Bet I'm the first one up, Steven thought on Tuesday morning as he swung his legs over the side of his bed at the Wakefield house and stuck his feet into his slippers. His alarm wouldn't go off for another hour; it was still dark outside. There was no point lying around any longer, though—he'd tossed and turned all night, unable to grab more than a few minutes' sleep.

  I'll make the most of it. I'll cook breakfast for everybody, Steven decided as he shuffled downstairs. Billie's special pancakes will be just the thing to get us ready for this ordeal.

  As he approached the kitchen, however, his nose informed him that someone was already at work there. Mrs. Wakefield, wearing a slim navy suit and cream-colored silk blouse, stood at the stove, sautéeing vegetables in a skillet. Did she even go to bed at all? Steven wondered.

  "Morning, Mom," he greeted her.

  Mrs. Wakefield waved a spatula at him. "Hi, hon. You're a little early, but I'll have a hot meal ready for you in a jiffy." She recited the menu. "Sausage and vegetable frittata, homemade blueberry bran muffins, cantaloupe, fresh-squeezed OJ, fresh-brewed coffee . . . How does that sound?"

  "Delicious," said Steven. "Thanks for going to all the trouble. I know you can't feel much like cooking."

  "Oh, I think it's so important that we all eat right and keep our strength up," she replied, cracking some eggs into the skillet. "Little things can be big morale boosters. I was telling your father just last night, 'Don't underestimate the importance of choosing the right tie.'"

  Steven looked blank. "The right tie?"

  "The right necktie," Mrs. Wakefield explained. "You know, if you wear the right clothes, not only do you look more powerful and capable, you feel more powerful and capable."

  "Well, uh, sure," Steven stuttered.

  "It could make all the difference to his confidence with a case this marginal," commented Mrs. Wakefield. Opening the oven, she checked the muffins. "Let's give them another minute or two, shall we?"

  "Yeah, OK." A sick feeling in his stomach, Steven watched his mother bustle around the kitchen. A case this marginal? How can she talk that way? He wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her, startle her into facing up to reality. But she'd probably just tell me to go to my room and polish my shoes or something, he thought. This must be some kind of radical defense mechanism. She's just going through the motions—she's blacking out on what's really happening.

  But even as he reached this conclusion, Steven knew that he wasn't facing up to reality, either. He couldn't simply analyze it away. He hoped there wasn't something seriously wrong with his mother. . . .

  Chapter 4

  It's time, Elizabeth thought, staring out the car window at the Sweet Valley County Courthouse as her father parked. She clutched the pocketbook she held on her lap, her fingernails digging into the leather. I have to get out of the car and walk up that sidewalk and through the door and stand trial.

  She didn't know if she could do it. Suddenly Elizabeth's whole body felt numb and cold. I can't move. I feel like a dead person. The image of Sam Woodruff's face flashed through her mind. Dead.

  "Elizabeth."

  At the sound of her mother's voice, Elizabeth blinked. Alice Wakefield had twisted around in the front seat to gaze at her daughter. "Honey, are you ready?" she asked quietly.

  Elizabeth licked her lips, which were as dry as paper. "Yes," she whispered. "I'm ready."

  Steven, sitting next to Elizabeth in the backseat, reached over and squeezed her hand. "It's going to be OK," he told her. "We'll be with you all the way." His words, meant to be comforting, only reminded Elizabeth that they weren't all with her. Her very own twin sister was very much against her, and conspicuously absent this morning.

  Mr. Wakefield climbed out of the driver's seat and walked around to open the car door for his daughter. Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth stepped out onto the pavement.

  A small crowd of people had already gathered on the steps of the courthouse. As the Wakefields approached, they turned. Elizabeth heard the buzz of excited voices. Before she knew what was happening, the reporters pressed forward, holding out microphones and aiming cameras.

  "Miss Wakefield, will you take the stand in your own defense?" "Has your memory returned, Miss Wakefield?" "Mr. Wakefield, is it true you fired your daughter's attorney because he considered this case unwinnable and pressured you to plea-bargain?" "Miss Wakefield, wasn't the victim your twin sister's boyfriend?"

  The horrible questions rained down like hailstones and Elizabeth felt herself cower under their barrage.

  Ned Wakefield wrapped one arm protectively around Elizabeth's shoulders. Raising the other arm, he shielded her from the reporters' eager eyes. "No comment," he snapped, hustling her through the wide double doors into the lobby of the courthouse.

  But there was no escaping the scrutiny of the public. Dozens of people milled about inside, and they weren't all reporters, Elizabeth saw. Many were just curious bystanders, drawn by a sensational story. Elizabeth dropped her eyes to the floor, wishing she were invisible. She felt sick to her stomach. They've come to see me. They've come to look at a murderer.

  Flanked by her parents and Steven, Elizabeth entered the courtroom. With relief, she sank into a seat next to her father at a long, narrow table in front. The courtroom was packed full, but at least the crowd was behind her—she didn't have to face them.

  Mr. Wakefield approached the bench, as did the district attorney who was arguing the case against her. Elizabeth watched the judge and the two lawyers converse in low tones. It's like a made-for-TV movie, she thought, feeling dazed and helpless. It's a movie and I've been assigned a part, but I don't have a script. I don't know anyone's lines. I don't know what's going to happen.

  Judge Baird, a silver-haired woman in her sixties, struck her desk with a gavel. The sound echoed ominously throughout the courtroom; Elizabeth's heart jumped. Instantly, an expectant hush fell over the audience. "Court is now in session," the judge pronounced.

  Elizabeth willed herself to relax as the first witness, an older man who had been the first to arrive at the scene of the crash, was called to the stand. But she couldn't keep her heart from beating double time. In just a few minutes, it would be her turn. . . .

  A few quick questions established that the man had not observed the accident itself, but had driven up right after it occurred. He stepped down and Elizabeth closed her eyes, mentally preparing herself. This is it. . . .

  "The prosecution calls Elizabeth Wakefield to the stand."

  Elizabeth put her hands, cold with sweat, on the arms of her chair. She turned to her father and he smiled tightly at her. "Go ahead, sweetheart. You'll do fine."

  Slowly, Elizabeth rose to her feet. She walked forward unsteadily. Her knees were shaking and she could feel her fear coursing through her veins.

  "Raise your right hand," the bailiff instructed.

  Trembling, Elizabeth raised her hand.

  "Do you solemnly swear that you will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?" he demanded.

  Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. For a moment, she was afraid she might burst into tears. Then she remembered her father sitting behind her, and her mother and Steven behind him. I have to be strong for them, she thought, and pulled herself together the best she could. "Yes, I do," she said clearly.

  The bailiff directed her toward the stand and Elizabeth lowered herself gingerly into the chair. As she looked out over the courtroom, she shuddered involuntarily. A sea of faces confronted her. All at once, she felt naked and exposed. But they're not all strangers, Elizabeth reminded herself. She saw her mother and Steven, and Enid, and . . .

  Elizabeth's heart jumped into her throat. Todd was sitting next to Enid.

  For a split second, Elizabeth felt herself buoyed up on a wave of hope. He came. He's forgiven me! Just as quickly, though, she plunged back into an abyss of despair. Todd's handsome face was frozen, unreadable. He probably just wanted to see for himself, Elizabeth thought. This way there won't be any doubt left in his mind that I'm guilty and that he's much better off without me. . . .

  Elizabeth's gaze shifted, searching out one more face, even though she knew she wouldn't find it. Her parents had gotten permission for Jessica to miss school that day, but Jessica had refused to come to court. Still, Elizabeth scanned the courtroom. After seeing for herself that her twin sister really wasn't there, she lost control of her emotions. For the first time that morning a single tear rolled down her cheek.

  Elizabeth had never felt so alone in her life when Mr. Dilworth, the prosecuting attorney, took up his position in front of her and fixed a cool, intent gaze on her face. "Miss Wakefield," he began. "Tell us what happened on the night of. . ."

  Leave her alone! Todd wanted to shout. Stop badgering her! Who does this bum Dilworth think he is, talking to Elizabeth like that? Can't he see how much she's hurting?

  But Todd knew he had to restrain himself. This was a court of law—Hempstead Dilworth wasn't a bum, he was a district attorney doing his job. Elizabeth was on trial, and for a very serious crime. Todd clenched his fists, swallowing hard.

  "So, Elizabeth," Mr. Dilworth resumed, pacing in front the witness stand. "Did you start drinking at the prom, or had you been drinking before you went to the dance?"

  Elizabeth shook her head. "I—I wasn't drinking at the prom," she stammered. "I mean, I don't remember drinking anything alcoholic. Just—just punch."

  "Rum punch," the prosecutor said.

  Mr. Wakefield lifted a hand. "Objection. There's no evidence that Elizabeth was drinking rum punch at the dance. Move to strike."

  The judge nodded assent. Mr. Dilworth shrugged. "Withdrawn. Rum punch or no, Elizabeth, you were legally intoxicated at the time of the accident. Where did you get the liquor? Did you bring it with you to the dance? Did Sam?"

  "No," said Elizabeth, wrinkling her forehead. "I definitely didn't, and I'm sure Sam didn't, either."

  "Who gave it to you, then?"

  "I . . . I don't know," Elizabeth confessed. "I don't remember anybody giving it to me."

  The prosecutor didn't let up. "How many drinks did you have before you left the dance?" he pressed.

  "I don't know," Elizabeth repeated. Todd watched as she lifted a hand to her throat and fidgeted nervously with her gold necklace. "I don't remember having any drinks."

  "You don't remember having any drinks, but you were drunk when you left the dance," the prosecutor observed. "Where were you going in the Jeep? To acquire more alcohol?"

  Todd had wondered himself the night of the dance. Why was Elizabeth behaving so outrageously? What was going on between her and Sam? Why did they leave the dance together? But now he was furious at the lawyer's tone, his insinuations. How dare he?

  Next to him, Todd felt Enid stiffen. He took her hand, squeezing it. Enid turned to him, her eyes wide with agony. "I can't stand this," she whispered. "How long is it going to go on?"

  The relentless questioning continued. "You don't remember where you were going, but you must have been in a hurry to get there," Mr. Dilworth remarked dryly. "How fast were you driving when you lost control of the vehicle?"

  "I don't know," Elizabeth replied.

  "Thirty miles per hour?" he prompted. "Forty? Sixty?"

  "I . . . don't . . . know," Elizabeth repeated, a quaver in her voice.

  With each brutally blunt question and each feeble response, Todd's heart grew heavier and heavier. Face-to-face with Elizabeth's torment, seeing with his own eyes what the strain of the past few weeks had done to her, he suddenly found himself troubled by his own guilt.

  What about me? Todd asked himself silently. Have I done anything to help her or have I just added to her misery? He didn't have to think about it very hard; the answer was too clear. He'd turned his back on Elizabeth completely. He'd let his own pain prevent him from feeling hers.

  He recalled the moment when he'd looked down from the stage in the gym where he'd just been crowned King of the Jungle Prom. There on the dance floor were Elizabeth and Sam with their arms around each other, hugging and kissing. He'd been terribly hurt and angry. He hadn't known they'd been drinking, but he had known that betraying him—and with her sister's boyfriend no less—was wildly uncharacteristic behavior for Elizabeth. But I never even tried to find out what it meant. And after the accident I didn't even let her explain. Maybe I shouldn't have even needed an explanation. Maybe a guy should just be there for the girl he loves.

  Todd stared at Elizabeth, a wave of guilt and self-loathing washing over him. Yeah. Maybe a guy should be there for his girlfriend instead of turning around and dating her twin sister. Todd's broad shoulders slumped as he thought about Jessica and remembered the other night at the beach. What on earth was I doing?

  The prosecutor wrapped up a round of questions, and then it was Mr. Wakefield's turn. It was clear to Todd that Elizabeth's father was doing his best to present his daughter's situation in a sympathetic light, but it was equally clear that his argument on her behalf was painfully thin. She couldn't remember anything about the circumstances of the car crash, so she had absolutely nothing to say in her own defense. And the only other person who was with her at the time was dead.

  Each passing minute felt like an hour to Todd as his nerves stretched tighter and tighter. When court finally adjourned for the day, he popped up from his seat like a jack-in-the-box.

  Enid's eyes were on Elizabeth, who was standing with her family at the front of the room. "I'm going to wait for her," Enid told Todd.

  There was a hint of a question in Enid's voice. Todd hesitated, split down the middle by conflicting impulses. He realized now how incredibly selfish he'd been, punishing Elizabeth this way. He wanted so much to go to her, to comfort her, to hold her. . . . But what right do I have, after turning my back on her ever since the accident? he wondered unhappily. What would I say? I can't approach her here, of all places, in front of all these people. . . .

  "I think I'm going to head back to school," Todd muttered. "I can probably make it to my last class."

  Before Enid could reply, Todd melted into the crowd pouring out of the courtroom. His heart was aching to be with Elizabeth, but he couldn't face her—not yet.

  As Jessica watched Todd pick at his slice of pepperoni pizza, she could barely conceal her annoyance. She knew why he was so preoccupied and in such a crummy mood. He went to the trial today, she thought to herself, not even wanting to consider what that might mean.

  Jessica pushed her plate away, her own appetite vanishing. "Well, I can't eat, either," she said snappishly. "Let's just have this wrapped and get out of here."

  Five minutes later, they were walking across the parking lot of Guido's Pizza Palace. When they reached Todd's BMW, he opened the passenger door for Jessica. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, not meeting her eyes. "I guess I'm not the best company tonight. Why don't I just take you home?"

  "No," Jessica said quickly. She sensed that if she let Todd leave her now, she might lose her fragile hold over him—he might slip through her fingers forever. If he's alone, he'll just think about her. . . . "No," Jessica repeated, placing a hand on Todd's arm and gazing up at him with wide, appealing eyes. "I don't want to go home yet. It's too depressing—I can't deal with it. Let's go for a drive, OK?"

  Todd shrugged. Jessica tucked herself into the car and he slammed the door after her, then walked around to slip behind the wheel. "Buckle up, OK?" he said gruffly, starting the engine with a roar.

  Jessica fastened her safety belt. An unwanted thought flashed through her mind. Sam wasn't wearing a seat belt that night. Maybe if he had, he wouldn't be . . .

  Todd pointed the car toward the ocean and they drove in silence, each lost in their thoughts.

  The last orange glimmer of sunset was fading from the western horizon as the BMW coasted to a stop in the deserted beachfront parking lot. Todd turned off the engine, but made no move to get out of the car. Instead, he sat stiffly, his hands still gripping the steering wheel.

  He looks like a statue, cold and untouchable, Jessica thought. He doesn't want to be with me, she realized with a sickening lurch of her stomach. He's not even trying to pretend anymore.

  She wanted to cry, to yell, to shake him until any memories of Elizabeth were erased from his brain. Breathing slowly and deeply, she held herself together with an effort. "Todd," she said softly after a moment, "what's the matter?"

  With a sigh, Todd dropped his hands from the wheel and sank back in his seat. "I'm sorry, Jess," he replied. "I'm just feeling a little . . . confused."

  Jessica detected the note of uncertainty and vulnerability in his voice and hastened to exploit it. "Confused?" She slid closer to him, her shoulder brushing against his. "Why?" she asked, even though she was pretty sure she knew. She kept her voice gentle, caressing. "What about?"

  "About . . . you," Todd confessed. "About Liz. Being out with you like this—it just feels wrong. Especially tonight, after the first day of her trial." His jaw clenched. "When I saw what they were putting her through . . ."

  "What they were putting her through? Todd, she did this to herself," Jessica reminded him. "No one else is guilty."

  Todd shook his head. "I don't know about that. I feel guilty."

  "That's crazy," Jessica insisted. "You're not guilty of anything."

  "I can't help the way I feel," Todd burst out, his voice cracking.

  "Yes, you can," Jessica told him, slipping her arm through his, pressing closer. "I can help you. It's OK for us to be together, Todd. It's the right thing, not the wrong thing."

  When Todd didn't answer, she had to struggle to subdue her impatience. Why did he cling so stubbornly to his attachment to Elizabeth? Couldn't he see that Jessica was the one he was meant to be with? Hadn't they secretly been drawn to each other from the very beginning? We would have been going steady ages ago, if Liz hadn't stolen him away from me, Jessica reflected. I won't let her take him away from me again. She already took Sam away. I won't be left alone, with nothing.