Mrs. Mercer leaned back in her chair and ran her fingers along a pineapple-printed dish towel. “Sometimes, actions speak louder than words. Show him that you’re sorry, and hopefully everything will fall back in place. Just be the best Sutton you can be. He’s got to understand that people make mistakes sometimes. And if he can’t forgive you, he’s not worth keeping around.”

Emma thought about this for a moment. Sutton’s mom was right: She’d just made a mistake, nothing more. And maybe she couldn’t be the best Sutton she could be, but she could definitely be the best Emma. Ethan had said Emma had forgotten who she was—the nice twin. With so much going on, it was hard to maintain her identity—and know what she wanted. Emma’s needs felt so secondary in comparison to what happened to Sutton. Wanting anything beyond staying alive and solving her sister’s murder seemed like such a luxury.

She sat up straighter, a firm sense of resolve settling over her. She just needed to stick to her plan. She was going to prove that Thayer murdered her sister. That way, she could go back to being Emma Paxton. But in the meantime, she was going to behave in a way she could be proud of, even if her actions weren’t one hundred percent Sutton-like.

Emma stood up and hugged Mrs. Mercer. “Thanks, Mom. That was just what I needed to hear.” Mrs. Mercer hugged her for a moment, then leaned back and looked at the girl she thought was her daughter with surprise. “That’s the first time you’ve ever thanked me for giving you advice.”

“Well, maybe I should have thanked you a long time ago.”

As my mom corralled Drake and led him back up the stairs, I felt a guilty pang. Given what my mother had just said, and what I’d already gleaned about my relationship with my parents, I doubted my mom and I had ever had late-night heart-to-hearts when I was alive. I didn’t value my parents’ opinions at all, and maybe that was a mistake—

yet another in a long list of regrets I couldn’t rectify.

I turned my attention back to Emma, who was sitting with her chin cupped in her hand, a distant smile on her face. Even though I knew it was wrong, a bitter edge of resentment flowed through me. Emma was having trouble remembering who she was, but at least she still had a body, an identity. Actually, she had two identities—hers and mine. And now she had to live for the both of us.

22

SEEK AND YE SHALL

FIND

For the next two days, Emma tried to stick with her decision, keep her head up, and do random acts of Emma Kindness, even if they weren’t completely Sutton-esque.

She retweeted the Twitter Twins’ latest posts about the difficulty of finding clothes worthy of their hotness with an LOL. She complimented Charlotte’s backhand during tennis practice. She even told Nisha Banerjee that her hair tie was cute. Nisha had looked astonished—and a little suspicious

—but thanked Emma.

Emma hadn’t had any success with Ethan or Laurel, though. On Wednesday she’d let Laurel have the last pomegranate-flavored yogurt in the fridge compartment in the cafeteria line, knowing it was Laurel’s favorite, but Laurel just grunted and greedily took it. When Emma caught sight of Ethan in the hall, he’d yanked his backpack higher on his shoulder and darted across the hall to avoid her.

On Thursday after tennis practice she scanned the cars in the parking lot and realized that a certain VW wasn’t in its regular parking space. She let out a long groan.

“Laurel ditch you again?” Madeline appeared behind Emma, carrying a stack of books. Her blue eyes were bright and feather earrings grazed her shoulders.

“Yep,” Emma said, unable to hide her irritation. “She’s being a real bitch this week.”

Madeline let out the first real laugh Emma had heard from her in weeks. “She sure is.” She touched Emma’s elbow. “Don’t worry. She’ll get over it. I did.” Two freshman boys passed behind her, clutching Roller-blades and elbowing each other. One caught Emma’s eye and his face broke into a massive grin. He nodded in her direction and picked up his hand in a slow wave. Emma smiled back in another act of Emma Kindness.

Madeline pulled her car keys out of her leather purse.

“Want a ride home?”

Emma eyed Madeline’s keychain. “Actually I’m just going to the police station. I’m going to finally get my car.” Madeline flinched a little at the words police station, then frowned. “Isn’t it at the impound?”

A dart of nerves shot through Emma’s stomach.

Sutton’s friends thought that her car had been impounded because she racked up too many tickets and she simply hadn’t picked it up yet. They didn’t know Sutton had retrieved her car the day she died. Or used it to pick up Thayer. Or perhaps hit Thayer with it.

“Uh, the impound was full, so they moved it to the lot behind the police station,” Emma fudged, crossing her fingers that Madeline would buy it. She hated lying, but she wasn’t about to say that Sutton’s car was actually in evidence with Madeline’s brother’s blood on it. Luckily, Madeline just shrugged and unlocked her SUV with two loud bleep s.

“Get in. I’ll save you the two-block walk.” Emma climbed in, resting her bag on her lap.

“So, excited for Charlotte’s tomorrow?” Madeline asked as she turned the ignition. “It’s been a while since we’ve had a dinner at the Chamberlains’. I’ve missed Cornelia’s cooking. Wouldn’t it be amazing to have a personal chef?”

Emma made an mm of agreement, remembering that the girls had arranged to spend the evening at Charlotte’s for dinner. She wasn’t surprised the Chamberlains had a personal chef—their house was enormous.

“Of course, I shouldn’t say that.” Madeline made a wry face. “If my dad heard me talking about how much I wanted a personal chef, he’d probably say I was acting spoiled and greedy.” She rolled her eyes and tried to laugh lightly, but her face kind of crumpled.

Emma pulled her bottom lip into her mouth, sensing Madeline’s pain. “You know, if you want to talk more about your dad, I’m here.”

“Thanks,” Madeline said softly. She reached into her hot pink metal ic Not Rational handbag, yanked her sunglasses from their case, and slipped them over her eyes.

“Is everything going okay? Is it getting better?” Emma pressed.

Madeline waited until she left the parking lot before she spoke again. “It’s pretty much the same, I guess. I hate going home. My dad stomps around everywhere and he and my mom aren’t talking right now. I don’t think they’re even sleeping in the same room.” Her glossy lips tightened into a straight line.

“You’re always welcome at my house, you know,” Emma offered.

Madeline looked at her gratefully. “Thank you,” she breathed. Then she touched Emma’s arm. “You’ve never offered that before.”

I felt a zing of annoyance. I would have offered if I would have known Madeline needed it.

A minute later they pulled up to the precinct, and Madeline dropped Emma off at the curb. “Sutton?” she said, leaning out the window. “I’m really glad we made up. I probably don’t say it enough, but you’re my best friend.”

“I’m so glad, too,” Emma said, her heart warming.

When she went inside, the same receptionist who had been there the last time looked up from her tabloid and considered Emma. “You again?” she asked in a bored voice.

How professional. “I’m here to pick up my car from evidence,” Emma said crisply.

The receptionist turned and picked up the receiver of her phone. “One moment.”

Emma pivoted and stared at the bulletin board. The MISSING poster of Thayer had been taken down and replaced with an advertisement for HECTOR, THE HONEST

MECHANIC YOU TELL YOUR FRIENDS ABOUT.

After a moment, the receptionist pointed outside where a squat guard stood in front of a chain-link fence.

“Officer Moriarty will help you,” she said, twisting her tongue to blow a purple bubble. A sugary grape smell wafted through the air of the waiting room.

Emma walked back outside, met up with Officer Moriarty, and signed the paperwork for Sutton’s car. Officer Moriarty unlocked the fence and led her down a dusty row of vehicles. BMWs and Range Rovers sat proudly next to broken-down clunkers that looked like they wouldn’t make it another five miles.

“Here we are,” Officer Moriarty said, gesturing to a green vintage car with brightly polished chrome. Emma took in the car, impressed. It had sleek lines and a retro feel, the kind of car she might have chosen herself if she could’ve afforded one. It was beyond cool.

O f course it was cool. I squealed as I saw my car again. But the feeling was bittersweet. I couldn’t feel the soft leather against my thighs as I sat in the driver’s seat. I couldn’t shift gears and feel the car respond. I couldn’t feel the wind in my hair as I drove down Route 10 with the windows down.

Emma took the keys from the cop. She inspected the exterior of the car, looking for the tell tale blood the cops had found, but she saw nothing beyond a slight dent where Sutton had probably made contact with Thayer’s leg.

Perhaps they’d cleaned it off. Then she opened the driver’s door and plopped down on the leather seat. A strange sensation came over her. Something about this car felt so distinctly Sutton, as though her twin were suddenly present.

She shut her eyes and could almost picture her twin behind the wheel, tossing her hair, and laughing at something Charlotte or Madeline said. Emma toyed with a silver guardian angel charm that hung on the rearview mirror, swearing she could smell a trace of Sutton’s perfume lingering in the air. She knew how much it would’ve annoyed her twin for the car to be in the police department’s probing hands.

I’ll take good care of her for you, Emma thought as she tapped her fingers on the leather-wrapped steering wheel.

I smiled. She’d better.

Knuckles rapped the glass. Emma flinched and looked up to see Officer Moriarty. She slowly rolled down the window.

“Can I help you with anything else, Miss Mercer?” he asked gruffly.

“No, officer, I’m fine,” Emma said, forcing an innocent, trust-me tone into her voice. “Thanks so much for your help.”

“Then it’s best if you left the premises,” the officer said, his thumb hooked through a belt loop.

Emma nodded and rolled up the window, then eased the key into the ignition. She didn’t need to adjust the mirror or the seats—they fit her perfectly, just like they’d fit Sutton.

As she was pulling out of the lot, something on the seat next to her caught her eye. There was something lodged in the leather crease where the back of the seat met the bottom. It looked like a tiny piece of paper.

She drove down the road until the police station was out of view, then pulled over at the curb and put the car in park. Her attention turned to the paper wedged in the seat.

She pulled at it, her brow wrinkled. Finally, it broke free. It was a tiny scrap of paper with the words DR. SHELDON ROSE

scrawled across it. She recognized the angular writing immediately from the letter she’d found at the bottom of Sutton’s sports locker. It was Thayer’s.