The Liar Society

by Lisa Roecker

  A few new messages had appeared in my inbox, but there was only one I cared to read.

  To: KateLowry@pemberlybrown.edu

  Sent: Sun 2:43 PM

  From: GraceLee@pemberlybrown.edu

  Subject: (no subject)

  Thank you.

  Warm tears trailed down my cheeks, and I marveled that I still had any left. After everything that had happened, after investigating each of Taylor’s clues and hoping to get my best friend back, after picking up the pieces of my broken heart again and again, I sat and I cried. I cried for Grace, and I cried for me. I even cried for Maddie. And when the tears finally stopped, I was able to read the email again.

  On some level, I knew the words had to be Taylor’s. But an image of the girl in the plaid skirt who had guided me over the past few weeks flashed in my mind. And just like that, the words became Grace’s. One last message from the friend I’d lost forever.

  I grabbed my favorite picture of Maddie, Grace, and me, tucked the frame into the inside pocket of my parka, and pulled the coat over my shoulders. Despite the thin layer of snow on the ground, I yanked my bike from inside the garage. I didn’t feel like asking anyone for a ride, so I’d just have to hope the streets were clear enough to ride.

  As I rode, the wind bit at my ears and made my eyes water. Luckily, I didn’t have far to go. My wheels slid a little as I made my turn and even more when I went to brake, but at least I made it without falling down. I leaned my bike against one of the huge oak trees and walked through the fresh snow to Grace’s grave.

  In loving memory of Grace Elizabeth Lee, beloved daughter and friend. “Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God.”

  I ran my fingers over Grace’s name and reached into my pocket for the frame. I set it down near fresh flowers and looked at the girl I used to be.

  “I miss you, Grace. I’ll always miss you.” I whispered the words, for once not feeling stupid for talking to a ghost. After I’d wiped away most of my tears, I straightened and turned to leave.

  But there stood Taylor. Her head was bent to give me privacy, and she tugged at the fingers of her gloves.

  “Hey.” My voice cracked coming out, and I realized that aside from crying, I hadn’t said much of anything that day.

  Taylor lifted her head and dropped her hands to her sides. “I told them the truth, you know.” She clenched and unclenched her gloved fingers. “Detective Livingston, I mean. I told him about Alistair, the fire, everything. He wrote it all down and then thanked me and said sometimes accidents happen. That we have no control over some things. And he let me go home. That was it.”

  “What about Maddie?” I asked.

  Taylor wiped beneath her nose.

  “I heard they let her go too.”

  We stood for a second without much more to say, so I nodded my head and walked back to my bike.

  “Um, Kate?” Taylor’s voice shook a little bit. “I also wanted to give you this.” She held out a creamy white envelope and turned around to go. When I pulled out the card inside, I saw the crest that had become all too familiar. The symbol for shared secrets, unity, maybe even second chances.

  The artist had used maroon-colored wax to carefully etch the crest of the Sisterhood on the creamy card stock. I ran my fingers over the image. It was smooth. Perfect.

  On the back, Taylor had printed “Better late than never.”

  “Wait,” I called out. Taylor stopped but didn’t turn around. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not interested in pledging. Right now I need to figure things out on my own.” I placed the card back in her gloved hand and walked back to my bike, still leaning against the tree where I had left it.

  “Kate,” she called. I turned around and met Taylor’s clear eyes once again. They were glassy with unshed tears. “I’m sorry. About Grace, I mean.” She adjusted the sleeves of her jacket. “It was never supposed to happen that way.”

  I stared down at the frozen ground, trying to steady my voice. “Yeah, I’m starting to understand that.”

  Taylor turned and walked toward the cemetery gate.

  Life was never going to be the same without Grace. I stole one last glance at the three laughing girls in the photo and realized I would never be that girl again.

  But I think I was finally ready to give this new Kate a chance. She deserved it.

  Acknowledgments

  When we set out to write books together we had no idea what we were getting into. Publishing is a tough business. But luckily it comes complete with some of the most amazing people we’ve (n)ever met.

  To our incredible agent, Catherine Drayton, you saw promise in our work and never lost faith in us or in Kate. Thank you for telling us our original title was “wet,” talking us off ledges, making us laugh, and cheering us on.

  To our editors—Dan Ehrenhaft for giving us a chance, Kelly Barrales-Saylor and Leah Hultenschmidt for pushing us to make this book the best it can be. To Kristin Zelazko, production editor extraordinaire, who helped us walk the fine line between bad grammar and voice. To Mallory Kaster for contributing to hundreds of covers and finally finding one that is so totally Kate. Thank you to the entire team at Sourcebooks for believing in our work and putting up with our crazy ideas (we’re looking at you, Paul Samuelson).

  To all of our amazing writer friends—Loretta Nyhan, there is absolutely no way we could do this without you. Not only are you the original beta ninja, but you are an incredible friend. To Elana Johnson for reading our first draft and including us in all of your grand schemes. To Scott Tracey and Beth Revis for ripping into our millionth revision and pushing us even further. To Joanna Stampfel-Volpe for being one of the nicest, most supportive people in publishing and hooking us up with an incredible network of writers. To Katie Anderson, Sarah-Frances Hardy, and Jeanette Schneider for clicking onto our blog and into our lives. To all of our amazing blog readers, thank you for coming back every day and reading our randomness. Your comments are the highlight of our day. To the Hopefuls, the WriteOnCon team, the Elevensies, the Bookinistas, and our YA book club for helping us find our place in the writing community. And to Kiri for fixing our bastardized Latin. Apparently free online translators don’t work. Good to know.

  To Dianne Caywood, Tara McKendry, Sarah Berg, and Zack and Casie Markwell for reading our first doomed manuscript and “loving it.” To Rick and Sarah Jackson and Erik Vaughan for being willing readers. And Alex, Emma, and Rachel, our first readers of the YA variety. To our grandma, Josephine Trinetti, for reading our blog every single day and saying enough novenas to land us a book deal. And Liz Stropki, our one-woman publicity team who never leaves home without our business card. To all of our friends and family, thank you for supporting our double lives as writers.

  To our dad, Mike Roecker, for pushing us to write strong, female characters and to our mom, Joni “the Regulator” Roecker, for reading more book blogs than we do and keeping us abreast on all things publishing. To the third Roecker, Stacey Vaughan, for choosing to read our book, for acting as our personal graphic design slave, and for her unwavering love and support. To Ken and John for giving us the chance to live our dream. We’re still not sure we’d be that supportive of one of your “hobbies.” And finally, to Jack, Mia, Ben, and Lydia for not calling child services when we neglect you to write and for saying things like, “I want to write a pink book when I get older.”

  About the Authors

  Lisa and Laura Roecker are sisters-turned-writing-partners with a love of all things Young Adult. Some call it arrested development, but the sisters claim it keeps them young. Plus, it’s cheaper than Botox. Lisa and Laura live in Cleveland, Ohio, in separate residences. Their husbands wouldn’t agree to a duplex. The Liar Society is their first novel. To learn more, check out www.lisaandlauraroecker.com.