There’s a wicked twinkle in her brown eyes. “We’re going to Vegas!”
Vegas. An image of the glittering lights of the Strip pops up in my mind involuntarily and I feel a ping of excitement in spite of myself. “That has . . . potential.”
“Right?” Charlotte jiggles up and down excitedly. “It’s the best timing ever, with school ending. Mads and I told our parents that we were going to cheer on the science team at their meet, which just happens to be taking place there this weekend.”
I raise an eyebrow. “We don’t have any friends on the science team.”
“Uh, we know,” Charlotte says. “That’s the point.”
I glance at Madeline. “What about Thayer? Don’t you want to stay here and look for him?”
Madeline shrugs and stares at the carpet. “It’s not going to do any good—it’s not like he’s hanging around Tucson. I know my brother, and he won’t come back until he’s good and ready. Besides, my dad . . .” She trails off, scrunching up her face. It’s obvious what she isn’t saying. Her dad’s temper is getting out of control. Mads probably needs the time away.
A bolt of sympathy cuts through all my frustration and betrayal. A small smile creeps across my face as I warm to the idea. “All right. I’m game.”
“Nice,” Charlotte whispers.
Madeline looks at Laurel. “I told you she’d be into it.”
I’m not thrilled about Mads and Laurel’s private little talks about me, but I try not to think about it. Instead, I see myself escaping Tucson for a while. Wearing a gorgeous gown, playing the slots, drinking martinis on a rooftop bar, hanging poolside in a bikini. Eat your heart out, Thayer, I think. If he wants space, I’ll give him space.
“The Lying Game: Las Vegas.” I reach out to Laurel and shake her hand firmly. “May the best woman win, Baby Sister,” I say, flashing her my most brilliant smile. But inside, I’ve got my game face on. Get ready to go down, Laurel, I think fiercely. By the time this is over, you’ll be sorry you ever asked to be part of this club.
5
GOOD HELP IS SO HARD TO FIND
“Vegas, baby!” Charlotte screams out the window of Floyd, my vintage racing-green Volvo, as I steer it down the Vegas strip on Saturday afternoon. “Yeah!”
It’s midday and tons of people cram the sidewalks. Neon signs blink on and off. A woman with heavily kohl-lined eyes, a Cleopatra wig, and a shimmering, strapless gold tunic totters down the sidewalk on stilts, a sandwich board around her advertising the dinner buffet at the Luxor. Squat, pudgy tourists in sun visors waddle along, gaping at the model Eiffel Tower in front of the Paris Las Vegas Hotel and the caged lions pacing hungrily at the MGM Grand.
My stomach twists with excitement as I soak it all in. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to Vegas, and I have a feeling this trip is really going to be . . . something.
“Vegas, baby!” Madeline sings, too, giving Laurel a happy nudge. That’s the only blip in this mini-vacation: my sister coming along. And somehow, she’s controlled the whole drive so far. What kind of music we listen to. When we stop to pee. She even convinced Madeline to buy coconut water—and Mads vowed she’d never jump on that trend.
I peer into my rearview mirror and see Garrett at the wheel of his SUV behind me. I waggle my fingers at him, and he grins back. When we decided we were going to Vegas for the night, I invited Garrett and his two friends along. I don’t want to spend one second of our time here wondering what Thayer is up to or who he’s with, and Garrett is the perfect thing to take my mind off him.
Besides, Char kind of deserves to squirm a little bit after the stunt she pulled with Laurel. That bogus Sudden Death Clause was her handwriting in the handbook, after all.
Madeline pulls an iPad out of her purse and taps the screen. “Now that we’re here, I think it’s time to review the official rules for the first-ever Lying Game Sudden Death Tournament.” Her silver bangles clatter against each other as she gestures.
I roll my eyes. “Is this from the handbook, too?”
Mads ignores my jab, squinting at something on the iPad. I glance over for a second and see organized boxes and columns.
“Tell me you didn’t make a spreadsheet,” I groan.
“It’s more organized this way,” she retorts. She lowers the volume on the radio and clears her throat. “Okay. It is now”—she glances at the clock on the dashboard—“three P.M. Saturday, Pacific Standard Time. The Sudden Death Competition will consist of five challenges, some spontaneous, some planned, over the next two days, with myself and Charlotte acting as scorekeepers.”
“You’re assuming I trust you,” I grumble.
“You will not know what the challenges are or when they will be invoked,” Madeline talks over me.
I reach over and pinch her arm. “I think you might be taking this a little too seriously.”
“I think you might be a little overconfident, Sutton,” Laurel puts in from the backseat.