Laurel’s mouth formed a straight line. The Jetta veered over the line on the highway, and the driver next to them blew his horn, making both girls jump. “Uh, no,” she answered tightly after she’d steered the car back into its rightful lane. “I wasn’t.”

“So where were you?” Emma tried to sound like she was making casual conversation, even though her heart was rocketing inside her chest.

Laurel’s fingers clutched the steering wheel. She paused for a long moment, her eyes fixed on the horizon. “Sutton, are we seriously going to have this conversation right now?” she said finally in a steely voice. Emma stared at her, waiting, but she didn’t offer anything more.

Laurel pulled the car up to a familiar low-slung ranch house with a big front yard full of desert succulents. It looked exactly the same as it had the last time Emma had come here, her very first day in Tucson, before she knew her twin was dead. Back before all of this craziness started. Several cars were parked in the driveway and at the curb, many of them pasted with bumper stickers that said TENNIS IS THE GOOD LIFE or LOVE with a yellow tennis ball as the O. All the lights were on in the house, and a giggle exploded from somewhere inside.

“Come on.” Laurel hit the key fob to lock the Jetta and started up the driveway, but Emma hung back for a moment. She stared across the street at Ethan’s house. The front porch was dark. The telescope Ethan had peered through the first night Emma had met him had disappeared. She wondered what Ethan was doing tonight. Had he thought about their near kiss in the pool the other night? They’d seen each other in the halls, but they hadn’t really spoken since.

Nisha’s front door flung open, and the tennis team greeted them with hugs and squeals. Emma poked her head into the room and nudged Laurel. “Where’s Maggie?”

Laurel started to laugh. “Maggie’s not actually here.”

Charlotte emerged through the crowd wearing an off-the-shoulder striped top and wide-leg jeans. She linked her elbow through Emma’s. “I see my little plan worked!” The freckles on her nose scrunched together as she grinned.

Emma frowned. Little plan?

Charlotte extended her thumb and pinkie to make the shape of a phone. “ ‘Hello, Mrs. Mercer?’” she said in an adult voice. “ ‘This is Coach Maggie. I’d really, really like Sutton to attend the tennis team dinner tonight. It’s such a show of solidarity! Oh, I understand she’s grounded, but I’ll watch her carefully, I promise. You can count on me!’”

Not even I saw that one coming. My friends were good. With a rush of relief, I tried to wrap my arms around Charlotte, thrilled once more that she wasn’t my killer. But, as usual, my fingers just passed through her skin.