Ethan gazed down the street, his top teeth sinking into his bottom lip. “That’s what it looked like to me,” he finally said. “Even though they said it was a prank, Sutton seemed really scared.”

“Sounds like payback,” Emma said.

Ethan had a better memory of that night than I did. When I’d seen Ethan standing over me, I’d felt woozy and vulnerable. If only I could remember the hours and days after the strangling incident . . . had I really resumed normal activities with my friends as if it hadn’t mattered? Had I been able to shake off my fear that easily?

“But I’m not sure we should write off the Twitter Twins either,” Emma said. “Gabby went to the hospital, after all—maybe she was really hurt. They were at Charlotte’s sleepover, too. And I’ve seen them driving up and down this street, watching me. Plus they’ve been giving me really weird looks in school.” She shut her eyes, thinking about Garrett. “Then again, a lot of people have been giving me weird looks.”

Ethan nodded. “You can’t write off any of them until they have a clear alibi.”

Emma arched her neck up to the sky and let out a groan. Everything felt so . . . difficult. “Sutton’s parents would kill me if they knew I was out here,” she said, eyeing the dark windows in the house. “I’m already grounded for life.”

Ethan shifted in the gravel. “So this is your only night of freedom?”

“You could say that. Tomorrow there will probably be a big bolt on my window.”

Ethan smiled. “We’d better do something more fun than talk about Sutton’s murderer, then.”

Slowly, Emma raised her eyes to his. “Like what?”

“There’s a pool in your neighbor’s yard.” Ethan gestured over the block wall that separated the Mercers’ house from the neighbors’. “Wanna go for a swim?”

“They’ll see us!” Emma cried. The Mercers’ next-door neighbors, the Paulsons, had waved to Emma a few times from their driveway. They wore matching J.Crew outfits, drove matching champagne-colored Lexuses, and plastered their last name over everything—a big PAULSON on the mailbox, PAULSON, ESTABLISHED 1968 on a stone plaque in the front garden, even their vanity plates read PAULSON1 and PAULSON2. They seemed friendly enough, but Emma doubted they took kindly to pool crashers.

Ethan pointed to their driveway. Several blue plastic-wrapped newspapers lay near the mailbox. The lights in the house were dark, and there wasn’t a car in the driveway. “I think they’re out of town.”

Emma paused. She knew she should march back inside and get into bed, but a devilish little voice in her head pointed out Ethan’s deep-set eyes and hopeful smile, egging her on.

Maybe the devil was me. Emma deserved to have a little fun.

“I’m in,” Emma said with a grin.