Emma wandered down the long hal way lined with modernist photographs of cacti, shadows, and cloudless skies, and pul ed at the ring-shaped knob of the huge door. When she saw the two girls on the porch, a hot, acidic feeling wel ed in her stomach.

“Hel o there, Sutton,” Gabby said, pushing past her. A garment bag was draped over her arm, and she wore her orange silk Homecoming Court sash across her T-shirt.

“What happened with your car? I don’t see it in the driveway,” Lili chirped, clomping into the hal way. She had her sash on, too.

Don’t you already know? Emma wanted to ask, thinking about the lurking figure—or figures—behind Burger King. Perhaps the Twitter Twins had taken Sutton to get her car out on the thirty-first, too. Maybe they even knew where it had ended up.

But instead, Emma told the Twins the same lie she’d told the other girls: “There was a mix-up. Those idiots at the impound lot gave the car to someone else instead. But the cops are on it.”

“Hey, bitches!” Charlotte cal ed from the kitchen before either twin could respond. “Come in and make yourself a drink. We’re in a parent-free zone!”

“I don’t count!” Helene let out a chuckle, which quickly devolved into a coughing fit.

Emma trailed after the Twitter Twins as they glided down the hal . “What are they doing here?” she murmured to Madeline as she crossed into the kitchen.

Madeline took a big swig of her rum and Diet Coke. “It was the least we could do after our botched prank.”

“They should leave,” Emma blurted.

Madeline wiped the condensation from her drink with a pink cocktail napkin and let out a sigh. “Sutton, don’t be like that. It’s not like we’re going to ask them to be part of the Lying Game. Chil .”

“Are you talking about us, Sutton?” Gabby practical y shouted from the kitchen table, fiddling with her phone. Her voice grated on Emma’s nerves, and she felt her fists bal against her sides.

“Only good things,” Madeline tril ed back. She squeezed Emma’s wrist. “Just be nice, okay?”

Charlotte jumped off the chair. Everyone oohed and ahhed over her dramatic Cleopatra eyes, her chiseled cheekbones, and perfect alabaster skin. Madeline climbed into the chair next, topping off her drink with another tip of the flask.

“So, girls.” She looked at the Twitter Twins. “Do you have dates for tonight?”

“We’re both going stag,” Gabby said. Her thumbs dashed over the keys on her phone at breakneck speed.

“But I have my eye on someone.”

“You didn’t tel me that.” Lili’s eyebrow arched. “I do, too!

Who is it?”

Gabby shrugged. “It’s a secret. I don’t want to say anything until I’m sure he’s into me.”

Lili’s mouth became pinched and smal . “Wel , then, I’m not tel ing you who my guy is either.”

Emma watched with curiosity. She’d never seen any tension between the two before now.

“Sutton’s going stag, too,” Laurel piped up, clearly trying to smooth over the sudden mood shift.

“Really?” Lili’s beady eyes darted to Emma. “How interesting!”

“I guess we’l be spending a lot of time together if we’re al going alone.” The words oozed from Gabby’s mouth like a threat. “One-on-one Sutton time. How lucky can we be?”

“How lucky,” Emma echoed, hol ow dread settling over her.

Lili reached for her phone, her fingers typing furiously. There was a chime, and Gabby glanced at her own phone’s screen. The Twins’ gazes darted to Emma for a split second before looking away.

The few sips of alcohol Emma had drunk burned her stomach. Pul ing out Sutton’s phone, she logged on to Gabby’s and Lili’s public Twitter sites. No new messages popped up. But their fingers were stil dancing over their tiny keyboards. Occasional y they smiled, as if one had said something particularly funny.

Emma’s fingers started to fly, too, cal ing up their private accounts. But only an error message appeared. This page does not exist.

Emma retyped her search, thinking she’d misspel ed something, but the same error message popped up. She’d seen the page ten minutes ago. . . .

She looked up at two pairs of blue eyes. “Looking for something?” Gabby teased.

“Did you think we wouldn’t notice your snooping?” Lili added.

“What are you freaks talking about?” Madeline murmured as Helene smeared gloss across her lips.

“No-thing,” Lili sing-songed.

But Emma knew exactly what they were talking about. The Twitter Twins had figured out Emma was onto them, meaning something huge was going to happen tonight. I only hoped she could outsmart the Twitter Twins before they outsmarted her.

Chapter 23

The Awful Truth

Hol ier’s parking lot was packed with stretch limos, town cars, SUVs, and even a couple of sports cars borrowed from parents. A banner that said HALLOWEEN HOMECOMING

stretched over the front doors, and someone had placed a big lit jack-o’-lantern on the head of the statue of Edmund Hol ier, the school’s founder. Couples dressed in elaborate costumes walked arm-in-arm toward the gym.

Homecoming had begun.

Emma lagged behind the others and shot off a quick text to Ethan. THE TTS TOOK DOWN THEIR SECRET ACCOUNTS. THEY

KNOW.

Her phone buzzed immediately with Ethan’s response. DO NOT GO ANYWHERE ALONE TONIGHT.

“Time to pose!” Charlotte pul ed Emma toward a red carpet at the front of the gym. A line of photographers cal ed their names, and the girls turned this way and that, flashing their sexiest smiles. Emma forced her shoulders to relax and pasted a grin on her face. The paparazzi red carpet had been her idea; she’d thought it was something Sutton would suggest. She stood next to Charlotte, who wore a glittering Egyptian headdress, a long silk toga, and gladiator-inspired heels; Madeline, who was dressed as the Queen of Hearts, in a red-and-white dress and a gleaming gold crown; and Laurel, who had donned the blood-spattered wedding dress she’d found at the Hal oween store. The Twitter Twins wore costumes that accentuated their Homecoming Court sashes: Lili was the Statue of Liberty, wearing a Grecian-style dress, sandals, and a spiked crown, and carrying a LED torch that glowed red when she hit a button. Gabby was some sort of winged goddess in a similarly draped dress, nymphlike sandals, and a flower headdress. They were both in innocent white, but Emma knew better.

Emma had chosen to be a sexy version of Sherlock Holmes, complete with a checked tweed jacket, a tweed miniskirt, high Manolo heels, a detective’s cap, and an angular pipe. Back at Charlotte’s, the Twins had smirked pointedly and asked why she’d chosen that costume, clearly goading her. But Emma had just held their gaze and said, “Because Holmes always got his man.”

The girls’ dates got into the picture, too. Laurel’s crush, Caleb—who was very cute—wore a 1920s-style pin-striped gangster suit. Noah, the guy Charlotte had asked, wore Wolverine sideburns and kept spewing X-Men quotes. Madeline’s date, Davin, dressed as Freddy Krueger, complete with a mangled face and slasher nails. He somehow managed to look creepier than Freddy Krueger actual y had. None of them wanted to go near him. Gabby declined a paparazzi photo, too busy talking to Kevin Torres, a guy in Emma’s calc class who rol ed his eyes whenever anyone got an answer wrong. She draped her arm around his skinny shoulders and giggled at everything that came out of his mouth. Lili stood next to them, looking like she’d swal owed a bitter lemon. She tried several times to get Kevin’s attention, but Kevin didn’t take his eyes off Gabby. Emma watched them careful y, überalert for any whispers, nudges, or random disappearances. She felt like a clock was counting down on her. Now that the Twitter Twins knew she was onto them, would they want to keep her around to play Sutton? Or was she a liability?

“Okay, people, let’s move,” Madeline said, ushering everyone off the carpet and into the bal room. Thanks to Charlotte’s decorator extraordinaire, the gym, which typical y smel ed like old sneakers and floor wax, had been transformed into a mix between a ghoulish haunted house and a tricked-out nightclub.

Emma and the others had helped pile up the gym’s bleachers and replace them with multitiered platforms containing round, black-velvet banquettes; crooked gravestones that served as high tables; burbling witches’

cauldrons ful of spiced apple cider and steaming hot chocolate; and wax figures of zombies, mummies, aliens, and werewolves. They’d set flickering, intricately carved pumpkins on each table, fixed gnarled-tree decals to the wal s, and hung spiderwebs from the chairs. Waitresses floated past with trays of vials fil ed with eerie red liquid—

which was actual y POM Wonderful—marked with labels like DANCING ELIXIR and KISSING CURE-ALL. And at the end of the room was a craggy haunted mansion. Greenish lights flashed through the windows, and a group of girls let out shril squeals from inside.

Suddenly Madeline clamped down on Emma’s arm. “Oh my God.”

She tried to steer Emma in the other direction, but it was too late. Emma had already seen what was bothering her. Garrett sat in a banquette just a few feet away. He wore a velveteen tunic, a fril y shirt underneath, and a horned Viking helmet. A blunt-tipped sword rested on the table. And he wasn’t alone.

“Hi, girls!” Nisha tril ed, leaping up from the seat next to Garrett and waving happily. Her black hair had been arranged in two braids, she wore a snugly fitted corset dress, and there was a similar horned helmet sitting atop her head. She and Garrett matched.

“What the—” Charlotte said in a low voice. “Tel me he didn’t bring her.”

I wanted to puke. Nisha? That was a pretty big step down after dating me. Or Charlotte, for that matter. Garrett looked up and saw Emma, too. His face clouded. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Nisha babbled for the both of them, inviting them to sit and complimenting their costumes when they didn’t move. Then she eyed Emma. “Sutton, did you come here al alone?”

she asked in a simpering voice, sounding absolutely delighted.

“Come on,” Madeline urged, tugging on Emma’s arm. They snaked across the dance floor, which was already sticky with spil ed soda, past the DJ booth, where a few groupies leaned against the table, and into the girls’ locker room. Harsh fluorescent lights shone overhead. The faint odor of sweaty socks and spil ed shampoo lingered in the air.

Madeline sat down on one of the benches and took Emma’s hands. “Are you okay? Do you want to leave?”

Music thumped outside. Emma searched Madeline’s face, realizing Madeline thought she was upset. She wasn’t, not exactly—more like confused. Did Nisha like Garrett? Was that why she hated Sutton?

Emma brushed her hair off her face. “I’m fine,” she said.

“It’s just . . . weird.”

Madeline linked her fingers through Emma’s. “You’re better off without him. Honestly? I didn’t want to tel you this when you guys were going out, but I think Garrett dragged you down. He’s sort of understated, like white bread. And you’re Sutton Mercer—the opposite of ordinary.”