Free The Lying Game by Sara Shepard Page B

hysterically. I sigh and curl my toes under the water. What is Laurel doing here? I didn’t invite her.
    Garrett’s cell phone rings. MOM, says the Caller ID. “I’d better get that,” he murmurs. He pushes out of the spring, water plopping onto the rocks. “Hello?” he says in a gentle voice, disappearing into the trees.
    Madeline rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Garrett’s such a mama’s boy.”
    “It’s not like he doesn’t have a good reason,” Charlotte says in a know-it-all voice. She perches on a rock close to the springs. “I mean, when we were togeth—”
    “Why don’t you get in with us this time, Char?” I interrupt,wanting to cut Charlotte off before she starts in on another one of her I-know-what’s-best-since-I-dated-your-boyfriend-before-you monologues.
    Charlotte pulls her legs away from the water. “I’m fine,” she says prissily.
    I giggle. “C’mon. What’s a little lobster-splotchy skin among friends? I bet some guys find heat hives sexy.”
    Charlotte twists her mouth and moves her bare foot farther away from the water. “I’m fine right here, Sutton.”
    “Suit yourself.” I grab Madeline’s iPhone from a nearby rock. “Picture time! Everyone gather around!”
    All of us squeeze into the frame and I snap the flash. “Good, but not great,” I say when I check the result. “Mads, you’re doing your beauty-queen face again.” I frame my face with my hands and give them an all-I-want-is-world-peace smile.
    Laurel looks over my shoulder. “I’m not in it at all.” She points out her arm, the only part of her body that made it in the photo.
    “I know,” I say. “Iplanned it that way.”
    A heartbroken look crosses Laurel’s face. Madeline and Charlotte shift uncomfortably. After a moment, Charlotte pokes Laurel’s shoulder. “Love the necklace, Laur.”
    Laurel brightens a little. “Thanks! I got it today.”
    “Very pretty,” Madeline chimes in.
    I lean over to see what all the fuss is about. A large silver circle dangles from Laurel’s neck. “Can I see that?” I ask Laurel in the sweetest voice I can muster.
    Laurel looks at me nervously, then leans closer.
    “Pretty.” I trace my finger over the locket. “Pretty familiar.” I narrow my eyes, lift my hair from my neck, and show her the same necklace around my throat. I’d had it forever, but I’d only started wearing it recently. I’d announced to the group that it was going to be my signature necklace, like how Nicole Richie always wears drapey boho dresses or how Kate Moss does the blazer and micro-denim-shorts thing. Laurel was there when I said it, too. She was also there when I’d added that from then on I was never going to take it off. The only way someone was going to get it from me was if they chopped off my head.
    Laurel fiddles with the strap on her bikini top. She’s wearing what I call her slut-kini; the top’s straps are so thin and the triangles so small that she’s practically giving all of us a free peepshow. “It’s not quite the same,” she argues. “Your locket is bigger, see? And mine isn’t even a locket. It doesn’t open.”
    Charlotte squints at my neck, then at Laurel’s. “She’s right, Sutton.”
    “Yeah, they’re different enough,” Madeline agrees.
    I want to fling molten-hot water into their faces. How dare my friends fuss over my sister’s complete lack of originality? It’s bad enough Laurel tagged along with us. It’s bad enough that my friends let her into our club just because they feel sorry for her after Thayer’s disappearance. And it’s really bad enough that my parents—especially my dad—dote on her at home, meanwhile treating me like I’m a bomb about to detonate.
    Before I know what I’m doing, my hand wraps around the locket and I yank the chain from Laurel’s neck. Then I fling it into the woods. There’s a tiny plink of metal bouncing off one of the rocks, and then a nearly inaudible rustling sound as the necklace lands in the