I raise an eyebrow. “We don’t have any friends on the science team.”
“Uh, we know,” Charlotte says. “That’s the point.”
I glance at Madeline. “What about Thayer? Don’t you want to stay here and look for him?”
Madeline shrugs and stares at the carpet. “It’s not going to do any good—it’s not like he’s hanging around Tucson. I know my brother, and he won’t come back until he’s good and ready. Besides, my dad . . .” She trails off, scrunching up her face. It’s obvious what she isn’t saying. Her dad’s temper is getting out of control. Mads probably needs the time away.
A bolt of sympathy cuts through all my frustration and betrayal. A small smile creeps across my face as I warm to the idea. “All right. I’m game.”
“Nice,” Charlotte whispers.
Madeline looks at Laurel. “I told you she’d be into it.”
I’m not thrilled about Mads and Laurel’s private little talks about me, but I try not to think about it. Instead, I see myself escaping Tucson for a while. Wearing a gorgeous gown, playing the slots, drinking martinis on a rooftop bar, hanging poolside in a bikini. Eat your heart out, Thayer, I think. If he wants space, I’ll give him space.
“The Lying Game: Las Vegas.” I reach out to Laurel and shake her hand firmly. “May the best woman win, Baby Sister,” I say, flashing her my most brilliant smile. But inside, I’ve got my game face on. Get ready to go down, Laurel, I think fiercely. By the time this is over, you’ll be sorry you ever asked to be part of this club.
5
GOOD HELP IS SO HARD TO FIND
“Vegas, baby!” Charlotte screams out the window of Floyd, my vintage racing-green Volvo, as I steer it down the Vegas strip on Saturday afternoon. “Yeah!”
It’s midday and tons of people cram the sidewalks. Neon signs blink on and off. A woman with heavily kohl-lined eyes, a Cleopatra wig, and a shimmering, strapless gold tunic totters down the sidewalk on stilts, a sandwich board around her advertising the dinner buffet at the Luxor. Squat, pudgy tourists in sun visors waddle along, gaping at the model Eiffel Tower in front of the Paris Las Vegas Hotel and the caged lions pacing hungrily at the MGM Grand.
My stomach twists with excitement as I soak it all in. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to Vegas, and I have a feeling this trip is really going to be . . . something.
“Vegas, baby!” Madeline sings, too, giving Laurel a happy nudge. That’s the only blip in this mini-vacation: my sister coming along. And somehow, she’s controlled the whole drive so far. What kind of music we listen to. When we stop to pee. She even convinced Madeline to buy coconut water—and Mads vowed she’d never jump on that trend.
I peer into my rearview mirror and see Garrett at the wheel of his SUV behind me. I waggle my fingers at him, and he grins back. When we decided we were going to Vegas for the night, I invited Garrett and his two friends along. I don’t want to spend one second of our time here wondering what Thayer is up to or who he’s with, and Garrett is the perfect thing to take my mind off him.
Besides, Char kind of deserves to squirm a little bit after the stunt she pulled with Laurel. That bogus Sudden Death Clause was her handwriting in the handbook, after all.
Madeline pulls an iPad out of her purse and taps the screen. “Now that we’re here, I think it’s time to review the official rules for the first-ever Lying Game Sudden Death Tournament.” Her silver bangles clatter against each other as she gestures.
I roll my eyes. “Is this from the handbook, too?”
Mads ignores my jab, squinting at something on the iPad. I glance over for a second and see organized boxes and columns.
“Tell me you didn’t make a spreadsheet,” I groan.
“It’s more organized this way,” she retorts. She lowers the volume on the radio and clears her throat. “Okay. It is now”—she glances at the clock on the dashboard—“three P.M. Saturday, Pacific Standard Time. The Sudden Death Competition will consist of five challenges, some spontaneous, some planned, over the next two days, with myself and Charlotte acting as scorekeepers.”
“You’re assuming I trust you,” I grumble.
“You will not know what the challenges are or when they will be invoked,” Madeline talks over me.
I reach over and pinch her arm. “I think you might be taking this a little too seriously.”
“I think you might be a little overconfident, Sutton,” Laurel puts in from the backseat.
“We’ll see, won’t we?” I retort.
Then I glance at Laurel in the rearview. She’s flicking a charm on the bracelet Thayer gave her, and she’s got a haughty smirk on her face, like she’s already in the club. This morning, before we left, she had the nerve to burst into my room and ask what we were wearing, like we were buds or something. When she asked if I was excited, I’d said, “I would be more excited if one less person was coming.”
Charlotte pokes me in the back. “Turn here,” she barks. I twist to see the fountains of the Bellagio spurt up like a well-choreographed ballet. The sight is so majestic, I almost gasp.
“We’re staying here?” I squeal in disbelief. “How’d you swing that, Char?”
Char smiles mysteriously. “Oh, Daddy has some connections. Now, come on, girls. Let’s go to our room.”
I cut the steering wheel and pull slowly up the circular drive, feeling like Julia Roberts in Ocean’s Eleven. Then I gaze up at the towering building, all glass and stone and light. “I hope our room has a sick view.”
Over my shoulder, Charlotte shoots a sly look at Laurel. “Well . . . it might. That depends on your sister.”
Madeline drums her hands against the dashboard. “The first challenge!” she says dramatically.
Bring it on, I think, catching Laurel’s eye in the rearview mirror once more. “Let’s hear it.”
Madeline shifts so she’s facing my sister. “Laurel, your mission is this: You’re going to woo reception into giving us a room at a reduced rate. A sweet room. Preferably with a balcony.”
Laurel pales. I snort. “How are you going to do that, Laurel? Whine your way into a better room? Cry to Daddy?”
Laurel shoots me a look, then reaches for the door handle. “Piece of cake,” she says. Her paisley miniskirt twitches perkily as she makes her way into the hotel.
Charlotte and Madeline giggle in her wake. “Oh my God, this is so inspired.” Madeline bounces her legs up and down like she can’t contain the awesomeness of the prank. Her blue eyes sparkle like gemstones. “We should have done a Lying Game road trip ages ago.”
I hate to admit it, but Mads is right—it’s a good challenge, and luckily one my baby sis is sure to fail. I exhale and roll my head side to side, trying to release a little tension in my neck while we wait.
There’s a tap on my window, and when I look up, Garrett beams down at me, flanked on either side by Tucker, a meathead with a flaming-red buzz cut, and Marcus, an Abercrombie-emo boy with floppy, black hair even glossier than Madeline’s. As he leans in, Charlotte turns away. Good.
I roll the window down. “You have a reservation here?” Garrett asks.
“Maybe,” I tease. The boys don’t know exactly what we’re up to in Vegas, and I don’t have any intention of telling them. They’re my arm candy, nothing else. “We’re big-time, baby.”
“Obviously. Good thing I brought the plastic.” Garrett turns back to his car. “We’re gonna valet. We’ll meet you after check-in?”
“Perfect,” I say, though a not-so-little part of me hopes that we don’t end up in this hotel—only because it would mean Laurel has failed her first challenge.
I take in Garrett’s easy posture as the boys move off. “Garrett’s so sweet to come along with me,” I say loudly. Charlotte rolls her eyes and looks the other way.
After a few more moments, during which an emphatic Taylor Swift gives way to Beyoncé on the local radio, Laurel scampers back to the car with a gleeful expression on her face. She slides into the car, eyes gleaming. “I got us a double room for half off. With a balcony, thank you very much.”
Madeline’s jaw drops, and she offers Laurel her palm to slap. “Nice.”
Laurel high-fives her. “It was a piece of cake.”
“Awesome, Laurel,” Charlotte says, admiration ringing in her tone.
Inside, I’m completely annoyed, but on the outside I just shrug. “That was an easy one,” I say loudly, hoping to bring the whole yay-Laurel party to a halt.
“So I guess that means we’re one-nothing?” Laurel asks.
Charlotte places a hand on my knee. “Not so fast, Laur. It’s your turn now, Sutton. Turn that double room into the best suite in the whole damn place, and you get the point instead.”
Her hazel eyes glint at me, catlike, and the corners of her mouth turn up mischievously. I inhale sharply. The best room? That challenge is way harder than Laurel’s. It’s like they’re setting me up to lose.
Still. I’m Sutton, the leader of the Lying Game. “No problem,” I say, squaring my shoulders and jumping out of the car.
I stand in the porte cochere for a moment, my brain buzzing. My eyes take in the glittering, curved drive, the lush, climbing plants, and the bellhops’ brass luggage carts.
Bingo.
I pop the trunk and reach for my oversized ivory Beirn watersnake tote. I scrabble through it for a moment or two until I fish out what I need: a massive pair of blush-tinted sunglasses, a silk Hermès scarf, a tube of YSL lipstick in a traffic-stopping Rouge Flamme, and finally, a pair of silver snakeskin stilettos so tall and slim they look like weapons.
Charlotte is staring at me through the window. “You keep those in your bag?” she asks incredulously.
I raise an eyebrow at her. “You don’t?”
She snaps her mouth closed again. Madeline suppresses a nervous giggle. Laurel chews away at a thumbnail.
I quickly wrap the scarf around my head Grace Kelly style and swap my Chanel flats for the heels. Finally, I apply a fierce layer of lipstick over my perfect pout, checking out the complete look as best as I can in the narrow frame of the rearview mirror.
“Watch and learn, bitches,” I snap, then march toward the hotel. My heels clack on the marble tile, making a sound like the click of paparazzi cameras. The effect works immediately: puzzled expressions appear on people’s faces. I can feel guests gazing at me once, then doing a double take. “Famous,” I hear a voice say. “Wasn’t she in that movie with . . . ?” comes another.
It’s amazing how far a little confidence can take you.
I approach the front desk, forcing a slightly pinched, woe-is-me expression to my face as I smile weakly toward the beaming receptionist.
“Can I help you?” The receptionist’s voice rises with each syllable. Her forehead furrows in a way that says she doesn’t recognize me but knows she should.
I shake my head bemusedly and sigh. “I certainly hope so.” I lean in and place a dainty hand on the smooth, polished counter, tilting my head toward the entrance and car park beyond. “I’m afraid my assistant made a mistake.” I do my best to sound disgusted. Given the circumstances, it isn’t that hard. “I need to be checked in as Marilyn Monroe, not under her name.” I throw another frustrated look at Laurel, who has followed me in with the other two girls. “And certainly not under my own.” I give a short laugh that I hope emits a “you know how it is, darling” vibe.
