Laurel brightens. “She totally wants a fitting room! Sutton, you have to try it on.”
I look at her curiously. Why is she being so nice now? I glance at my watch—the five minutes are probably almost up. “I don’t need to try it on, I just want to buy it,” I start to say, but the salesgirl has already taken the dress from me. The minute she turns, Laurel speeds over to her, snatching the dress. She holds it over her head in victory.
“You bitch!” I scream, lunging after her. But it’s too late—Laurel already has it on the counter, and she’s whipped out her credit card. I can’t believe her composure, and I wonder: Was everything she just said about wanting to be friends again just to disarm me a little?
Fuming, I scan the floor for something I might have missed. And then I spy a perfect latex replica of Lady Gaga’s meat dress, glistening with a coat of wax that renders it completely grotesque and lifelike.
Nice. Without missing a beat, I duck behind a tall rack of fishnet and marabou accessories, shamelessly shimmy out of my strappy sundress, and shrug the plastic meat down the length of my body. It looks ridiculous, but also kind of awesome.
“Here,” I say to another salesgirl who is prowling behind me, about to tell me I can’t change clothes in the middle of the store. “I’m taking this.” I dig into my wallet, pull out a fistful of twenty-dollar bills, and shove them at her, and run outside.
Mads and Charlotte are both bent over their phones, distracted, when I step outside. When they see me, they slowly drop their phones into their bags and actually gasp in disbelief. “Amazing, Sutton,” Madeline says, awed.
“I know.” I spin to give them the full 360-degree view. The plastic meat is heavy and cold, and I’m relieved the dress is just a replica. Passersby notice me and hoot appreciatively.
The door of the shop swings open a second time, and Laurel’s footsteps sound behind me. Her Queen of Hearts dress crinkles with her every movement. “Check me out!” she crows. She prances toward us, curtsying like a Disney princess and fanning out the costume’s full skirt. The clown-red curls of the wig brush against her pale cheeks and the gaudy tiara on her head sparkles. She glows . . . until she realizes where I am and what I’m wearing.
Her face falls. “Oh,” she manages.
“Yeah, oh,” I shoot back. “All sorts of stuff can happen when your back is turned, huh?”
Charlotte clears her throat. “Good job, Laurel,” she starts. “Love the wig. But Sutton killed it this round. Sorry.”
Laurel mumbles something indecipherable under her breath, and Mads pats her shoulder reassuringly. “Laurel, she’s wearing meat,” she points out, stifling a giggle. “We have to give it to her.”
“That’s right, bitch!” I crow. “And I don’t look . . . meaty in it, either,” I say, looking critically at Laurel’s arms. Our almost heart-to-heart—and Laurel’s deceit—rankles me and I want to stamp out any memory of it.
“Well, at least half of Vegas doesn’t think I got stood up at the altar,” Laurel shoots back defensively.
I snicker meanly. “At least they think I was in an actual relationship. Laurel, when was the last time you had a boyfriend? All I’ve ever seen you do is trail behind Thayer like a puppy dog.”
Laurel’s mouth opens and closes. Tears dot her eyes. Then I notice Charlotte’s shocked expression and Madeline’s tight one.
For a split second, I wonder if I’ve gone too far. You should be nicer to Laurel, Thayer’s voice floats back to me. She looks up to you. And I think of Garrett, too, and how caring he is for his sister. How lucky she is to have him.
“That was low, even for you, Sutton,” she says, her voice quiet. And then they all head into the costume shop so Laurel can change back into street clothes.
“Mads,” I say weakly. “Char?” Laurel played dirty, too, I want to tell them. She tricked me.
But I have a feeling that, right now, they don’t want to hear it.
10
DOWN TO THE WIRE
Later that afternoon, Garrett and I are sitting in a private Bellagio cabana next to the glittering swimming pool. Due to the 110-degree heat, it’s clogged with people in trunks and bikinis, each person more beautiful and toned than the last. Caribbean music plays over the speakers, and the air is fraught with the smell of hot dogs and hamburgers on the grill.
Once again, I’m so glad I invited Garrett along. I’d felt unsettled after the last challenge, but after a few hours of relaxation with him poolside, I’ve decided to chalk my guilty feelings up to temporary insanity. Laurel asked for this, after all. If she wants into the Lying Game, she has to toughen up.
I leap up and pull Garrett to stand, too. “I’m bored,” I say. “Let’s race.”