Emma stood and took a step forward to the window. It was raining. The raindrops were hitting the window, breaking up her reflection in the glass and destroying the tentative moment of connection she’d felt with her dead twin. You’re being silly, Sutton wasn’t here at all, she tried to tell herself, though she couldn’t shake the sudden and acute sense of loss.

“I’m with you,” I whispered. As always, my voice disappeared into the wide breach between us. But it made me feel better to say it out loud. Now that she was barred from my home, Emma was all I had. We were in this together—whether she knew it or not.

22 - Emma Non Grata

22

EMMA NON GRATA

Emma and Ethan spent the weekend mostly in hiding. It seemed like Corcoran’s defensive driving had worked; none of the media showed up on the Landrys’ doorstep. Still, they didn’t want to tempt fate, so they drew the blinds and avoided the windows, curling up on the couch to watch a Star Trek marathon on cable. Every now and then they’d stop to sift through the details of the case or get a snack. The kitchen wasn’t very well stocked, but they had enough for stacks of sandwiches, and on Saturday Emma showed Ethan her secret recipe for making jarred pasta sauce taste homemade: olive oil, a sprinkle of sugar, and a tiny splash of vodka.

On Sunday, they disguised Emma in an old flowered shirtdress that belonged to Ethan’s mother so they could go to Goodwill incognito. Ethan even produced a blonde Farrah Fawcett–style wig from the back of Mrs. Landry’s closet. They both laughed at her reflection in the mirror—she looked like she’d been stuck in a bomb shelter since the late seventies. But when they went out she was glad for the disguise. For the first time in a long while, no one paid any attention to her at all, either as super-popular Sutton or as accused-murderer Emma.

But on Monday, Emma knew there would be no disguise that could get her through the day at Hollier. She stood at the mirror of the Landrys’ hallway bathroom, braiding her hair into a long side plait, a style she would never have worn as Sutton. For the first time in months she was dressed like herself, in a faded blue-and-white raglan T-shirt and a pair of perfectly distressed Rag & Bone jeans she’d scored for five bucks. As she looked at her reflection, she felt somehow vulnerable and exposed. She’d been hiding behind Sutton’s persona for months now, her real self a secret that she revealed only to Ethan. Now everyone would see the real her. The thought was strangely terrifying.

She hadn’t had the guts to reach out to any of Sutton’s friends. Her relationship with them was built on a lie—and now they knew it.