Suddenly, Thayer looks at me. My eyes narrow into slits, but he doesn’t seem to notice. The corners of his mouth spread into a huge, gorgeous grin. And then he winks.
A rush of something goes through me, but I turn away, pretending to fume. “Yes,” I say to Madeline. “He definitely does.”
4
FLEAS AND THANK YOU?
An hour or so later, Madeline, Charlotte, Garrett, and I sit at a picnic table outside the soft pretzel stand, where we’re devouring warm pretzels dusted in cinnamon, sugar, and butter. Some things are totally worth the calories. The smoky tang of barbecue fills the air, and crickets chirp a peaceful rhythm. A toddler wobbles past us clutching a Mylar balloon. Just as I wonder who he belongs to, a tired-looking woman with a weary smile jogs briskly after him, an overstuffed canvas tote banging against her hip as she passes. The air is cool and dry against my skin, and even though crowds around us thrum with energy, I feel relaxed and happy. I bite greedily into my pretzel, washing it down with a tart, icy lemonade.
Char presses her side to Garrett’s and lets out a happy sigh. They’re sharing an ice-cream sundae loaded with hot fudge and whipped cream. Char doesn’t need the calories and she knows it, but like I said—she eats when she’s happy. I consider pointing it out, but then realize it would be too cruel to do it in front of her boyfriend, even for me.
Garrett suddenly leans across the table, eyeing my pretzel. “Can I have a bite?”
I nod, taking another swallow of lemonade. “Go for it.”
He reaches for the pretzel. As he does, his hand grazes my own.
I stiffen slightly. Was that … intentional? Something about Garrett’s fleeting touch felt a little … flirty.
A Mama Bear feeling flares up inside me … alongside a small, smug flicker of satisfaction. I’m not proud of it, but it’s there. Maybe it has to do with being given up for adoption when I was little, but it’s nice to be wanted.
The protective feeling wins out, and I glance at Charlotte, but she’s engrossed in an anecdote of Madeline’s about finding a girl from her ballet class puking behind a port-a-potty earlier. As for Garrett, he’s licking his fingers and peering at something on his phone.
I turn to Madeline, who is finishing her story. “I guess that’s what happens when the only thing you’ve ‘eaten’ all day is an extra-large Diet Coke, spiked!” she cackles, her bun bobbing up and down on top of her head as she laughs. “That bitch has the sloppiest battement in the studio.” She slurps noisily at her own lemonade for good measure.
I lean forward to chime in when, from across the table, Charlotte’s eyes widen at something over my shoulder. “Um, hello there, Scooby-Doo!” Her voice is tinged with surprise.
I twist around on the bench to find my sister with Thayer, giant Scooby in tow. Laurel gazes at him, giggling as he adjusts the massive stuffed animal against his hip.
I bite back a smile. There’s something absurd about seeing strong, built Thayer grappling with a plush cartoon dog that’s practically as big as he is. And I’m totally jealous Thayer won him. That dog was supposed to be mine.
“I guess you weren’t kidding about wanting to win that thing,” Madeline says, toying with her straw.
“Well, I can be pretty determined when I want something,” he says, shrugging.
Underneath the table, Mads pokes me. Get a load of him.
All three of them—Thayer, Laurel, and Scooby—plop down at the end of the table. “Nisha was bummed you didn’t give the Scooby to her, you know,” Laurel says to Thayer, shaking her head. “She was all over you the whole time you were playing.”
Thayer’s face splits open into an easy, cocky grin. “Yeah, well. Can you blame her?”
I roll my eyes at Madeline.
“So who are you going to give it to, dude?” Garrett asks.
There’s a long pause. Thayer laces his hands atop Scooby’s big head. “I guess I sort of have my pick, huh?”
Garrett guffaws loudly. Madeline turns purple. Charlotte pokes me this time, and I pinch her back. The prank is on. So on.
I spin on the picnic bench, folding one knee up into my chest and tilting my head at Thayer. “What do you say to a friendly wager?” I ask, staring him squarely in the eyes.
Thayer arches a quizzical eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“I’m challenging you to another game of Skee-Ball—winner takes Scooby and another stuffed animal. I can be determined when I want something, too.” I layer my voice with meaning.
Thayer shrugs. “Well, Laurel and I were going to hit the bumper cars next, actually. Rain check?”
I open my mouth, then shut it again. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Knowing my friends are watching, I decide to pretend I didn’t mean anything by my challenge. I stand, crumpling up my used napkin and paper plate and stalking toward the trash can. “Whatever.”
But then, suddenly, Thayer is grabbing my hand. His grip is surprisingly warm and firm. All at once, I’m unsteady on my feet. “Sutton,” he says, glancing surreptitiously toward the others on the bench. He pushes Scooby at me. “Promise you’ll give him a good home.”
I stare at the stuffed animal now in my arms. Part of me is thrilled. Thayer played for hours to win Scooby. But then I feel annoyed. Is he only giving me Scooby out of pity, because he didn’t want to take me up on my bet?
“Remember that one year you tried to win him?” he says softly.
I blink at him. Of course. Thayer had been at the fair with Laurel and me, too—he’d just been so quiet I’d barely noticed him. Did he try to win Scooby specifically for me? My heart starts to beat a little faster. I can’t believe he even remembered I liked Scooby, after all these years.
But then I feel ridiculous. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say.
“Yes, you do.” Thayer’s gaze is unbroken. “I know you remember, Sutton. You’re just pretending you’re too cool.”
Unbelievable! The urge to push Scooby back at Thayer rises up inside me, but out of the corner of my eye I see Mads flashing me a subtle thumbs-up from the picnic table. Thayer giving me Scooby is a good thing. It’s a first step in our Lying Game prank.
I turn Scooby over suspiciously. “This thing is probably full of fleas.”
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Thayer says, reaching out and patting Scooby on the head affectionately. “So, do you like him?”
As I reach out and gingerly finger Scooby’s paw, rolling the tufts of his fur between my thumb and forefinger, I realize my fingers are trembling. Then I square my shoulders. “You’re full of crap, you know. You’re only giving me Scooby because you didn’t want to accept my challenge. Because you know you would have lost.” I poke him playfully.
Thayer laughs and meets my gaze. “Maybe,” he answers. “Or maybe not.” And before I can say another word, he winks, then disappears into the crowd with Laurel.
5
NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT
On Monday afternoon, the Lying Game holds an official IM chat to check in about all current works in progress. We take our pranking very seriously. I lean back against the ornate sleigh headboard of my bed, the laptop warm against my legs.
Charlotte, whose IM handle is SexxyRed, types, Are we sure a Thayer prank is enough for our annual kickoff prank?