into the bucket of slip she’d dredged from the vat at the back of the room and dabbed it carefully on her project. Madeline wrinkled her nose in distaste.
“You got some of that stuff on your jeans,” she said, pointing to a splotch on Emma’s thigh.
“Ugh. That’d better come out in the wash,” Emma grumbled, though she had bigger problems right now than cleaning Sutton’s J Brands.
“So where’s Laurel?” Madeline asked, looking around.
“I guess she decided to skip.” Emma shrugged. It wasn’t like Laurel to cut class without the other Lying Game girls, but a lot of things had been weird lately.
“I wish I’d gone with her.” Mads sighed as her mug collapsed yet again. “I can’t stand much more of this.”
Charlotte put her bowl down, reaching over to pat Madeline on the back.
“Here’s something to look forward to,” Charlotte said, smiling. “My mom decided we’re going to Barbados for Christmas. And of course Daddy’s on board. He’s been on his best behavior ever since Mom
found a naughty text on his phone. Anyway, I refused to go unless I could take friends. So pack your bags, bitches, because we’re heading to the land of rum and Rihanna.”
Madeline’s jaw fell open. “Are you kidding me?”
“Do I ever joke about vacations?” Charlotte winked. “In a few short weeks we’ll be lying on the beach, drinking out of coconuts, and watching boys on surfboards.”
“Oh my God.” Madeline gave an uncharacteristic squeal, her eyes bright. “I am so in!”
Charlotte looked at Emma expectantly. “Sutton? What about you?”
Emma could barely process Charlotte’s invitation. The only “beach” she had ever been to was a fake one at a water park outside Vegas, with screaming children and a lazy river that was probably full of pee.
Images of white-sand beaches and brilliant blue water immediately danced through her mind. But then she hesitated. “I’ll have to ask Mom and Dad,” she said.
That seemed confirmation enough for Charlotte. “Oh, you’ll convince them. You always do.” She laughed in excitement, launching into a description of the private house her parents had rented, the beach bars
that served pi?a coladas every afternoon, and the celebrities who would be going incognito. “Rob Pattinson for sure, he’s always there,” Char was saying, but Emma wasn’t really listening.
The truth was, she’d been looking forward to celebrating the holidays with the Mercers. She’d never had much of a real Christmas before. A few of her foster families had tried to celebrate the holidays but
never really made Emma feel welcome or included. There were usually some impersonal presents from a charity drive—three years in a row, she had received cheap desk sets from well-meaning donors—and maybe a
dry turkey dinner.
Emma was sure that Christmas with the Mercers would be different. She didn’t care about presents, but she couldn’t wait to see the living room bright with tinsel, fragrant with the smell of a tree. She
imagined Laurel playing carols on the baby grand; Mr. Mercer singing along, totally off-key; Mrs. Mercer wearing an ugly Christmas sweater and a Santa hat as she baked sugar cookies. They would hang stockings
and ornaments and drink eggnog by the fire—even though it probably wouldn’t get below fifty degrees in Arizona. She knew it was hokey, but she didn’t care. She’d never had a hokey Christmas to get tired
of.
Plus, Ethan was here, not in Barbados. And she’d always wanted to corner a boy under the mistletoe.
At that moment the door to the pottery studio flew open, slamming against the bookcase behind it. Charlotte’s bowl slipped from her hand and shattered on the ground. The school’s front office manager, a
kindly woman named Peggy, stood in the doorway. Her normally neat graying hair was coming loose from its bun. She glanced wildly around until she caught sight of Mrs. Gilliam, then strode quickly across the
room to whisper something in her ear. Mrs. Gilliam’s owl-like eyes fell on Emma.
“Sutton, you’re needed in the office.” Mrs. Gilliam was clearly trying to be calm, but she’d gone pale. Her bangles jangled discordantly as she gestured in Emma’s direction. “I’ll clean up your
station; don’t worry about that. You just go.”
Emma’s heart sank with dread. “What’s going on?” she managed to ask through her choked throat.
Peggy spoke up this time, her nasal voice hushed. “Your parents are here to see you. Something has happened.”
Laurel, Emma and I thought at once. Something had happened to Laurel. That explained why she hadn’t been in class.
Emma was on her feet without fully realizing it, tearing through the door and out into the hallway. “Walk, don’t run, Miss Mercer,” Peggy called out behind her, but Emma took off at breakneck speed, past
the SAY NO TO DRUGS! and WILDCAT PRIDE posters, her shoes sliding dangerously on the scuffed linoleum. She turned a corner and hip-checked a recycling bin, sending it rolling across the floor, but didn’t