Bright headlights shone in the driveway. Emma rose, carefully opened the front door, and looked both ways as she stepped off the porch. Some of the windows in the houses next door were lit; she hoped no nosy neighbors would mention this to the Mercers. Your daughter looked lovely all dressed up! And who was that dashing young man escorting her?

Ethan had gotten out of the car to open the passenger door for her. He wore a dark suit jacket, khaki pants, and shiny black shoes, a huge change from his usual disheveled shorts and tees.

“Wow.” Emma paused for a moment before getting into the car. “You look so . . . handsome.”

“Handsome, huh?” Ethan grinned.

Emma blushed. “Yeah, handsome like a Ken doll.”

Ethan’s eyes traveled along her body. “And you look really pretty,” he said, his words spilling out awkwardly. “But not like a Barbie.”

Emma pressed her lips together in a bashful smile. After a moment, she swung into the passenger seat. Ethan jogged to the driver’s door and revved the engine. Emma rested her hand on the console between them, wondering for just a moment whether Ethan would try to link his fingers through hers. Instead, he took out a plaid handkerchief from the inside of his coat and turned to face her.

“You’re going to have to wear this,” he said, a mischievous grin crawling across his face. “Our destination is a secret.”

She burst out laughing. “You can’t be serious.”

“Serious as a heart attack.” He motioned for her to twist and tied the scarf around her head. In moments, Emma was enveloped in darkness. She felt the car lurch into reverse and then pivot to the right, onto the street. With anyone else, she probably would’ve been freaked out by such a gesture—Madeline and the Twitter Twins had kidnapped her at Sabino Canyon in a similar fashion, after all. But with Ethan, she felt safe. Excited.

“It won’t be too long,” he assured her. Emma heard the soft tick-tick-tick of the turn signal. “No peeking!”

A new song by the Strokes played softly on the stereo. Emma sat back and shut her eyes, wondering where they were going. Yesterday in school, she’d told him about Madeline’s, Charlotte’s, and Laurel’s alibis, and Ethan had nodded, businesslike—he’d been cordial but distant since the almost-kiss. The bell had rung before she could tell him about her new suspects, the Twitter Twins. There had been no mention of anything personal. There had been no mention of what had happened at the pool. Maybe Ethan just wanted to forget it had happened. But then again, this seemed a lot like a date.

She felt a slight jerk as the car stopped for a light. Close by, a car stereo thudded.