later, the electricity powered back on, flooding the court with light and illuminating a figure standing at the edge of the court.
Emma screamed.
The figure whipped around and screamed, too. But then Emma saw who it was: Nisha Banerjee, Sutton’s rival and tennis cocaptain. Emma collapsed against the fence, pressing her hands to her eyes. “Nisha! You scared the shit out of me!”
“You were the one lurking on the court in the dark!” Nisha cried. For a moment, she looked furious, but then she dissolved into giggles. “God. We both screamed like six-year-olds who just saw their first horror movie.”
“I know.” Emma breathed out, willing her heart to slow down. “We’re pathetic, huh?”
Nisha took a few steps toward her. She was wearing a red Adidas tennis dress and matching wrist sweatbands. Her pristine sneakers were tied with tiny bows and her black hair was tucked behind a violet-colored headband. But even though she looked perfect, her eyes were glassy, and her fingers trembled ever so slightly. Nisha was not someone who liked being even the slightest bit out of control.
“You playing solo?” Nisha asked.
Emma nodded.
“Oh. I was going to do that, too,” Nisha said. She ducked her head and tucked her racket under her arm. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”
But then she gave Emma a long glance. Her brown eyes looked tired, and there were sloping circles beneath them. Emma softened. She was so used to sparring with Nisha, but right now, the girl looked weary and a little bit shy.
She looked different to me, too. It was strange seeing people from such a removed perspective, like everything I’d once thought to be true about them was nothing more than a carefully constructed facade.
Emma cleared her throat. “Why aren’t you playing at the courts closer to your house?” Nisha lived near Sabino Canyon, and Emma had seen a court at the entrance to her neighborhood.
Nisha shrugged. “It was crowded. And I felt like being alone.”
Emma spun her racket in her hand. “Well, since we’re both here, do you want to volley?”
Nisha’s jaw twitched. Emma could tell by the tiny flutter of her eyelashes that Nisha had wanted her to ask exactly that. “Um, sure,” she said, playing it cool. “If you want.”
“I do,” Emma said, realizing it was true. She had never seen the girl look vulnerable, and something about it struck a chord. But there was something else she’d thought of, too: Nisha had been Laurel’s alibi on August thirty-first, the night Sutton went missing. She’d told Emma that Laurel had been at her house the whole night, when Laurel definitely hadn’t. Had Nisha lied? Or had Laurel snuck out after Nisha had fallen asleep?
They strolled to opposite sides of the court. Nisha adjusted her tennis skirt, and Emma snickered. “I have to say. Only you would dress like Serena Williams on a dark and abandoned court, Nisha,” she teased, tossing the ball high in the air and whacking it hard.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Nisha said as the ball whizzed toward her. She slammed the ball hard. Emma lunged for it, but it flew past her, clanking against the chain-link fence.
“Fair enough.” Emma laughed. “Love-fifteen,” she said, trotting over to retrieve the ball. This time she hit a mild shot over the net, which Nisha easily returned, setting the tone for a friendly volley.
They played a few rounds, both of them remarking how amazing it was that they still had energy after today’s grueling practice. After Emma hit a backhand into the net, Nisha took a break to drink from her water bottle. “I hear you’re dating Ethan Landry.”
“That’s right,” Emma said, blushing a little.
Nisha wiped her mouth. “So he actually talks, then?”
“Sure he talks. A lot.”
“That’s news to me.” Nisha placed her water bottle on the bench. “My mom used to call him Silent E. We took the same bus, and he never said one word to me—or anyone—the entire eighth-grade school year.”
“He’s just shy,” Emma mumbled, having forgotten that Nisha and Ethan were neighbors. It hurt to hear about Ethan’s quiet days. She hated that he hadn’t had many friends.
“Well, shy’s cool.” Nisha swung her legs, then gave Emma a jealous glance. “And he’s certainly gorgeous.”
That was more like it. “I know,” Emma said, shivering with pleasure, thinking about the kisses she’d shared with Ethan at the planetarium last night. “What’s going on with you and Garrett?” Nisha had shown up with Sutton’s ex at the Homecoming Dance a few weeks ago, looking very pleased with herself.
Nisha shrugged. “Nothing really.” Then she took another sip of water and changed the subject. “Remember when we were little, and we used to count how many shots we could get back and forth before one of us messed up?” she asked. “Our own world records,” she went on, deepening her voice to sound like a sports announcer.
Emma smiled to herself. For as many items she’d put on the Ways I’m Not Sutton list, there were so many quirky things they did that were just the same. She’d counted volleys with her Russian foster brother, Stephan, when they’d played endless rounds of ping-pong in the basement. Even now she often found herself counting in practice and matches out of habit.
“That feels like an eternity ago,” Nisha went on. “I always liked it when you and Laurel included me.” Then her lips tightened, like she’d said too much. She took a hard pull from the water bottle. “Anyway,” she said toughly. “Ready for me to whip your ass some more?”
But Emma didn’t move. “It’s lonely to be an only child,” she said softly.
Nisha looked at her sharply. “It’s not like you’d know. You have Laurel.”
Emma bit her lip and looked away. She’d been talking about herself, of course—even with all of her foster brothers and sisters, she still felt adrift and alone. She’d longed for a brother or a sister—family of some kind. It was one of those moments where she wanted to tell Nisha about her experience, but couldn’t.
Then Nisha sighed. “But you’re right, it is lonely. Especially now that my mom is…gone. I love my dad, but he’s not exactly great company.”
Emma nodded. She knew that Nisha’s mom had died over the summer, but Nisha had never once mentioned it. Right now, though, it seemed like she wanted to talk about it. Like she wanted someone to listen.
“You guys were really close, huh?” Emma asked.
A cloud passed over the moon. A roadrunner darted across the parking lot. Nisha traced the Nike logo on her water bottle. “We loved to cook together and make these massive Indian feasts. My mom thought I was too thin. She was always trying to fatten me up.”
“That seems to be a mom thing,” Emma said, thinking of Grandma Mercer and her son. “Do you still…talk to her?”
Nisha gave Emma a strange look, her face reddening. “How did you know?”
Emma stared
