Read Online True Lies: A Lying Game Novella by Sara Shepard - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sara Shepard
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full skirt, the boned corset bodice covered in a graffiti heart print, and the flame-red, sausage-curled Victorian wig, the effect is Tim Burton on acid.
I lunge for it on the wall. Another hand touches it at exactly the same time.
“I saw it first,” Laurel growls, tugging the dress toward her.
“You did not!” I leap forward. “It’s mine!”
We each grab on to a pink polka-dotted sleeve and tug violently. “You’re going to rip it,” I hiss.
“No, you are,” Laurel says.
The bracelet Thayer gave her gleams close to my face. I want to lean forward and rip it off her wrist. But instead, I give a sharp pull to the dress. It falls from the wall, still on its hanger, into my arms. Laurel reels back, stumbling onto the carpet. I lord it over her, grinning.
“You lose,” I tease.
Laurel glares at me and straightens back up, brushing a stray blonde tendril from her forehead. “Whatever. Maybe I lost, but at least I’m not a heartless bitch.”
I hug the dress tighter, hearing the fabric rustle. “I’m a heartless bitch? You’re the one who made fun of me at the club with that stupid jilted-bride thing!”
Laurel’s expression crumples. “I thought it was funny. I—I’m sorry. You didn’t?”
I thrust my chin in the air, annoyed that I showed any vulnerability. And please, like Laurel really didn’t know how mean she was being? “It was lame, Laurel, just like you are.”
Laurel blinks hard. “Sutton, why don’t you want me in the club?”
She’s leaning against a rack of flesh-colored bodysuits, suddenly looking small and wounded. It’s such a direct question that it knocks me off guard. “Because I don’t think you deserve it,” I snap. “Besides, why do you want in so bad?”
Two red spots bloom on Laurel’s cheeks. “Isn’t it obvious?”
I shrug. Maybe it is obvious. We’re the club to be part of. And more than that, Laurel has to steal everything of mine. All the affection. All the attention. And now this, too.
But then, ducking her head, Laurel says, “I miss being friends with you.”
I step back, blinking hard. “Huh?”
“Like we used to be. We had so much fun. I . . . miss that.”
My arms go slack and my mouth drops open. As I struggle to regain my composure, the salesclerk pops up, bobbing in front of us nervously. “Everything okay here? Would you like a fitting room for that?” She eyes the Queen of Hearts dress in my hands.
Laurel brightens. “She totally wants a fitting room! Sutton, you have to try it on.”
I look at her curiously. Why is she being so nice now? I glance at my watch—the five minutes are probably almost up. “I don’t need to try it on, I just want to buy it,” I start to say, but the salesgirl has already taken the dress from me. The minute she turns, Laurel speeds over to her, snatching the dress. She holds it over her head in victory.
“You bitch!” I scream, lunging after her. But it’s too late—Laurel already has it on the counter, and she’s whipped out her credit card. I can’t believe her composure, and I wonder: Was everything she just said about wanting to be friends again just to disarm me a little?
Fuming, I scan the floor for something I might have missed. And then I spy a perfect latex replica of Lady Gaga’s meat dress, glistening with a coat of wax that renders it completely grotesque and lifelike.
Nice. Without missing a beat, I duck behind a tall rack of fishnet and marabou accessories, shamelessly shimmy out of my strappy sundress, and shrug the plastic meat down the length of my body. It looks ridiculous, but also kind of awesome.
“Here,” I say to another salesgirl who is prowling behind me, about to tell me I can’t change clothes in the middle of the store. “I’m taking this.” I dig into my wallet, pull out a fistful of twenty-dollar bills, and shove them at her, and run outside.
Mads and Charlotte are both bent over their phones, distracted, when I step outside. When they see me,
I lunge for it on the wall. Another hand touches it at exactly the same time.
“I saw it first,” Laurel growls, tugging the dress toward her.
“You did not!” I leap forward. “It’s mine!”
We each grab on to a pink polka-dotted sleeve and tug violently. “You’re going to rip it,” I hiss.
“No, you are,” Laurel says.
The bracelet Thayer gave her gleams close to my face. I want to lean forward and rip it off her wrist. But instead, I give a sharp pull to the dress. It falls from the wall, still on its hanger, into my arms. Laurel reels back, stumbling onto the carpet. I lord it over her, grinning.
“You lose,” I tease.
Laurel glares at me and straightens back up, brushing a stray blonde tendril from her forehead. “Whatever. Maybe I lost, but at least I’m not a heartless bitch.”
I hug the dress tighter, hearing the fabric rustle. “I’m a heartless bitch? You’re the one who made fun of me at the club with that stupid jilted-bride thing!”
Laurel’s expression crumples. “I thought it was funny. I—I’m sorry. You didn’t?”
I thrust my chin in the air, annoyed that I showed any vulnerability. And please, like Laurel really didn’t know how mean she was being? “It was lame, Laurel, just like you are.”
Laurel blinks hard. “Sutton, why don’t you want me in the club?”
She’s leaning against a rack of flesh-colored bodysuits, suddenly looking small and wounded. It’s such a direct question that it knocks me off guard. “Because I don’t think you deserve it,” I snap. “Besides, why do you want in so bad?”
Two red spots bloom on Laurel’s cheeks. “Isn’t it obvious?”
I shrug. Maybe it is obvious. We’re the club to be part of. And more than that, Laurel has to steal everything of mine. All the affection. All the attention. And now this, too.
But then, ducking her head, Laurel says, “I miss being friends with you.”
I step back, blinking hard. “Huh?”
“Like we used to be. We had so much fun. I . . . miss that.”
My arms go slack and my mouth drops open. As I struggle to regain my composure, the salesclerk pops up, bobbing in front of us nervously. “Everything okay here? Would you like a fitting room for that?” She eyes the Queen of Hearts dress in my hands.
Laurel brightens. “She totally wants a fitting room! Sutton, you have to try it on.”
I look at her curiously. Why is she being so nice now? I glance at my watch—the five minutes are probably almost up. “I don’t need to try it on, I just want to buy it,” I start to say, but the salesgirl has already taken the dress from me. The minute she turns, Laurel speeds over to her, snatching the dress. She holds it over her head in victory.
“You bitch!” I scream, lunging after her. But it’s too late—Laurel already has it on the counter, and she’s whipped out her credit card. I can’t believe her composure, and I wonder: Was everything she just said about wanting to be friends again just to disarm me a little?
Fuming, I scan the floor for something I might have missed. And then I spy a perfect latex replica of Lady Gaga’s meat dress, glistening with a coat of wax that renders it completely grotesque and lifelike.
Nice. Without missing a beat, I duck behind a tall rack of fishnet and marabou accessories, shamelessly shimmy out of my strappy sundress, and shrug the plastic meat down the length of my body. It looks ridiculous, but also kind of awesome.
“Here,” I say to another salesgirl who is prowling behind me, about to tell me I can’t change clothes in the middle of the store. “I’m taking this.” I dig into my wallet, pull out a fistful of twenty-dollar bills, and shove them at her, and run outside.
Mads and Charlotte are both bent over their phones, distracted, when I step outside. When they see me,
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