera back to Madeline. “I’ll be right back.”

“But, Sutton,” Charlotte whined. “We haven’t given you our gift yet.”

“In a minute,” Emma called over her shoulder.

As she pushed through the mob of kids, she heard Charlotte sigh. “What’s with her?”

Everyone was either packed around the food table or writhing on the dance floor. The strong scent of rum tickled Emma’s nostrils as she wove through the mass of kids, keeping tabs on Ethan’s head. He was having a hard time getting past the gate. Gabriella noticed him and snickered at the Godiva. “Looks like someone still has a burning crush on the birthday girl, huh?” She nudged Emma in the ribs.

Emma ignored her, standing on tiptoes. Ethan was wedged between Jennifer and Julia, the only outed—and popular—lesbian couple at school, and three soccer players seemingly reenacting a play from a recent game. Emma could see his patience quickly dwindling away, like battery power on a cell phone.

Emma zigzagged around the girls at the makeover table. And finally, there he was, setting down the chocolate on an empty spot on the gifts table and pivoting back toward the gate. She grabbed his wrist. Ethan’s shoulders tensed, but when he saw it was her, he smiled.

“You made it!” Emma exclaimed.

Ethan shrugged nonchalantly. “I was driving by. I can’t stay long.”

“Oh.” Emma’s shoulders sagged.

Ethan’s long-lashed eyes darted around the rest of the party. Then he touched the Godiva box. “Anyway, these are for you. Happy birthday. I hope you have a great one.” He leaned in closer. “I hear all the great poetesses have a chocolate obsession.”

“Thank you.” Emma ran her fingers along the top of the square-shaped gold box. Ethan had selected a dark chocolate mix, her favorite. “I’m really glad you came.”

A smile flashed across Ethan’s face, too. But then, just as quickly, his expression wilted at something behind her. Emma turned just in time to see Garrett pushing past a crowd of kids. He grabbed Emma, wrapped his arms around her waist, spun her around, and gave her a long, seductive kiss.

Emma flailed helplessly, balking at the feel of Garrett’s lips against hers. Her cheeks burned. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her. “Whoo!” a girl called near her. “Yeah!” one of the soccer players said. “Get a room!” Madeline whooped nearby.

Finally, Garrett pulled away and released her. Emma searched for Ethan . . . only, he’d disappeared.

Chapter 28

SEDUCTION AND MURDER ALWAYS GO HAND IN HAND

Garrett had pulled Emma all the way into the house before she refused to go any farther. “That was really rude of you back there. You can’t just tear me away from a conversation like that. I’m supposed to be the hostess.”

Garrett turned and grabbed her hand. “I was rescuing you, Sutton. Landry had you trapped.”

Emma scoffed. “No, he didn’t!”

“Yeah, he did.” There was a chivalrous but also slightly condescending tone to Garrett’s voice. As if he knew what was best.

Emma’s mouth hung open for a long beat. The music pulsed outside. There was a thwonng of the springs on the diving board as someone jumped off. “I’m not your damsel in distress,” she finally said, her cheeks burning.

A confused look registered on Garrett’s face. “I’m sorry.” He grabbed Emma’s hands. “Shit. I just wanted some alone time with you. I haven’t seen you all night.”

Emma leaned against the grandfather clock, remembering the bashful look on Ethan’s face when he’d given her the chocolates.

“Once I give you your present, you’ll forgive the intrusion,” Garrett said confidently. “I promise.” At that, he grabbed Emma’s hand and pulled her up the stairs.

Emma followed, stepping over a stack of folded T-shirts Mrs. Mercer had left on one of the risers. What was Garrett giving her that he couldn’t show her downstairs?

“Here we go,” Garrett said in a hushed voice. He pushed open the door to Sutton’s bedroom. Candles flickered from every possible surface. The smell of lavender essential oils assaulted Emma’s nostrils. The faint sounds of Billie Holiday tinkled out of stereo speakers. Garrett had drawn the curtains tight and sprinkled rose petals all over the floor and on the bed. There was a box of Valrhona chocolates on the pillow and two glasses of champagne on the nightstand.

Emma’s mouth dropped open. The conversation on the mountain trail flooded back to her. Remember what we talked about this summer? Our plans? I was thinking about making that happen for your birthday. “Oh my God,” she mouthed.

The Billie Holiday song morphed into an acoustic love song by Jack Johnson. Garrett smiled earnestly at Emma. Then, as though he were in a stripping race, he tore off his T-shirt and threw it to the floor. He kicked off his shoes next and unbuckled his belt.

“Oh my God, stop!” Emma cried.

Garrett froze, his cheeks flushing bright red, and his hands trembling a little. The candles flickered against the wall.

“Um . . .” Emma started to nervously giggle. Something about it seemed so ridiculously . . . ridiculous. She’d known Garrett for what, two weeks? And now she was supposed to be with him?