Never Have I Ever

Chapter 16 An A for Effort

After tennis practice the following day, Emma threw her gear into the hatchback of Laurel’s VW. “Ahem,” Laurel whispered, nudging Emma’s side. “Looks like you have an anti–fan club.”

Emma swung around, and her stomach dropped. Two figures stared from the gym doorway, their mouths angry red slashes. It was Nisha . . . and Garrett.

“Do you think she’s still pissed about you sneaking into her room?” Laurel asked.

“I doubt it,” Emma said slowly. It more likely had to do with Nisha seeing Emma and Ethan at the art opening last night. Thankfully, Nisha hadn’t called up the Mercer parents to rat her out, but it seemed she’d just spilled the beans to Garrett. Why else would he look at Emma with such fury?

“Let’s get out of here,” Emma mumbled, slamming the car door.

As Laurel plopped into the driver’s seat, her phone screen flashed. “It’s Mads,” she said, checking the message. “Looks like Operation Titanic is good to go. I told the other girls on the court about the real outfits. I also told them not to discuss their outfits with anyone—that we were planning to prank two of the court members.”

Emma’s stomach turned, thinking about her discussion with Ethan last night. “Are you sure this is a good idea? Maybe we should lay off the Twitter Twins for a while.”

Laurel’s eyebrows made a V. “Of course it’s a good idea. We can’t back out now. Besides,” Laurel went on, “I can guarantee you no one’s gonna talk. They’re all eager to see someone else go down. Everyone loves a big embarrassing social disaster.”

Way to go, court girls, banding together in solidarity, Emma thought. An itchy feeling reminded her that she was once the girl on the receiving end of the prank. When this was all over, she would extricate herself from the Lying Game as fast as she could.

The car jostled over the hump of the curb into the Mercers’ driveway. “Is that . . . Dad?” Laurel asked, frowning at the open garage door.

Sure enough, Mr. Mercer stood next to the motorcycle. He waved as they pulled in.

“What’s he doing home?” Emma murmured. Typically, Mr. Mercer didn’t return from the hospital until early evening—unless he was on call, and then sometimes he didn’t get home until the middle of the night.

Laurel cut the engine, and the girls got out of the car. “Sutton, I have to talk to you,” Mr. Mercer said, wiping his hands on a dingy green towel.

Immediately, Emma tensed. Maybe Nisha had told the Mercers after all. “I’m sorry,” she said preemptively.

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say yet.” Mr. Mercer chuckled. “Your mom got a call from Josephine Fenstermacher. She said you got a ninety-nine on your German test last week. The highest grade in the class.”

Heat rose to Emma’s cheeks. Laurel swung around and stared at her in disbelief. “You?”

Mr. Mercer grinned. “She said you’ve improved dramatically since last year. I know German is a tough subject for you. Mom and I are so proud.”

Emma ran a hand over her hair. Truthfully, the chapter test had been fairly easy, but she forced a humble look on her face. “Thank you.”

Mr. Mercer leaned against the back bumper of Laurel’s VW. “I convinced your mom to make you a deal: As a reward for doing so well, we’re going to break your grounding for Homecoming night and let you go to the dance. And we’re giving you phone privileges back,” he said, handing over Sutton’s iPhone.

“Seriously?” Laurel’s eyes lit up. “Dad, that’s amazing!”

Emma squeezed Laurel’s arm and let out a squeal, too, knowing it was the right reaction for Sutton. But Homecoming was the last thing that mattered to her right now.

Mr. Mercer raised an eyebrow. “You can go, but the very next day it’s back to being grounded. Got it?”

“What about the post-dance camping trip?” Laurel chirped. “Can Sutton come to that, too?”

A conflicted look passed over Mr. Mercer’s face. “Well, I suppose so.”

“Yes!” Laurel cried. She looked at Emma. “Maybe you’ll let me borrow your Miu Miu heels for the dance as a thank-you.” Then she turned and skipped toward the house.

Emma moved to follow her inside, but Mr. Mercer cleared his throat. “Sutton, will you help me for a moment?” He turned toward the motorcycle. “Can you hold this steady while I look at the tires?”

“Of course.” Emma followed him into the garage and gripped the handlebars.

Mr. Mercer leaned down and examined the fine tread on the front wheel. “So. Happy about Homecoming?”

“Uh, definitely,” Emma answered, trying to sound enthused. “Thank you so much. But . . . I don’t really deserve it.” She mentally ticked off the number of times she’d snuck out while she was grounded.

“You earned it, Sutton. Thank yourself for your test score—and thank your sister, for begging us to let you go.” Mr. Mercer stood from the tire and crossed his arms over his chest. “You should call Garrett and tell him the good news.”

Emma let out a short, sarcastic laugh, staring at her warped reflection in the bike’s shiny frame. “I don’t think Garrett will care.”

Mr. Mercer frowned. “Why not?”

Emma turned toward the shelves of rags, T-shirts, and bottles of motor oil and brake fluid. “We broke up,” she admitted softly. “And I sort of like someone else,” she added, surprised by her own words. She thought this would be another thing to add to the Things That Are Awkward list, but she actually felt almost relieved to admit the truth aloud. Opening up to adults wasn’t something she’d ever done before, and by the cautious look on Mr. Mercer’s face, it wasn’t usual for Sutton either.

“Does this someone else know?” Mr. Mercer sounded intrigued.

“Sort of.” Emma’s voice cracked, wincing at the memory of the art museum date. It had been so . . . perfect. But then she remembered the look on Ethan’s face when he told her how he felt about her, and the utter disappointment in his eyes when she said they should just be friends. The tight feeling that had formed in her chest the moment those words had spilled out of her mouth still hadn’t gone away.

“Are you and this new guy . . . going out?” Mr. Mercer used the term tentatively, as though he wasn’t sure if it was the right lingo.

Emma reached for a clean rag from the metal garage shelves and twisted it into a knot. When she untied it and spread it out, she saw a faded silkscreened image of a crab and a clam dancing the tango. It advertised either a restaurant or a fish market; the lettering was too worn away to tell which.

“No,” Emma answered in a tired voice. “Things are . . . complicated.”

“Why is that?”

She shut her eyes. “I’m having a hard time trusting people, I guess.”

A pained look Emma couldn’t quite gauge crossed Mr. Mercer’s face. “You should trust people, Sutton. You shouldn’t let . . .”

Emma waited for him to finish, but Mr. Mercer just twisted his mouth and looked away. “Let what?” she finally asked.

“I just mean . . .” He fumbled through his tools. They made loud clanging noises as they banged together. “I only want what’s best for you. If it’s meant to be, honey, it’s meant to be.”

“Maybe,” Emma said thoughtfully. His wording made her think of the Boyfriend Star, burning brightly in the sky. Fate.

Then, placing the rag back on the shelf, she padded over to Mr. Mercer and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Mr. Mercer held her tentatively for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure the gesture was genuine. But then, slowly, he squeezed her hard. He smelled like cologne, black pepper, and motor oil.

It was a smell I knew so, so well. A wave of grief pounded my body until I felt like I would wash away. What I wouldn’t give to hug my dad one more time. As I watched their embrace, a dark image surfaced in my mind. My dad’s eyes widening when he turned and spotted me. Betrayal surging through me like he’d driven a stake through my heart. But before I could delve deeper into the memory, it submerged once more.