Madeline murmured, sidling up to Emma. Her gaze was on the table, too. “Casa Banerjee has gone downhill since Nisha’s mom died. Her dad’s so oblivious these days, Nisha could probably have crack pipes as door prizes and he wouldn’t notice.”
Someone touched her arm. “Hey, Sutton,” called a tall, buff, captain-of-a-sports-team type. Emma smiled broadly. A petite dark-haired girl waved at Emma from the drinks table by the French doors. “Your dress is so pretty!” she cooed. “Is it BCBG?”
Emma couldn’t help but feel a tiny twinge of jealousy. Not only did Sutton have a family, but she was wildly popular, too. How come Emma had gotten such a crappy life and Sutton had gotten the great one?
I wasn’t sure about that, considering Emma was alive and I wasn’t.
More kids passed by, brightening when they saw her. Emma grinned and waved and laughed, feeling like a princess greeting her loyal subjects. It felt freeing and almost . . . fun. She understood why sometimes the shyest kids could climb onstage in school plays and completely lose their inhibitions.
“There you are,” growled a sexy voice in Emma’s ear. Emma whirled around to see a handsome blond guy in a gray fitted polo and long khaki-green shorts. A familiar Facebook photo shimmered into her mind: Garrett, Sutton’s boyfriend.
“I haven’t heard from you all day.” Garrett handed Emma a red plastic cup filled with liquid. “I called, I texted . . . where have you been?”
“I’m right here!” I wanted to scream. Brief flashes of kisses, hand-holding, and prom slow dances with Garrett flitted in and out of my brain. I distinctly heard the words I love you. A longing feeling struck me hard.
“Oh, around,” Emma answered vaguely. “But someone’s got to cut the cord a little, don’t you think?” she added, poking Garrett lightly in the ribs. It was something Emma had always been dying to tell every overprotective boyfriend she’d had in the past, the kind who texted her nonstop and freaked if she didn’t immediately reply. Plus it sounded like something Sutton might say.
Garrett pulled her close and stroked her hair. “Good thing I found you.” His hand moved from her hair to her shoulder, then dangerously close to her boob.
“Um . . .” Emma jerked away.
I was so happy she did.
Garrett raised his palms in surrender. “Sorry, sorry.”
Then her BlackBerry vibrated against her hip. Her heart leapt. Sutton.
“Be right back,” she said to Garrett. He nodded, and Emma wove through the crowds of people toward the house. When Garrett turned to talk to a tall Asian guy in a World Cup jersey, Emma crouched low and darted to the side gate.
She turned to glance at the party once more and noticed someone staring at her from the large teak table across the patio. It was a dark-skinned girl with big eyes and a tightly drawn mouth. She wore a yellow wrap dress and a gold cuff on her bicep. It was Nisha, from Sutton’s tennis team photo. This was her party. She stared at Emma as though she wanted to hoist her by the scruff of her neck and throw her out on her butt.
Even though every ounce of Emma’s be-nice-and-don’t-make-trouble being wanted to wave and smile, she steeled herself, thought of Sutton, and shot Nisha a bitchy look. Outrage flashed across Nisha’s face. After a moment, she whipped her head around, her ponytail smacking the face of the girl behind her.
A cautious feeling flitted through me. Nisha and I clearly had issues—big issues.
Not that I had a clue what they were.
Chapter 6
WHO CAN RESIST A BROODER?
Nisha’s driveway was quiet and peaceful. Crickets chirped in the bushes, and the air was cool against Emma’s bare skin. Bluish light from a TV flickered in the window of a house a few doors down. A dog barked behind a block-wall fence. Emma’s pulse began to slow, and her shoulders slowly fell from their crunched position by her ears. She pulled out the BlackBerry and stared at the screen. The message was from Clarice: GOT YOUR NOTE. EVERYTHING OKAY? LET ME KNOW IF YOU NEED ANYTHING.
Emma deleted the message, then refreshed her inbox again. No new messages. Then she looked across the broad highway. A big floodlight shone across the Sabino parking lot. Emma gulped. The park bench was now empty. Had someone taken her stuff? Where was Sutton? And what was she supposed to do when this party ended? Her wallet had been in her bag. Now she had no cash. No ID.
Swish. Emma turned around and faced Nisha’s house. No one was in the driveway. Then, a stiff thwock echoed through the air, a soda can opening. Emma pivoted again. A figure stood on the front porch of the house next door. There was a large telescope by his side, but he was staring straight into Emma’s eyes.
Emma backed away. “Oh. Sorry.”
The guy stepped forward, his prominent cheekbones catching the light. Emma took in his round eyes, thick eyebrows, and closely shorn hair. His mouth was drawn into a straight, tense line that seemed to say back off. He was dressed more casually than the boys at the party, wearing frayed hiking shorts and a threadbare gray T-shirt that showed every contour of his well-muscled chest.
I recognized him, but of course—I should’ve been getting used to this by now—I didn’t know why.
Giggles emerged from Nisha’s backyard. Emma glanced over her shoulder, then back at the boy. She was intrigued by his sullen slouch, and by the fact that he didn’t seem to care that a party was raging next door. She’d always been a sucker for the brooding type. “Why aren’t you at the party?” she asked.
The guy just stared at her, his eyes two huge moons.
Emma walked down the sidewalk until she was right in front of his house. “What are you looking at?” She gestured to the telescope.
He didn’t blink. “Venus?” Emma guessed. “The Big Dipper?”
A small noise escaped from his throat. He ran his hand against the back of his neck and turned away. Finally Emma pivoted on her heel. “Fine,” she said, trying to sound as breezy as possible. “Hang out by yourself. I don’t care.”
“The Perseids, Sutton.”
Emma turned back to him. So he knew Sutton, too. “What are the Perseids?” she asked.
He curled his hands around the porch railing. “It’s a meteor shower.”
Emma crossed toward him. “Can I see?”
The guy stood motionless as Emma walked through the yard. His house was a small, sand-colored bungalow with a carport instead of a garage. A few cacti lined the curb. Up close, he smelled like root beer. The porch light shone down on his face, revealing striking blue eyes. A plate containing a half-eaten sandwich was on the porch swing, and two leather-bound books were on the ground. The tattered cover of the first book said The Collected Poetry of William Carlos Williams. Emma had never met a cute guy who read poetry—not one who’d admit it, anyway.
Finally he looked down, adjusted the telescope lens to Emma’s height, and stepped out of the way. Emma stooped to the eyepiece. “Since when did you become an astronomer?” he asked.
“Since
