Never Have I Ever

Chapter 4 Paper Trail

After tennis practice, Laurel steered her black VW Jetta onto the Mercers’ street, a development in the Catalina foothills with sand-colored stucco houses and front yards full of flowering desert succulents. The only sound in the car was Laurel’s jaw working the piece of gum she’d shoved into her mouth.

“So . . . thanks for the ride home,” Emma offered, breaking the awkward silence.

Laurel shot Emma a frosty glare. “Are you ever going to get your car out of the impound lot, or am I going to have to chauffeur you forever? You can’t keep lying about it being at Madeline’s, you know. Mom and Dad aren’t that stupid.”

Emma slumped down in the seat. Sutton’s car had been impounded since before Emma arrived in Tucson. It looked like she’d have to retrieve it if Laurel wouldn’t drive her around anymore.

Then Laurel fell into silence again. She’d been frosty with Emma ever since ceramics, turning away when Emma asked to partner with her for tennis volleying and shrugging off Emma’s suggestion that they hit Jamba Juice on the drive home. Emma wished she knew the magic words to get Laurel to open up, but navigating the world of sibling relationships was something with which she had no real experience. She’d had foster siblings, sure, but those relationships rarely ended well.

Not that mine and Laurel’s had either. We hadn’t been close for years. I saw flashes of us when we were much younger, holding hands on the Tilt-A-Whirl at the county fair and spying on our parents’ dinner party when we were little, but something had happened between now and then.

After passing by three large homes—two of which had gardeners out front, watering the mesquite trees—Laurel pulled into the Mercers’ driveway. “Shit,” she said under her breath.

Emma followed Laurel’s gaze. Sitting on the wrought-iron bench on the Mercers’ front porch was Garrett. He was still in his soccer cleats and practice shirt. Two muddy pads covered his knees, and he cradled a bike helmet in his arms.

Emma exited the car and slammed the door. “H-hey,” she said tentatively, her gaze on Garrett’s face. The corners of his pink mouth curved into a scowl. His soft brown eyes blazed. His blond hair was sweaty from practice. He sat at the very edge of the porch seat like a cat ready to pounce.

Laurel followed her up the driveway, waved at Garrett, and headed inside.

Slowly, Emma walked up the porch steps, standing a safe distance away from Garrett. “How are you?” she asked in a small voice.

Garrett made an ugly noise at the back of his throat. “How do you think I am?”

The automatic sprinklers hissed on in the front yard, misting the plants. In the distance, a weed whacker growled to life. Emma sighed. “I’m really sorry.”

“Are you?” Garrett palmed his helmet with his large hands. “So sorry you didn’t return my calls? So sorry you won’t even look at me right now?”

Emma took in his strong chest, toned legs, and just a hint of stubble on his chin. She understood what Sutton had seen in him, and her heart panged that he didn’t know the truth.

“I’m sorry.” The words lodged in Emma’s throat. “It’s been a weird summer,” she said. That was an understatement.

“Weird as in you met someone else?” Garrett balled his fist, making the muscles in his forearms pop.

“No!” Emma took a startled step back, almost bumping into the wind chimes Mrs. Mercer had hung from the eaves.

Garrett wiped his hands on his shirt. “Jesus. Last month you were into this. Into me. Why do you hate me all of a sudden? Is this what everyone warned me about? Is this classic Sutton Mercer?”

Classic Sutton. The words echoed painfully in my ears, a refrain I’d heard so many times over the past few weeks. From my new vantage, I’d begun to realize how badly I used to treat people.

“I don’t hate you,” Emma protested. “I just . . .”

“You know what? I don’t care.” Garrett slapped the sides of his legs and stood. “We’re done. I don’t want your excuses. I’m not falling for your games anymore. This is just like what you did to Thayer. I should have known.”

Emma recoiled at the harshness of Garrett’s voice—and at the mention of Madeline’s brother.

Thayer. Just hearing his name made his clear green eyes, high cheekbones, and mussed dark hair flicker across my mind. And then, I saw something else: an image of the two of us standing in the school courtyard. Tears streamed down my face as Thayer talked to me in urgent tones, as if he were trying to get me to understand something, but the memory flaked apart at my fingertips.

Emma struggled to regain her voice. “I’m not sure what you think I—”

“I’d like my Grand Theft Auto game back,” Garrett interrupted, turning to face the Mercers’ impeccable lawn. A black lab lifted his leg on an ash tree. “It’s in your PS3.”

“I’ll look for it,” Emma mumbled.

“And I guess I don’t need this either.” Garrett pulled a long, thin ticket from his gear bag. halloween homecoming dance, it proclaimed in melting letters. He thrust it at her almost violently, then stepped closer to her until they were almost touching. His body shivered with what seemed like coiled, pent-up energy. Emma held her breath, acutely aware that she had no idea what he might do next.

“Have a nice life, Sutton,” Garrett whispered, his voice icy. His cleats made loud clacking sounds as he stalked across the driveway, mounted his bike, and cruised away.

“Goodbye,” I whispered to his receding back.

That went well. Technically, this had been Emma’s first breakup ever—all her previous relationships had either ended in mutual friendship or fizzled away. No wonder people said it sucked.

Shaken, Emma turned to head inside. As she walked across the porch for the front door, a white SUV on the street caught her eye. She squinted at the flash of blond hair through the windshield. But before she could make out a face, the car sped up, rocketing away in a plume of gray exhaust.

Emma found Laurel in the kitchen, slicing an apple into thin pieces. “Do we know anyone who drives a white SUV?” she asked.

Laurel stared at her. “Besides the Twitter Twins?”

Emma frowned. The twins lived all the way across town.

“So?” Laurel asked. “What happened with Garrett?” There was a smug look on her face. Now she wants to talk, Emma thought bitterly.

Emma walked up to the island and popped a juicy apple slice into her mouth. “It’s over.”

Laurel’s expression softened just a bit. “Are you okay?”

Emma wiped her hands across her tennis shorts. “I’ll be fine.” She looked at Laurel. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

Laurel crunched an apple slice and glanced out the French doors into the backyard. “I don’t know. Garrett always struck me as sort of an enigma,” she finally said. “I always wondered if there was something more lurking beneath the surface.”

Emma flinched, thinking of how Garrett had loomed over her on the porch. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Laurel waved her hand dismissively, as if she suddenly remembered she wasn’t speaking to Emma today. She slid a stack of mail across the kitchen table. “These are for you.”

Then she wheeled around and sauntered down the hallway. As Emma absentmindedly sorted through the catalogs, mulling over Garrett’s visit and Laurel’s haunting words, an envelope with a bank logo in the upper corner caught her eye. AMEX BLUE, said the label. It was addressed to Sutton Mercer.

Emma’s breath caught in her throat as she tore it open. This was Sutton’s credit card statement, the one from the month leading up to her murder. With shaking fingers, she unfolded the paper and scanned the column of charges in August. BCBG . . . Sephora . . . Walgreens . . . AJ’s gourmet market. Then, her gaze landed on a charge on August 31. Eighty-eight dollars. Clique.

Nerves snapped inside of her. Clique. The word suddenly seemed ominous, like the sound of a safety latch releasing from a gun.

Emma yanked Sutton’s phone from her bag. Ethan answered on the second ring. “Clear your schedule for tonight,” Emma whispered. “I think I’ve got something.”