Garrett guffaws loudly. Madeline turns purple. Charlotte pokes me this time, and I pinch her back. The prank is on. So on.
I spin on the picnic bench, folding one knee up into my chest and tilting my head at Thayer. “What do you say to a friendly wager?” I ask, staring him squarely in the eyes.
Thayer arches a quizzical eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“I’m challenging you to another game of Skee-Ball—winner takes Scooby and another stuffed animal. I can be determined when I want something, too.” I layer my voice with meaning.
Thayer shrugs. “Well, Laurel and I were going to hit the bumper cars next, actually. Rain check?”
I open my mouth, then shut it again. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Knowing my friends are watching, I decide to pretend I didn’t mean anything by my challenge. I stand, crumpling up my used napkin and paper plate and stalking toward the trash can. “Whatever.”
But then, suddenly, Thayer is grabbing my hand. His grip is surprisingly warm and firm. All at once, I’m unsteady on my feet. “Sutton,” he says, glancing surreptitiously toward the others on the bench. He pushes Scooby at me. “Promise you’ll give him a good home.”
I stare at the stuffed animal now in my arms. Part of me is thrilled. Thayer played for hours to win Scooby. But then I feel annoyed. Is he only giving me Scooby out of pity, because he didn’t want to take me up on my bet?
“Remember that one year you tried to win him?” he says softly.
I blink at him. Of course. Thayer had been at the fair with Laurel and me, too—he’d just been so quiet I’d barely noticed him. Did he try to win Scooby specifically for me? My heart starts to beat a little faster. I can’t believe he even remembered I liked Scooby, after all these years.
But then I feel ridiculous. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say.
“Yes, you do.” Thayer’s gaze is unbroken. “I know you remember, Sutton. You’re just pretending you’re too cool.”
Unbelievable! The urge to push Scooby back at Thayer rises up inside me, but out of the corner of my eye I see Mads flashing me a subtle thumbs-up from the picnic table. Thayer giving me Scooby is a good thing. It’s a first step in our Lying Game prank.
I turn Scooby over suspiciously. “This thing is probably full of fleas.”
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Thayer says, reaching out and patting Scooby on the head affectionately. “So, do you like him?”
As I reach out and gingerly finger Scooby’s paw, rolling the tufts of his fur between my thumb and forefinger, I realize my fingers are trembling. Then I square my shoulders. “You’re full of crap, you know. You’re only giving me Scooby because you didn’t want to accept my challenge. Because you know you would have lost.” I poke him playfully.
Thayer laughs and meets my gaze. “Maybe,” he answers. “Or maybe not.” And before I can say another word, he winks, then disappears into the crowd with Laurel.
5
NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT
On Monday afternoon, the Lying Game holds an official IM chat to check in about all current works in progress. We take our pranking very seriously. I lean back against the ornate sleigh headboard of my bed, the laptop warm against my legs.
Charlotte, whose IM handle is SexxyRed, types, Are we sure a Thayer prank is enough for our annual kickoff prank?
SwanLakeMafia, aka Mads, replies: I was thinking the same thing.
But now that I’ve started this flirtation with Thayer, I don’t know if I want to stop. We’ve got to do it, I, SuttoninAZ, answer. But only as a favor to the best BFF ever. I can tell Thayer’s bugging you, Mads. We’ll think of something else for the big back-to-school prank.
SwanLakeMafia: Thanks, Sutton. You’re right. And nice job on the Scooby score last night!
Watch and learn, ladies, I say nonchalantly. But I’m glad my webcam isn’t on right now, because I’m blushing—and snuggled up next to Scooby. I wouldn’t want my friends to see him there and get any ideas that I really like Thayer or something. It’s just that he’s so cozy to sleep with. And he barely smells like funnel cake and corn dog at all.
We still need to come up with our REAL prank then, I type, manicured fingers flying across the keyboard. Thinking caps on!
After a moment, an image loads into the chat screen: Charlotte, winking, a Eugenia Kim straw fedora perched at an angle across her forehead. Cute. It’s her take on a thinking cap. She looks a little like Britney Spears pre–Breakdown #1.
Adorbs, I tap. But keep the ideas coming. We have a reputation to uphold.
Off to ballet, bitches. I declare this Lying Game meeting officially dismissed, Mads types before signing off.