The sound of the register opening brings me back to Jolie. I shrug, brushing the moment off me like a used towel. The salesclerk hands Charlotte her shopping bag, crisp and sharply edged. Charlotte smiles and we make our way toward the exit. Suddenly, she stops in her tracks, a slow grin spreading across her face.
“You guys, I have the best idea,” she says.
Madeline and I look at her, and she leans in conspiratorially.
“What if we prank Thayer?” Her eyes gleam. “For the Lying Game.”
Madeline’s mouth turns up at the corners, amused. “How?” she asks, waving her hand in an I’m listening gesture.
Charlotte runs her free hand through her auburn waves. “So, Sutton would never go for Thayer in a million years, right?”
“Right,” I say quickly. Maybe too quickly.
“Well, what if we make it seem like she likes him? Sutton pretends that she’s totally into him, and then when he falls on his knees professing undying love—preferably in a highly public place—we all pop out and surprise him, telling him it was a huge joke!” She practically bounces on her heels from excitement.
Madeline bites her lip, contemplating. “It would definitely take him down a few pegs,” she agrees. “Which he deserves, especially after calling us out like that at the pool.” Her eyes light up as she warms to the plan. “I like it. But what about you, Sutton? Do you want to do it? Do you think you could reel Thayer in?”
I arch an eyebrow at her. “Who do you think you’re talking to?” It’s a silly question. Reeling unsuspecting guys in is Lying Game 101. And I’m the best at it. “But, I mean, he is your brother,” I continue, considering. “Are you sure you want to crush him so badly?”
Madeline puts her hands on her narrow hips. “Look, you don’t need to demolish him two hundred percent or anything like that, but … yeah. He has it coming. You saw how cocky he’s gotten lately. And it’s not just annoying me—it’s driving my father crazy, too.”
Her eyes darken, and she turns away. Char and I exchange a look. We all know about Mr. Vega’s temper, which seems to flare up for the stupidest reasons. I wouldn’t want to get on that man’s bad side.
We step through the exit of the shop into the blazing heat of August in Tucson. I raise my arm and offer the salesclerk a wave, bangle falling down my sleeve and dancing on my wrist. She smiles back, preoccupied, her dirty blond hair falling in a shiny curtain over her shoulders.
Feeling triumphant, I turn to the girls. “I’m in,” I decide. “I’m always down for a challenge.”
3
FAIR PLAY
That night, my two friends and I walk the grounds of the annual Pima County Summer Fair on the west side of town. Mosquitoes, plentiful because of this summer’s particularly wet monsoon season, flit around us, and fire-flies flicker. The greasy smell of funnel cake clings to our clothes and makes our mouths water, even though we wouldn’t dare order one. As the pirate-ship ride to our left gets going, the passengers start to scream excitedly. You’d never get me on that thing. My mom always says county fair rides are held together by bubble gum and duct tape and little else.
Charlotte traipses back from the cotton candy booth, a truffula tree of spun pink sugar in her hand. “Oh my God, did you see the guy running the cotton candy stand? I think he had, like, three teeth.”
I give the scrawny-looking guy a wink, and Charlotte practically spurts cotton candy out her nose.
“Gross,” Madeline says, more to Char than Cotton Candy Guy. She giggles and hands Charlotte a napkin. But her chin’s all sticky, and little flecks of paper get stuck there, making her look even more ridiculous. We collapse into laughter, giggling so hard we have to hold on to each other to stay upright. The crowd streams around us, giving us weird looks, but we don’t care.
“What’s next on our agenda?” I ask, finally straightening up and tugging at the hem of my Ella Moss tissue tee.
Mads looks around. “Gabby and Lili want us to meet them by Skee-Ball. Apparently Gabby’s smoking it.”
She holds her iPhone screen up to my face so I can see their latest Twitpic.
“That could be a picture of anything,” I scoff. “I need a visual confirmation.”
“Then let’s go.” Mads links arms with each of us, beaming with contentment, and we head back into the fray.
The fair is swarming with people. We’ve only moved about three feet, back to the ragged, dusty path between booths, when we bump directly into Laurel.
“Hey!” Laurel says eagerly. Her foot lands squarely on my brand-new Vince Camuto cap-toe ballet flats, and I glare at her.
“I thought we lost you back by the front entrance,” I snap. I couldn’t get out of driving Laurel here, but Mads, Charlotte, and I slipped away from her the second she was distracted by someone in her class.