Only Thayer’s.
“It’s okay, Baby Bro,” Madeline singsongs. “We can find you someone more your speed. Maybe a middle schooler?”
But Thayer barely hears her. He’s still staring at me. “That would be better than getting involved with you,” Thayer says, his voice thick with disgust. “Have you ever been honest a day in your life?”
Inside, I reel, but my expression is totally controlled. “With guys I like, Thayer. Not with you.”
Thayer’s face contorts into an ugly grimace, and he whirls around, kicking clouds of dust up from the gravel of the Banerjee front drive as he runs into the middle of the street.
A lump forms in my chest. I want to follow him. I want to fix this. But with my friends standing here, watching me, I can’t.
Charlotte cackles, doubling over. “Oh my God, Mads, I think he’s actually crying.”
Still giggling, Madeline straightens up and claps me on the shoulder. “That. Was. Amazing. Good work, Sutton.”
“Uh-huh,” I say woodenly.
“I can’t wait to send that picture around,” Charlotte exclaims.
“We knew you could bag him,” Madeline says.
And then my best friends link arms with me, one on either side, and lead me back to the party. Not that I’m in the mood for it anymore. Right now, there’s only one thought running through my mind:
What did I just do?
13
REGRETS ONLY
“Sutton, can you please stop bogarting the Twizzlers?”
“What? Oh, sure. Sorry.” I idly pass the giant bag of strawberry licorice across the couch to Charlotte. It’s later that same night, and we’re back in Madeline’s family room. We stayed at the party for a while after the “prank” was exposed, and I went through the motions as best as I could, but I can’t get Thayer—and that devastated look on his face—out of my mind. I didn’t see him again at the party, not that I would have known what to do or to say to him if I had. There’s part of me that doesn’t want to be here at all. I’d rather be home, snuggled up with Scooby-Doo, thinking about how it felt to kiss Thayer—and how I could fix everything that happened tonight.
Thayer must have come home earlier than we did, and we haven’t heard a peep from his room since we got here. Still, traces of him permeate the Vegas’ media room: a battered copy of Spin sitting on the sleek, mid-century modern coffee table, a row of slightly tarnished soccer trophies locked in a tall glass cabinet, a key chain tossed in a decorative bowl with the Hollier High logo. Thayer is all around me.
Too bad he wants nothing to do with me now.
Then Madeline shoots up. “Charlotte, be careful with the Diet Coke! If you spill on the leather sofa, my dad is going to kill me.” Something in her tone suggests that it’s not an exaggeration.
“God, sorry.” Charlotte sets her glass on a coaster on the coffee table. “We shouldn’t be drinking soda, anyway—we should have champagne to celebrate the smashing success of the first Lying Game prank of the season!”
“Done and done,” Madeline says. “And maybe it’ll give us some inspiration for the back-to-school prank. As long as we’re on a roll.” Then she rises and pads to the Mad Men–style hutch that stands adjacent to the oversized flat-screen TV on the far side of the room. She slides the cabinet doors open and pokes around inside it, her bun bobbing up and down lightly as she hunts.
After a moment, she emerges, triumphantly brandishing a half-full bottle of Absolut. “Will vodka do?”
“Absolut-ly,” Charlotte trills, but I can’t even muster the energy to roll my eyes at her nerdiness.
Madeline dips into the kitchen, returning with three clean glasses stacked in the crook of her arm and a carton of orange juice tucked under her chin, somehow managing to make the awkward juggling act look graceful.
“We’ll save the champagne for after the back-to-school prank. Like a grand finale. This is just a warm-up.” She winks, heavy lashes fluttering against her alabaster cheek.
She pours three generous cocktails, vodka sloshing over the sides of the glasses, which she hastily wipes with the hem of her gray Calvin Klein ribbed tank top. She passes two of the drinks to Charlotte and me. We each take one and raise our arms, clinking glasses.
I will the corners of my mouth into the most convincing smile I can manage. My face feels stiff, like a carnival mask. “Cheers,” I mumble.
“To the Lying Game!” Madeline toasts, brimming with enthusiasm. She fixes her sparkling blue eyes on me. “Seriously, Sutton, your work was inspired. Thank you so much for putting Thayer in his place for me.” She sounds intensely sincere. Almost alarmingly so.
“Don’t mention it,” I say, waving a hand at her dismissively.
My stomach flips over just thinking about the look on Thayer’s face before he darted off.
“Honestly, you’re the master. The queen of the Lying Game,” Charlotte praises. She sounds more than a little bit awestruck, and that lump rises in the back of my throat again. I choke down a swallow of my drink, the acidic tang of the vodka burning on the way down.
“Flattery will get you everywhere, ladies,” I say, as breezily as I can. “But please—the queen is tired from a hard night’s work. Can we just watch the movie and not talk?”
“Yes! Of course,” Madeline agrees. She scrambles for the Titanic Blu-ray she pulled from her overstocked media shelf and slides it into the DVD player. The machine blinks and whirs as it powers on and clicks into gear.
“Just as long as you don’t expect us to feed you grapes and fan you,” Charlotte grumbles, smiling good-naturedly. She takes another healthy gulp of her drink, sighing contentedly.
“You know you would if I asked you to,” I quip.
I’m acting like my old self, but my heart’s not in it. In fact, I think I left it somewhere back on Nisha’s front lawn, or buried deep in the crags of Sabino Canyon. Even as the movie cues up and Leo’s boyish face fills the enormous screen, I can’t stop thinking about Thayer. The look in his eyes as his expression crumbled. The disgust on his face as he realized he’d been a Lying Game target.
And … that kiss.
More than anything, that kiss.
It was incredible; toe-curling, earth-shattering, monumental. It was like no other kiss I’d experienced in my life. And I’m not exactly a novice when it comes to kissing boys.
Why couldn’t I date a younger guy? What would really be so bad about that? I weigh the idea in my mind, considering all of the angles.
Okay, so maybe my friends would make fun of me. Maybe definitely, fine. But probably not for long, right? They’d tease me in the beginning, of course, but once they got used to the idea, maybe they’d even think it was cool. Who knows—maybe I’d start a trend somehow, setting off a rash of cougars on the prowl in the halls of Hollier.
The thing is, being with Thayer might make me really … happy. And I think I might deserve that. I think my friends would agree.
And after that kiss, maybe I don’t really care what they think. Maybe I just want Thayer.
The opening credits of the movie roll and the imposing orchestral sound track swells, filling the room. Suddenly I can’t sit still for a second longer. It’s like ants are crawling over every exposed surface of my skin. I leap up from the sofa, ignoring the startled looks Charlotte and Madeline shoot my way.
“I, uh, need to use the bathroom,” I mumble, wandering down the hall.
“Do you want us to pause it?” Madeline calls after me, sounding confused.
“No, it’s fine,” I call back. “I know the whole thing by heart.”
I tiptoe past the bathroom and make my way stealthily down the hall. I’m not sure exactly what I’m doing, but almost unconsciously, I find myself at the door to Thayer’s bedroom. A light glows from beneath it, and my heart jumps. I have no idea what I’ll say to him … but I have to say something.
I knock lightly, shifting my weight nervously from one foot to the other. But there’s no answer. I knock again, quickly, and when it’s still silent inside, I cautiously push the door open.
I’m greeted with a gust of fresh air from an open window, but no Thayer. A worn-in navy hoodie lies rumpled across his unmade bed, and I’m tempted to run to it and rub it between my fingers, to breathe it in and slip it on over my tank top. It would be almost like having his arms around me again.
Surveying the room, I realize that Thayer’s computer is still on, casting an eerie glow across his desk. An open IM window blinks beckoningly on the screen.
Heading over, it says.
The message is for my sister.
My blood runs cold. He’s gone to see Laurel? He’s going to tell her what happened tonight, and she’ll console him … and then what? It’s obvious she’s totally in love with him. And they’re so close. Just because they haven’t been romantic yet doesn’t mean they never will.
I back out of his bedroom and retrace my steps toward the kitchen, taking care not to make any noise. Forget the sleepover. Forget my friends. I have to find Thayer. I have to talk to him, to apologize, to explain, to make him understand....
As quietly as I can manage, I unlock the latch on the back door and slip out into the night. The chirping of crickets and the rush of the wind in the leaves spur me on. Before I can take another step, I hear a voice.
“Sutton.”
My name sounds low and throaty, slightly choked. And I’d recognize the voice blindfolded. I couldn’t forget it if I wanted to. I’ve been thinking about it all night.
It’s Thayer.
14
JUST BETWEEN US
At the sight of Thayer standing there, bathed in moonlight, my legs go weak and wobbly. The air is fragrant and thick with the scent of acacia blooms, and a light breeze rustles the cool night air. Somewhere in the distance, a dog howls mournfully.
“Thayer!” I cry. Before I can stop myself, I rush toward him, arms outstretched for an embrace. But as I reach for him, he steps back, his eyes cold and flat. His face is devoid of emotion, which is almost worse than if he looked at me with hatred or disgust.
“I’m sorry,” I insist. “The prank wasn’t my idea. And it isn’t what you think.” It’s cold out here in the wind, and goose bumps break out across my bare arms. I rub my hands over my forearms, trying to warm myself. But I can’t reach that cold pit in the base of my stomach. I blink, feeling my eyes well with emotion.
Thayer’s eyes flicker across my body, making me shiver even harder. His jaw is set and his posture is rigid. “I shouldn’t be surprised, I guess,” he snaps, raising his head and gazing over my shoulder into the distance. “You guys are the Lying Game. I was just the idiot who acted like a sucker.” He laughs once, a short, bitter chuckle. “I can’t believe how gullible I was.”
“Thayer, no,” I plead. “You don’t understand. I didn’t want to prank you, I swear. I was lying to my friends,” I admit, winding a strand of hair around my index finger. “That kiss … that was real for me. Honest.”
