Kiss and Tell(18)

A shudder ran through her. She’d trusted Matt once. She’d slept with him once. The idea that she could have misjudged him so completely terrified her. She and Tenley planned to sit down with Matt’s stalker box later and take another shot at the darer’s identity. But first, she had to get through practice.

Out on the field, she could hear Marta’s laugh. Emerson took a calming breath, then strode across the field. Her plan was to walk right up to the group and pretend nothing was wrong. Fake it. That was how she’d become friends with them in the first place, when she moved to Echo Bay in ninth grade. She’d acted as if she belonged, and they’d believed she belonged.

Emerson dodged two runners who were circling the track. She could hear Nate talking by the goalpost. “I say we go all retro and dress up like the movie Dazed and Confused.”

“I want to do Varsity Blues if we’re doing retro,” Marta whined.

“As long as Jessie wears the whipped-cream bikini, I’m in.” Tyler slung his arm around Jessie’s shoulders with a grin.

Emerson’s hands were trembling as she neared the group. She clasped them together and forced a smile onto her face. “Talking Halloween?” she asked brightly.

Everyone fell silent. Jessie wrinkled her nose as if she smelled something sour. Nate met her eyes, then looked away. Emerson dug her nails into her palm, willing away the tears that were threatening to surface. “Yeah,” Marta said, finally. She dug the toes of her ballet flats into the grass, avoiding Emerson’s gaze. “Trying to decide what to dress up as.”

Common sense was screaming at Emerson to bolt, but she refused to admit defeat. “I like the Varsity Blues theme,” she offered. She smiled in Marta’s direction, but Marta kept her attention solidly on her shoes.

“You would like a whipped-cream bikini,” Jessie snorted.

Emerson recoiled. She waited for someone to defend her, but no one said a word.

“Yo, Em!”

The shout made Emerson turn around. Trevor Mills, Winslow’s linebacker, was jogging down the track. “Got something for you.” He tossed a balled-up sheet of notebook paper at Emerson as he ran past.

A note.

Nerves shot through Emerson. She struggled to keep her hands steady as she opened the paper.

A message was written in black marker. No typewriter letters in sight. But Emerson barely had time to relax. Because the large scribbled words that stared up at her were as cruel as anything the darer would write. Like guys with experience? Meet me at Sunset Point tonight, 8 pm, for a good time.

Emerson took a step backward, right into the path of a passing runner. Their shoulders collided, and the impact knocked the note out of her hand. It fluttered down, landing faceup on the turf, its message visible to all.

Marta’s jaw dropped. Nate shook his head. Emerson stood paralyzed as everyone stared mutely at Trevor’s words. Then Jessie let out a giggle. “You think you’ll go meet him, Em?” she asked mildly.

“I—” Emerson looked around the group, but no one would meet her eyes. “Of course I’m not going to meet him,” she spat out. She took a step toward Jessie, and suddenly it wasn’t just Jessie she was angry at, or Trevor, or even the darer. It was herself. She was sick of her own self-pity. She was sick of running in the opposite direction every time Jessie walked down the hall. When she moved to Echo Bay in ninth grade, she’d meticulously cultivated a new version of Em Cunningham. This Em would be a girl who commanded respect, a girl who didn’t shrink into corners, but stood up tall. The meek, silent girl she’d lapsed into this week barely resembled her at all.

“And you know what, how dare you ask me that, Jessie? How dare you talk to me like that?” Emerson’s eyes swept through the group again. Finally, they were looking at her. It fueled her on. “I’m done with everyone treating me like this.” Her voice grew louder with each word. “Yes, I did something I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry if that upset or hurt any of you.” Her gaze lingered on Marta. “But how many times have you all made mistakes in the past? Did I ever judge you for them? Did I ever turn my back on you? No. Because that’s not what friends do.”

She picked up Trevor’s note. “Do you know what Caitlin would do if she were still here?” She tore the note into a dozen pieces. “That’s what she’d do. And if this was any of you, that’s what I’d do. A friend isn’t just some accessory to flaunt while she’s trendy.” She narrowed her eyes in Jessie’s direction. “Friends are the people you choose to love. And, yes, they might make mistakes sometimes, or upset you, or embarrass you, but always, they stand up for you.”

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Coach walking onto the field, whistle in hand. “The next time any of you want a real friend, you know where to find me.” Emerson walked away without waiting for a response. It didn’t matter how they reacted; she’d had to say it. She refused to be silent any longer.

Across the field, Coach blew her whistle, the sound piercing the air. Emerson jogged toward her all alone.




Heading home, THANK GOD, Emerson texted Tenley as she got into her car after practice. My house for box recon?

Tenley’s response came quickly. Meet u there.

Emerson couldn’t help but think about Caitlin as she drove home. Cait had always been different from the others. She was the kind of friend who stayed up all night with you after a breakup even though she had a math test the next day. The kind of friend who skipped a party to bring you magazines and rom coms when you had the flu. In eighteen years, Emerson had had only one friend like that. Well, one friend and one boyfriend.

She glanced over at her phone as she pulled into her driveway. She ached to call Josh and talk to him, tell him what she’d said to Jessie and the others. But she couldn’t. Josh was safer without her. She refused to drag him back into this, no matter how much she missed him.

Tenley was waiting for her on the front porch. They were quiet as they took the stairs to Emerson’s bedroom. Matt’s trophy box was right where she’d left it. Emerson lifted it onto her bed, and they both climbed up after it. “We don’t mention this to Sydney until we have to,” Tenley said. Emerson nodded her agreement.

Tenley was the first to reach in. She pulled out a silk C-cup bra, holding it between her fingers. “God, this is sick,” she said. “He’s like some kind of collector.”

“I couldn’t bring myself to look through the whole box,” Emerson admitted. “But from what I gathered, these are all from high school girls. His conquests,” she added with a shudder. She pulled out a pom-pom she’d once left in Matt’s truck. She flung it at her trash can, watching in satisfaction as it sank inside.

“Ew,” Tenley muttered as she tossed a pair of neon underwear and a book of love poems onto the bed. Emerson pulled out a napkin from Pat-a-Pancake, a lacy thong, and several handwritten notes. Suddenly Tenley let out a low whistle. “Houston, we have a match.”

Emerson whipped her head up. Tenley was clutching a piece of blue stationery in her hands. “‘Matt,’” Tenley read off the stationery. “‘Please don’t call me anymore. I’m sorry.’” She tossed the note to Emerson. It was signed Kyla. “It sounds a lot like a breakup note,” Tenley said.

“Which would make it true. Kyla and Matt were together once.” Emerson buried her head in her hands. “Could it really have been him all along?”

“Did you ever see a typewriter at his place?” Tenley asked tightly. She began rooting through the box again, her movements jerky.

Emerson closed her eyes, picturing Matt’s apartment. “No, there was a laptop, kind of an old one, but that was it.” She kept her eyes closed, thinking it through. “Maybe he kept the typewriter hidden—”

“Holy. Shit.”

At the sound of Tenley’s voice, Emerson’s eyes flew open. Tenley was holding up a skirt. It was red and pleated and high-waisted in an out-of-style kind of way. Emerson’s jaw dropped. She’d noticed the red swatch of fabric folded at the bottom of the box, but she’d never dug it out. Now that it was in full view, though, there was no doubt what it was. A Winslow cheerleading skirt, from at least two uniform changes ago. Tenley had pulled out its tag. A name was written on it in permanent marker. Meryl.

“You don’t think…?” Emerson said. She knew of only one Meryl who had attended Winslow: Meryl Bauer, Calum’s older sister and the first Lost Girl. Meryl had died out by the Phantom Rock ten years ago, when they were in second grade.

“I don’t know.” Tenley grabbed Emerson’s laptop off her desk. Emerson scooted closer as Tenley clicked open Winslow’s online yearbook.

“Try eleven years ago,” Emerson said tightly.

A minute later, Tenley had the photo of Winslow Academy’s cheerleading team from that year open on the screen. Emerson leaned in, scanning the names. There, second on the list, was the name she was looking for: Meryl Bauer.

Emerson pulled back shakily. Not only had Matt dated Emerson and Kyla, but he’d dated the very first Lost Girl, too.