It's getting easier and easier, she reflected. There's nobody I can't fool! She wanted to laugh out loud. She wanted to tell the other passengers on the bus; it seemed such a shame to keep her triumph to herself. But of course, keeping her skills a secret was the only way she could succeed.

  And she would succeed—no doubt about it. Just as she'd anticipated, no one seemed to be following her. So far, she'd gotten away with everything—the theft, the murders . . . she was invincible!

  And I'm getting closer to Sweet Valley every minute, Margo mused, relishing the thought of the miles rolling away under the wheels of the bus. And then the real fun begins.

  Chapter 6

  The door swung open just as Todd was lifting his hand to ring the bell of Steven's apartment on Wednesday afternoon. A beautiful girl in faded jeans and a tank top breezed out, nearly walking right into him.

  "Whoa, sorry!" she apologized, tossing back her chestnut hair and smiling up at him. "Are you here to see Steven? I'm his roommate, Billie. Hey, Steven!" she yelled back over her shoulder. "It's—"

  "Todd," he supplied.

  "Todd's here!" Billie adjusted her backpack, then gave Todd a friendly wave. "So long. Nice meeting you."

  Todd laughed. "Nice meeting you, too!"

  Steven had appeared at the door. "Hey, Todd, good to see you. Come on in."

  Todd stepped into the living room. "Wow, this place is great," he commented. "And did I just hear that girl say she's your roommate?"

  Steven grinned. "It's not what you think. She was the first person to answer my ad, and she just happened to be female, that's all. But what's up with you? What brings you up this way?"

  While Steven grabbed a couple of cans of soda from the refrigerator, Todd sat down on the sofa and considered how to answer. He decided he should just get to the point. "It's about Elizabeth. I was hoping you could give me some advice," he told Steven.

  Steven handed him a can, then pulled up a chair. "I get the impression you two aren't on the best terms these days."

  Todd sighed. "Yeah, well we never actually broke up or anything, but since the accident, we've—uh—we've been going our separate ways." He looked at Steven, wondering how he would react to what came next. "But it's not just about Elizabeth. If it were, maybe I wouldn't have a problem. It's also about. . . Jessica."

  "Jessica?" Steven repeated, surprised.

  "Jessica," Todd confirmed. "We got together a couple times to go to the movies and stuff like that. She was so torn up about losing Sam, it seemed like she really needed a friend. And I think I thought that being friends with Jessica would lead me back to Elizabeth. Then one night . . ." Todd's face reddened slightly. "Anyway, last night it finally hit me—maybe because it was the first day of the trial—what a mess I've gotten myself into. I've been dating Jessica, but I'm still in love with Elizabeth."

  Steven sank back in his chair and stared at Todd, his eyes narrow and unsmiling. "Help me out here, pal. You're telling me that after totally blowing off Liz after the car crash, you're still in love with her, but you've been dating Jessica. Do I have that right?"

  Steven's accusatory tone put Todd on the defensive. "She started it," Todd claimed. "She blew me off at the prom. She was all over Sam and they left together—and even before the prom, for weeks she was acting like a totally different . . ." He broke off, dropping his head in his hands. "I didn't know what to think or what to do, then or now."

  "So instead of trying to work things through with Elizabeth, you decided to get back at her by going out with Jessica," Steven summarized, his tone still cool. Pausing to digest it all, he shook his head. "So that's where Jessica's been!"

  "I'm not using Jessica to get back at Elizabeth," Todd insisted. "I'm not out for revenge. Look, Jessica called me. She made the first move."

  "Because she's lonely and scared," said Steven. He took a few swallows of his soda, then placed the can on the coffee table with a bang. "You said it yourself, she needed a friend, and that's probably all she needed."

  Todd stared down at his hands feeling more guilty and confused than ever. "Do you think I feel good about any of this? Do you think I know which way is up? That's why I came here, to get some advice. And you know, I'm not just thinking about myself—I'm concerned about Liz and Jess, too. But if you don't want to have anything to do with me, I understand."

  Todd started to get to his feet. "Hold on," Steven commanded, waving Todd back into his seat. "Just give me a minute, Todd. I need to absorb all this."

  For a moment, they sat in silence. Then Steven sighed. "Sorry I came down on you so hard," he said. "I just had no idea what was going on. God, no wonder those two aren't talking to each other."

  "So, what do you think I should I do?" Todd asked. "Do you think there's any hope? Do you think Elizabeth would ever take me back?"

  "I really don't know," Steven admitted. "You say you love her, but is there any reason she should believe you?"

  Steven's words cut like a knife right through Todd's soul.

  "Go, Gladiators!" Winston bellowed, cupping his hands around his mouth like a megaphone.

  Lila covered her ears. "Geez, Egbert, turn down the volume, would you? They're not even playing—it's halftime!"

  Winston checked the clock on the scoreboard. "Well, so it is," he said cheerfully. "Sorry!"

  "Maybe you should spend more time watching the game and less time ogling Maria out there cheering," Barry Rork, Amy's boyfriend, ribbed Winston.

  The two soccer teams had adjourned to the sidelines for strategy sessions—the game between Sweet Valley High and the Fort Carroll squad was tied. The cheerleaders got to take a break, too. Lila waved to Jessica, Amy, and Maria, who dropped their pom-poms by the home bench and trotted toward the bleachers to join their friends.

  "We're tied because you guys aren't yelling loud enough," Amy greeted Lila, Barry, and Winston.

  "You didn't just hear that," Lila instructed Winston, then turned to Amy. "Don't encourage him!"

  "Really, though," said Maria, scanning the skimpy crowd. "It's pretty dead—not much of a turnout today."

  "Pamela Robertson from Big Mesa High is here, though," observed Amy.

  "You mean, Pamela Robertson from Sweet Valley High," corrected Barry. "She's one of us now."

  "One of us?" Jessica sniffed. "Hardly."

  Lila twisted in her seat to glance at Pamela, who was sitting alone in the top corner of the bleachers. "Well, at least she's here. Maybe she should get some credit for that."

  "I'll give her credit, all right," replied Jessica. "She knows where to go to check out the guys."

  "Ouch!" yelped Winston. "That's harsh."

  Jessica shrugged carelessly. "It's the truth."

  "I don't know." Amy squinted up at Pamela, biting her lip. "I feel a little sorry for her. She looks so lonely. I don't know why she did it, but it took a lot of guts to transfer schools and everybody's avoiding her like the plague."

  "Bruce is sure giving her the cold shoulder," commented Barry. "I guess she burned him pretty bad."

  "Well, it probably didn't help the situation that some people were awfully eager to dish the dirt about her," said Lila with a pointed look at Amy.

  "Like you've never said anything bad about anybody!" Amy protested. Then she sighed. "OK, I'm guilty as charged. I told Bruce what I'd heard through the cheerleader grapevine about Pamela. I guess for some reason—don't ask me why—I just felt like it was my duty to warn him, but now I'm sorry I did it. Are you satisfied?"

  "Why should you be sorry?" Jessica asked Amy. "Pamela's a tramp and that's all there is to it."

  Lila jumped to Pamela's defense. "Maybe that's not the whole story. Maybe she's really a nice person. How do we know, if we've never even talked to her?"

  Jessica stared at Lila, her eyebrows raised. "Excuse me, but I think I'm hallucinating. Since when did you join the Girl Scouts?"

  The others laughed; Lila smiled wryly without responding. She could hardly believe it herself, but for some reason, she simply had no desire to be cruel and petty even though this was a perfect opportunity. In the past, ridiculing Pamela Robertson would have struck her as a delightful pastime. When she looked up at Pamela's lonely figure, something made her stop. Maybe I'm getting soft, she thought to herself with a smile.

  "Jessica, hi!" someone called out, interrupting Lila's thoughts.

  Lila turned to see Enid making her way toward them. "Great, it's Florence Nightingale," Jessica muttered under her breath.

  "Would you . . . could you give this to Elizabeth for me?" Enid asked hesitantly. She held out a manila folder. "I don't have a car today, so I can't stop by to see her myself. It's just some French homework."

  "I suppose so," Jessica said grudgingly, taking the folder with just the tips of her fingers as if it might be contaminated.

  Enid mumbled her thanks and scurried off. Lila shook her head. "Boy, that was gracious, Jess!"

  "She asked me to do her a favor and I'm doing it—I don't have to be happy about it," Jessica retorted.

  "Is Elizabeth managing to keep up with her schoolwork?" Maria asked.

  Jessica lifted her shoulders. "How should I know?"

  Maria glanced at Amy. "Well, you do live in the same house . . ."

  "Well . . . that's all we have in common anymore," Jessica said coldly. "That's all I have in common with anybody in my family, if you ask me. They're all going completely wacko. Elizabeth is walking around like a zombie, my dad's throwing his whole career out the window to defend her, even though they have zero chance of winning, and my mother loses another marble every day. One more," she held up her forefinger for emphasis, "and she won't have any left. I'm just glad Steven's not around enough to realize what's happening." She laughed loudly, gesturing with the folder Enid had given her. "So, that's my family. Not exactly the Cleavers, is it? And you really think that keeping tabs on whether or not my sister is doing her schoolwork is going to remedy the situation?"

  Lila and the others stared at Jessica, startled and uncomfortable. At that moment, a whistle indicated the end of the halftime break. Jessica, Amy, and Maria trotted dutifully back to the field.

  Stunned, Lila, Barry, and Winston watched them go. It was Winston who finally broke the silence. "I knew Jess was bitter toward Liz, but I've never heard her talk that way about her parents."

  It was true, Lila reflected. Lila had always looked at the Wakefields as a model of what a family was supposed to be. Her own family was hardly ideal: her mother had abandoned her when she was a baby, and her father, while giving her everything she could possibly want, had been too busy to give Lila what she really needed.

  Now Lila felt a flicker of fear and insecurity. She finally had her own family . . . sort of. But Mom's only in Sweet Valley temporarily, Lila reminded herself. Nothing lasts forever. If I can't count on the stability of the Wakefields, what can I count on?

  "Hey, Bruce, can I come in?" Roger Barrett Patman shouted over the sound of rock music blaring from his cousin's bedroom.

  He thought he heard a grunt. Was that a yes? Figuring it was, he pushed Bruce's door open all the way.

  Bruce was sitting in front of the personal computer on his desk. He glanced briefly at Roger, then went on typing. When Roger didn't go away, he leaned over with an exaggerated sigh and turned down the volume on his stereo. "All right, you have my full and undivided attention," he said sarcastically. "What's up?"

  "Your mom just left to meet your dad in town for dinner," Roger told him. "So you and I are on our own. I thought maybe we could order a pizza or something."

  "Fine with me." Bruce reached to turn the stereo back up.

  Instead of leaving the room, though, Roger sat down on the edge of Bruce's bed. Bruce raised his eyebrows. "Now what?" he grumbled.

  "Actually . . ." Roger pushed his glasses higher on his nose, then cleared his throat. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about Pamela."

  "Pamela." Bruce leaned back in his chair, smiling ironically. "You want to talk to me about Pamela. You did that once before, remember?"

  Roger remembered, only too well. He'd been the first person to warn Bruce that he might not know everything there was to know about his new love interest from Big Mesa. He'd been concerned—Bruce had been in a vulnerable emotional state since the death of his girlfriend Regina Morrow. Bruce hid his pain pretty well. He protected himself by making sure he didn't get too close to anybody, and he made sure of that by treating the girls he dated like dirt. Then Pamela came along and Bruce fell in love like he was falling off a cliff. Roger just hadn't wanted to see him get hurt.

  But he's hurt, all right, Roger thought unhappily, and so is she, thanks to me.

  "I remember," Roger admitted. "But I never meant for all this to happen."

  Bruce folded his arms across his chest. "Spare me."

  "Wait, just hear me out," Roger pleaded. "I didn't mean to slam Pamela, or to ruin your relationship. I only wanted to suggest that maybe you should have gone a little slower at first, taken the time to get to know each other before getting so involved. If you had," he added quietly, "maybe you and Pamela would've had a chance."

  Roger saw a flicker of emotion in Bruce's eyes. For an instant, Bruce's face softened, the trademark arrogance vanishing.

  But just as quickly, the hardness returned. "You weren't the only person who had things to say about Pamela," Bruce told Roger, his bitter tone masking any sadness he might be feeling deep inside.

  "At least talk to her," Roger urged. "Let her tell her side of the story. I see her around, and she doesn't seem to have a friend in the world."

  Bruce's eyes suddenly blazed with fury. "Who do you think you are? Ann Landers?" he yelled. "Don't you get it by now, Roger? I don't want or need your advice. Live your own life and let me live mine, OK?"

  Then Bruce laughed, his attitude shifting abruptly to one of mock insouciance. "Besides, I got what I wanted out of Pamela—the same thing every other guy's gotten from her. I can live with that." Jumping up from his chair, Bruce strode from the room.

  Roger heaved a discouraged sigh. This was a repeat of many conversations he'd had with Bruce since he came to live in Sweet Valley after his mother's death. Roger had tried again and again to break through Bruce's shell, but Bruce's pride wouldn't let him. He'd continue to keep his feelings bottled up inside until something triggered another explosion.

  As for Pamela, he felt tremendously guilty about exposing her to Bruce, even if he had thought he'd been doing the right thing. At track practice earlier that afternoon, Roger had done lap after lap of the athletic fields. And every time he jogged behind the bleachers, he'd seen her, sitting there at the top, watching the soccer game all by herself.

  Getting to his feet, Roger wandered over to Bruce's desk. He peered at the computer screen, half hoping to get some insight into his cousin. Maybe Bruce had been typing Pamela's name over and over. . . .

  Nope. There was nothing on the screen but a biology lab report. Roger hit the "save" button so Bruce wouldn't lose his work, then he made a silent vow. I'll keep an eye out for Pamela—I'll befriend her myself. I think I owe it to her.

  Todd paced the length of his bedroom, still thinking about his visit with Steven. He wished he could outpace his discomfort, but he knew that would be impossible. Steven was right. He'd done terribly by Elizabeth.

  So we're all in agreement—I've been a jerk. But I do love Liz. She might not believe it, but I do. Maybe I could call her, Todd thought hopefully. I'll apologize, and maybe . . .

  "What, are you nuts?" he said out loud, grabbing a pillow off his bed and pounding it with his fist. "Face it, Wilkins, you missed your chance. It's over. You're persona non grata at the Wakefields' these days. Hey." He caught himself with a bitterly ironic laugh. "What am I saying? I've got Jessica!"

  Throwing the pillow on the bed, he stalked over to the window. Through the gently waving fronds of a palm tree, he could see the western sky streaked with purple and crimson. Suddenly, Todd's throat tightened with unshed tears as he remembered all the sunsets he'd watched with Elizabeth at his side.

  He slapped his hand against the wall. "I can't just give up on her—on us," he declared hoarsely. "Maybe I don't deserve to get her back, but I've got to take a shot at it." He pondered his options. If I call her, she might just hang up on me. . . . I'll write her a letter!

  Flooded with inspiration, Todd sat down at his desk and grabbed a pen and some paper. He couldn't wait to put his feelings on paper, to tell Elizabeth that he'd been wrong, that their estrangement was all his fault, that he loved her with all his heart, and that her forgiveness was the only thing that could restore his happiness.

  But I can't push her, Todd realized, his hand suspended over the blank page. She'll need time to think things over.

  I'll ask her to give me a sign, he decided after a moment's consideration. He'd go to court every day of her trial—he'd watch and wait patiently. And when Elizabeth wore the silver and turquoise bracelet he'd given her, when she met his eyes and touched the bracelet, he'd know it was OK to go to her.

  Yes, Todd thought, his face bright with hopeful conviction, I'll write it all down and hand-deliver the letter to the house and then I'll wait. I'll wait as long as it takes.

  Chapter 7

  I wish this moment could last forever, Lila thought, devouring the scene before her with her eyes, memorizing every detail. If only . . .

  It was late Thursday afternoon, and she and her parents were having a predinner "cocktail" hour by the swimming pool behind Fowler Crest. My parents . . . I'm still not used to that, Lila mused, sipping her cranberry juice and seltzer. For so long it was just me and Daddy. But this is so much better!

  Lila watched her mother pour herself a glass of white wine and club soda and then squeeze a slice of lime into it. Even such a simple gesture was filled with elegance and beauty. I guess they knew even when she was a newborn baby, Lila thought with uncharacteristic sentimentality. That's why they named her Grace.

  What a relief it was not to be mad at her mother anymore, not to feel so cheated and betrayed about the fact that for sixteen years, her mom had been living halfway around the world in France, and had sought absolutely no contact with her daughter or ex-husband. I'm glad I've gotten that out of my system, thought Lila. What counts is that Mom came to be with me when I needed her. The past doesn't matter—just the present, and the future. . . .