“We’ll see, won’t we?” I retort.
Then I glance at Laurel in the rearview. She’s flicking a charm on the bracelet Thayer gave her, and she’s got a haughty smirk on her face, like she’s already in the club. This morning, before we left, she had the nerve to burst into my room and ask what we were wearing, like we were buds or something. When she asked if I was excited, I’d said, “I would be more excited if one less person was coming.”
Charlotte pokes me in the back. “Turn here,” she barks. I twist to see the fountains of the Bellagio spurt up like a well-choreographed ballet. The sight is so majestic, I almost gasp.
“We’re staying here?” I squeal in disbelief. “How’d you swing that, Char?”
Char smiles mysteriously. “Oh, Daddy has some connections. Now, come on, girls. Let’s go to our room.”
I cut the steering wheel and pull slowly up the circular drive, feeling like Julia Roberts in Ocean’s Eleven. Then I gaze up at the towering building, all glass and stone and light. “I hope our room has a sick view.”
Over my shoulder, Charlotte shoots a sly look at Laurel. “Well . . . it might. That depends on your sister.”
Madeline drums her hands against the dashboard. “The first challenge!” she says dramatically.
Bring it on, I think, catching Laurel’s eye in the rearview mirror once more. “Let’s hear it.”
Madeline shifts so she’s facing my sister. “Laurel, your mission is this: You’re going to woo reception into giving us a room at a reduced rate. A sweet room. Preferably with a balcony.”
Laurel pales. I snort. “How are you going to do that, Laurel? Whine your way into a better room? Cry to Daddy?”
Laurel shoots me a look, then reaches for the door handle. “Piece of cake,” she says. Her paisley miniskirt twitches perkily as she makes her way into the hotel.
Charlotte and Madeline giggle in her wake. “Oh my God, this is so inspired.” Madeline bounces her legs up and down like she can’t contain the awesomeness of the prank. Her blue eyes sparkle like gemstones. “We should have done a Lying Game road trip ages ago.”
I hate to admit it, but Mads is right—it’s a good challenge, and luckily one my baby sis is sure to fail. I exhale and roll my head side to side, trying to release a little tension in my neck while we wait.
There’s a tap on my window, and when I look up, Garrett beams down at me, flanked on either side by Tucker, a meathead with a flaming-red buzz cut, and Marcus, an Abercrombie-emo boy with floppy, black hair even glossier than Madeline’s. As he leans in, Charlotte turns away. Good.
I roll the window down. “You have a reservation here?” Garrett asks.
“Maybe,” I tease. The boys don’t know exactly what we’re up to in Vegas, and I don’t have any intention of telling them. They’re my arm candy, nothing else. “We’re big-time, baby.”
“Obviously. Good thing I brought the plastic.” Garrett turns back to his car. “We’re gonna valet. We’ll meet you after checkin?”
“Perfect,” I say, though a not-so-little part of me hopes that we don’t end up in this hotel—only because it would mean Laurel has failed her first challenge.
I take in Garrett’s easy posture as the boys move off. “Garrett’s so sweet to come along with me,” I say loudly. Charlotte rolls her eyes and looks the other way.
After a few more moments, during which an emphatic Taylor Swift gives way to Beyoncé on the local radio, Laurel scampers back to the car with a gleeful expression on her face. She slides into the car, eyes gleaming. “I got us a double room for half off. With a balcony, thank you very much.”
Madeline’s jaw drops, and she offers Laurel her palm to slap. “Nice.”
Laurel high-fives her. “It was a piece of cake.”
“Awesome, Laurel,” Charlotte says, admiration ringing in her tone.
Inside, I’m completely annoyed, but on the outside I just shrug. “That was an easy one,” I say loudly, hoping to bring the whole yay-Laurel party to a halt.
“So I guess that means we’re one-nothing?” Laurel asks.
Charlotte places a hand on my knee. “Not so fast, Laur. It’s your turn now, Sutton. Turn that double room into the best suite in the whole damn place, and you get the point instead.”
Her hazel eyes glint at me, catlike, and the corners of her mouth turn up mischievously. I inhale sharply. The best room? That challenge is way harder than Laurel’s. It’s like they’re setting me up to lose.
Still. I’m Sutton, the leader of the Lying Game. “No problem,” I say, squaring my shoulders and jumping out of the car.
I stand in the porte cochere for a moment, my brain buzzing. My eyes take in the glittering, curved drive, the lush, climbing plants, and the bellhops’ brass luggage carts.