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are frayed, his flannel shirt is untucked, and his slip-on tennis sneakers are scuffed and covered with ballpoint pen doodles. He’s looking at me with the same sort of wonder as every other guy in the lobby. Then he lowers his eyes, seeming suddenly embarrassed.
    I clear my throat. “Ethan, right?” I say, even though I know full well who he is.
    Ethan Landry and I are in the same grade at Hollier. I’ve always thought he was cute, with his soulful eyes and quiet, emo-boy demeanor. Now, though, in the glamorous lobby, he just looks young and immature.
    He blinks. “What are you doing here?”
    The fountain shoots up a stream of pink-tinted water behind us. “Road trip,” I say. “You know. What are you doing here?”
    “Oh, uh, I’m here for the science bowl,” Ethan says. He gestures to a banner above the door to a ballroom. Science Bowl Arizona , it says. The prize for the winning team is five thousand dollars.
    The science bowl. The one we all told our parents we’d be cheering our friends on in. I didn’t think I’d actually know anyone participating in it, though.
    “Well, good luck,” I say.
    Ethan sniffs, staring at me skeptically. Guilt flows through my veins. My friends and I pulled a trick on Ethan a few years ago that kept him from winning a prestigious science scholarship that would have sent him to a private school in Phoenix. It had been amazing—we’d laughed for days. But it had cost him. He would have won way more than the measly five thousand dollars he would have to split with his teammates at this science competition. But whatever. All’s fair in love and the Lying Game.
    Shrugging, I offer Ethan a wave, murmur goodbye, and head for the spa. Garrett texted me an hour ago saying he booked the two of us a private treatment room. We’re taking a re-mineralizer soak, which, according to the spa pamphlet, removes toxins from your body and promotes relaxation. Which is exactly what I need.
    I march into the spa lobby, and the girls at the counter wave me to the back room, where Garrett is already waiting. As I walk down a long hall, the air is filled with the crisp scent of eucalyptus, and I can feel my heart rate slowing already. New Age music pipes softly in the background, and the lighting is dark and soothing.
    I push through the fourth door on the right. Inside, tons of candles flicker in the corners. There’s a round tub in the middle, steam rising from its center. Garrett is in the water, his arms draped over the sides, his buff shoulders and chest gleaming in the steamy air. There’s a look of calm on his face.
    When he sees me, he brightens. “You made it.”
    “I made it,” I say, suddenly feeling shy.
    I remove my locket from around my neck, place it on a towel, unwrap my sarong, and then step into the tub. The water is the perfect temperature, and the cucumber-scented salts instantly calm me. I slide in the whole way and shut my eyes for a moment. “I can practically feel the toxins leaving my body,” I say softly. Then I open my eyes and look at Garrett. “Thanks for organizing this.”
    “You’re welcome.” Garrett looks bashful. “Thank you for inviting me to Vegas.” He clears his throat. “To be honest, I didn’t know we were at that stage, but I’m glad we are.”
    I concentrate on a big bubble near my knee, feeling a guilty twinge. It’s not like I can tell Garrett I invited him half for revenge and half for distraction. So I float closer to him. “I think we’re going to have a lot of fun together.”
    “I like fun,” Garrett whispers back. “And I’m always up for a little blackjack, maybe some craps.”
    “I don’t know how to play craps,” I admit.
    Garrett looks astonished. “Sutton Mercer doesn’t know how to play craps? Well, we’ll have to change that. I’ll teach you—I’m a master.”
    I snort. “You’re not old enough to be a master. Unless you’ve been sneaking into casinos since you were twelve.”
    He smiles. “No, but my