“Come in,” I call.
“Hey.” It’s Laurel, shyly playing with her side ponytail and leaning against the door frame. In her free hand she has a package of Red Vines, which she offers to me. I nod and she brings the package over, settling on the bed and cuddling a chenille throw pillow to her lap.
I set my laptop aside. “So. Let the first planning session commence?”
Laurel nods eagerly. On the drive home Sunday night, I’d whispered to my sister that she and I could plan her first official Lying Game prank by ourselves—no Char and Mads needed. Laurel had seemed beyond excited about it, and it made me feel as though I’d cracked some kind of Laurel code that had been baffling me for all these years. All she needed was for me to actually be nice to her.
Maybe I can do that. Maybe I can be a better sister.
I pull out a notebook and grab a pencil from my desk. “So what are you thinking?”
Laurel swallows a bite of licorice. “Since we got so good at sneaking around in Vegas, maybe we could kick off the summer by crashing the Starr Pass Resort’s Annual Gala?”
I nearly choke on my own strawberry twist. “Laurel, those tickets are three thousand dollars a pop. There’s no way we’d get past the door.”
“We can figure it out! We’ll just talk our way in!”
“We created a monster in Vegas!” I cry.
Laurel smirks. “Scared? That’s not like you, Big Sis.”
I grin, mentally scanning my closet for exactly the right LBD to make me look old enough to be at the most exclusive cocktail party in Arizona. “It has potential,” I say. “We can hash out the details over a friendly volley after dinner.” After a weekend off from tennis, I’m ready to wipe the floor with her.
“A volley,” Laurel says, considering. “You’re on.” Her forehead furrows, and she looks at me with frank curiosity. “Is anything ever not a competition with you?”
“Not usually, no,” I say. I hold her gaze, her blue eyes steady and her expression slightly unreadable. After a beat, I shove her lightly and slide off the bed. “But that’s what you love about me.”
“That’s what you tell yourself, Sutton,” Laurel says. Her voice is light enough, but there’s an edge underneath it. I decide to ignore it for now and just concentrate on what’s going right.
But as I’m walking down the stairs, my phone rings. I stare at it in my hand, my heart leaping to my throat.
It’s Thayer.
Laurel, who’s in front of me, spins around and looks at me curiously. “Everything okay?”
“Um . . .” I stammer, at a loss for a second. “Yeah. I’ll be right with you.”
I run back up the stairs to my room and shut the door tight, wondering if Laurel’s going to have her ear pressed to the door. Cautiously, I say, “Hello?”
“Sutton, I’m sorry.” Thayer sounds choked and urgent.
I inhale sharply. “Sorry for what?”
“I miss you so much,” he continues. “I don’t want us to be apart. I should never have told you I needed space. Not talking to you has been torture.”
My heart catches in my throat. Across the room, the image of Garrett is still on my computer screen. His eyes twinkle at me. His smile makes my heart do a cartwheel. I picture him at home right now, composing one of his sweet, poignant, happy little texts. Texts he sends promptly, not six hours later.
But I feel that same pull for Thayer I always do. “Come home, then,” I challenge.
Thayer pauses. “I . . . can’t.”
“Why not?” I demand.
He sighs.
“Thayer, at the very least, let me tell Mads where you are,” I demand. “She’s going crazy with worry. Can’t I give her something?”
“Not now. I’ll tell her myself.”
“Why can’t I tell her now?”
He sighs. “Because I’m somewhere, getting help. And I just need time.”
“Help for what?”
His words come out in a rush. “I can’t explain. Not right now. But I will, I promise . . . when things are different for me. Please just know that I’m doing the best thing for me, and for us, for the long run.”
I stare out the window. What does that mean?
“I’m going to come back a changed person.” Thayer’s voice cracks slightly. “I’m going to be ready to be your boyfriend, for real.”
A tiny flare of hope blooms in my chest. For real. Two weeks ago, that was all I wanted to hear from him, but now it might be too little, too late. There’s Garrett to think about now.
Still, I can’t keep myself from asking in a small voice, “So, you didn’t run off with Mary?”
“Mary?” The line crackles. “God, no, Sutton. Absolutely not. You’re the only one I want to be with.” He pauses again, and I hear the steady rhythm of his breathing. “So, what do you say? Will you wait a little bit longer for me? We’ll find a way to be together, soon.”