Kiss and Tell(3)
“I should probably—”
“Go,” Tim agreed. “Find me later.” He gave her a quick smile before sauntering over to the exit row, where his best friends, Tray Macintyre and Sam Spencer, were seated.
“Did you show up with Tim Holland?” Emerson whispered as Tenley dropped into the empty seat next to her. Emerson’s brown sweater dress might have been unusually plain for her, but her cocoa-latte skin glowed as always. “What were you talking to him about?”
Tenley hesitated. She hadn’t told anyone she’d kissed Tim at the homecoming dance. Caitlin had dated Tim before she died, and Tenley knew how touchy that made this situation. But Tenley and Tim had bonded over missing Cait, and she’d been surprised by how much she liked him.
“I bumped into him in the hall,” Tenley answered vaguely. Her gaze fell on the thick manila envelope Sydney was clutching. “What’s that?” she asked, hoping to change the subject.
“My scholarship application for RISD.” Sydney tugged at the red flannel shirt she was wearing, looking nervous. “It has to be postmarked by today, so I’m taking it to the office.”
“I can’t believe you’re already doing applications,” Tenley murmured. “I can’t even think about applying to college until all this is over.”
“I don’t have a choice.” Sydney gripped the folder more tightly. “Scholarship applications are due earlier in the year.” She didn’t say it accusingly, but, still, Tenley felt her face flush. She busied herself by pulling out her new phone. She’d splurged on the nicest case in the store: matte gold, with white polka dots.
Emerson pulled her own phone out with a smirk. It was identical to Tenley’s. “Nice case.”
“Better than mine.” Sydney held up her phone, which had a hideous orange case on it, imprinted with the letter S. She gave them a wry smile. “It was the only one I could find that was old enough to fit.”
“No phones, girls,” Miss Hilbrook called out sternly. Her lips were pursed as she patrolled the aisles of the auditorium. “Eyes up front.”
Tenley turned obediently to the stage, where Mrs. Shuman, the school counselor, was standing with Principal Howard. “Delancey Crane was a beloved student at Winslow,” Mrs. Shuman said, her voice trembling as it poured through the auditorium’s speakers. “She was cofounder of the Purity Club, head of the yearbook committee, and enrolled in all honors classes. She was a kind person and a dedicated student, and now, because of a tough time, she’s gone.”
Mrs. Shuman teetered on her heels. Her eyes flitted across the auditorium, wide and dismayed, and suddenly Tenley got the feeling that she knew something—knew the truth. But then she cleared her throat, and her lips curled down at the corners, and she was just naive Mrs. Shuman again, the counselor who passed out lollipops to high school students.
“Delancey was just like the rest of you,” Mrs. Shuman continued. “And I think she’d want us to take a lesson away from this. Depression and suicidal thoughts can happen to anyone. If you notice a friend who’s down or acting strange, it’s your responsibility to talk to them, to ask a question.” A motto flashed across the screen behind her as she spoke: ASK A QUESTION, SAVE A LIFE. “We’ll be passing out information packets on suicide prevention at the end of the assembly, but first, Abby Wilkins has put together a touching slide show to help us honor Delancey’s life. I hope it reminds you all what’s at stake here. We’re at this school together, and that makes us responsible for one another’s well-being.”
As classical music played, photographs faded in and out on the screen. Delancey running into the ocean, curls flying in the wind. Delancey volunteering with the Red Cross, her porcelain skin reddened by the sun. Delancey posing with her parents, her arms draped around their shoulders. As a photo of Delancey wearing this year’s homecoming crown filled the screen, someone began to cry nearby. Soon the auditorium was filled with muffled sobs and sniffles.
On the screen, a photo of Delancey playing with her cat faded out, replaced by an image of Delancey and Abby. Delancey was smiling widely as she leaned against her best friend, and suddenly it wasn’t Delancey that Tenley saw, but Caitlin. Caitlin squinting as she hung on to Tenley’s every word. Caitlin brushing Tenley’s hair after Tenley sprained her wrist in gymnastics. Caitlin yelling, “Race you!” and sprinting down the beach, her blond hair whipping in her face as she looked back at Tenley, laughing.
Tenley bit down on her lip so hard she drew blood. Caitlin was gone, and Delancey was gone, and Tenley had no idea who would be next. The darer had swept through their lives like a tornado, leaving only wreckage behind. Tenley looked over at Emerson and Sydney. She saw her own fierce expression reflected back at her.
“We’re going to end this,” Sydney whispered grimly.
“We’re going to make this person pay,” Emerson added.
Tenley nodded. She wanted to agree, to insist, but, for the second time that morning, her words were trapped inside her, just out of reach.
A burst of static drew Tenley’s attention back to the stage. The screen showing the slide show had gone black. “What’s going on?” a voice called out. There was another burst of static as a video flickered onto the screen. In it, a girl stood inside Winslow’s empty locker room. Tenley sucked in a breath. The girl in the video wasn’t Delancey. It was Tenley.
“What is this?” someone screeched from several rows up. Tenley recognized the high-pitched voice immediately. Only Abby Wilkins could sound that whiny and indignant at the same time. “What happened to my slide show?”
On the screen, Tenley walked over to a locker and looked around furtively before opening it. Tenley watched in horror as the video showed her pulling a water bottle out of the locker. Two large red initials were inked on its side. JM. Video-Tenley glanced hastily over her shoulder again. When she saw that no one was coming, she took a small pink pill out of her pocket and dropped it into the water bottle. Then she shoved the bottle back into the locker and slammed the door shut.
Scandalized gasps filled the auditorium. People were twisting around, gaping at Tenley. She ignored them, her eyes glued to the screen. The footage skipped ahead. The locker room door swung open, and the cheerleading squad jogged in. Jessie Morrow, the captain of the squad, was at the front of the group. “This routine is going to kick ass,” she said with a grin over her shoulder. She stopped in front of her locker and pulled out her water bottle. Two red initials—JM—winked in the fluorescent light of the locker room. “I’m talking epic pep rally.” She lifted the bottle to her lips, taking a long swig of water.
A time stamp flashed on the screen. It was the day Jessie had a seizure during the pep rally.
“Oh my god!” someone shrieked in the auditorium.
“Did she drug her?” someone else cried.
The world darkened around Tenley. Voices lifted, swirling around her in a tunnel. Insane… Criminal… Evil… And then Principal Howard, screaming, “Quiet, everyone! Order!”
In her own head, the words from their text: I fight dirty.
“Ten—” Emerson began.
Tenley didn’t stick around to hear the rest. Faces spun around her as she raced out of the auditorium. She flew down the hallway, searching for a place to be alone. She could still hear the voices behind her, in an uproar. There was a bathroom, but that was too public. An unmarked door caught her eye at the end of the hallway. The janitor’s closet. She squeezed inside it. Tears clogged her vision as she slid to the ground on top of a mop head.
Everyone knew.
Everyone knew.
How could she ever leave this closet?
Beep!
The sound reached down through her thoughts, shaking her into awareness.
Beep!
Her hand clamped around her phone. The number was blocked, just as she’d expected.
Like I said: I fight dirty.
CHAPTER THREE
Monday, 8:29 AM
Tenley wasn’t answering her phone.
Any luck? Emerson texted Sydney. They’d split up to find Tenley after she fled from the auditorium. Still MIA, Sydney wrote back. Emerson tugged at the horseshoe necklace she’d dug out of her jewelry box that morning, desperate for any semblance of luck. Where was Tenley?
She jogged up Winslow’s back stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. She had to find her. She knew what it felt like to have the darer flaunt your biggest mistake. But it was more than that, too. Because what no one knew, not even Tenley, was that this whole disaster was Emerson’s fault. Tenley might have drugged Jessie, but it was Emerson—not the darer—who, in an awful, weak moment, had sent the note daring Tenley to slip the antianxiety pill into Jessie’s water bottle. The memory made Emerson’s stomach turn. It was one of the lowest moments of her life, and the darer must have watched her do it—watched the whole thing unfold as if it were some kind of television show. And then videotaped the result for good measure.
A noise from the art studio grabbed Emerson’s attention. A muffled sob. “Tenley?” she called out. But when she burst into the room, it was Abby Wilkins she found. Abby was sitting at a desk in the back, her head buried in her arms. Her shoulders heaved up and down with sobs. Behind her, the mural that last year’s senior class had painted shone on the wall: bright, happy splotches of color. Emerson started to turn away. She really had to find Tenley. But Abby’s cries made her waver. The sound tugged at something deep in her chest.