Kiss and Tell(33)

“And hopefully no one but the police and our families will ever know the truth about what happened,” Tenley added. “According to my stepdad’s lawyers, the identity of all of Sam’s victims will remain private, since, other than Emerson, we were all minors.”

Sydney blew out a long, slow breath. The realization was like a release. After months of being caged, they were finally free.

“Em?” Sydney looked up to see Marta standing over their table. “Can I talk to you?”

Emerson looked nervous as she followed Marta to an empty table nearby. Soon Marta was talking fast, her hands flying through the air, punctuating her words. Her voice floated over to their table: “So sorry… I miss you…”

Sydney blinked, embarrassed by the tears suddenly pricking at her eyes. Her whole life she’d convinced herself that she didn’t want close girlfriends, that she didn’t need the drama or petty fights, the endless sleepovers and shopping trips. But as she watched Emerson hug Marta, she wondered if, at some point, things had changed. If, at some point, she had changed.

“I haven’t gotten to really thank you, Syd.” Tenley’s voice drew her back to their table.

Sydney scrunched up her forehead. “For what?”

“For listening to your gut last night. For telling your dad. You know”—Tenley gave her a small smile—“for generally saving our asses.”

Sydney smiled back at her. “Well, I couldn’t let anything happen to the great Tenley Reed, now could I?”

Tenley shook her head. “If someone had told me last year…”

“I know.” A laugh bubbled up in Sydney. “Believe me, I know.”




Later that afternoon, Sydney stepped into Winslow’s parking lot to find her dad’s truck waiting for her. “You really didn’t have to pick me up,” Sydney said as she climbed into the passenger seat. “Or drive me this morning. I drive home early when I have last period free all the time, and I’ve always been just fine.” It came out sharper than she’d intended it to, and her dad frowned.

“I know I haven’t been much in the dad department, Syd, but I’m trying now. After everything that happened Sunday, you can’t blame me if I want to chauffeur my daughter around a bit.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. The truth was that when she’d needed him on Sunday, he’d come through for her. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

Her dad nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. “It’s a process. For all of us.” He turned into her apartment building’s lot. “Are you going to be okay alone? Your mom’s not going to be home from work until late. If you want, I could hang out for a bit, until my shift starts…?” He left the question hanging in the air between them.

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “Honestly, I’m pretty exhausted. I think I might take a nap.”

“If you’re sure.” Her dad’s voice was cheerful, but his face fell a little.

“I am. But… maybe another time?” The words took effort to say, but the look on her dad’s face made her happy she’d forced them out.

“Another time,” he agreed.

“A process,” Sydney reminded herself as she headed into her apartment a few minutes later. Definitely a process.

She grabbed the landline from the kitchen and flopped down on the couch. She might not be a suspect in the fire at her dad’s place anymore, but her cell phone was still sealed in an evidence bag at the police station. She’d found Calum’s cell phone number, though, and after trying it at least a dozen times the past few days, she knew it by heart. She dialed it now, but once again it went straight to voice mail.

“Hey, Calum, it’s Sydney. Again. I’m sure you’re probably taking refuge somewhere from all the reporters, but just know that I’m here if you need me.” She paused. She had no idea what Calum knew: about her dad’s involvement in this, or hers. “No matter what, you’re my friend. Okay, Calum? Call me.” She left him her home number and hung up.

She’d told her dad the truth: She was exhausted. But as she curled up on the couch, she couldn’t seem to turn off her brain. Even after Sam’s arrest, there were still things about Kyla’s death she didn’t understand. Had Sam really thrown an explosive from up on the cliffs? And if so, how, with that rock ledge in the way? And even more important, what was his motivation for killing Kyla? This wasn’t some one-off kill-and-run. If Sam did it, he’d taken the time to really plan it out. He obviously had the resources to pay off Hackensack, and the intelligence to pull it off, but why go through with it? Emerson told Sydney she’d asked about it when they were locked in the panic room, but Sam had never answered.

Sydney turned over, burying her face in a pillow. There were other holes, too. As she lay there, they crept out from the crevices of her mind, where she’d tried so hard to banish them. Why had Sam decided to stalk them? If he wanted them gone, why not just kill them flat out, as he had Cassandra and Jack Hudson? When she’d brought it up, Tenley had said there was no explaining insanity. And maybe that was true. Maybe there was no why.

Sydney rolled over again. Maybe answers were overrated. With Sam in jail, they were safe. How much more did they need to know than that?

Before long, her thoughts were fading into white noise. She’d just drifted off when a ringing jolted her back awake. Panic was a reflex, clutching instantly at her chest. But as the fog of sleep cleared, she remembered: Sam was in jail. It was over.

She reached for the phone. Calum’s name flashed on the caller ID. Guilt replaced the panic. At least it was over for her. She pressed the phone to her ear. “I’m so glad you called.”

“Hi, Syd.” Sydney started at the sound of Calum’s voice. It was flat and bruised, nothing like his usual tone.

“How are you?” she asked softly. It was a feeble question given the circumstances, and she grasped for something more. “I’ve been so worried, Calum. Where have you been staying?”

“I’ve been at my aunt and uncle’s house. And, thanks to the Calum-sized shadow my uncle’s lab skeleton is casting on the curtains, I still am, as far as any reporters know.”

“Brilliant,” Sydney said. It came as no surprise; Calum had inherited his dad’s off-the-charts IQ. She paused. She couldn’t tell from Calum’s tone whether he knew about her involvement in his dad’s case. She opened her mouth to bring it up, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it over the phone. “So where’s the real live Calum?” she asked instead.

“I’m home.” Calum paused. Sydney thought she heard a sniffle, but she couldn’t be sure. “The police cleared my house, finally, and since I’m eighteen, there’s no reason not to come back. Who wouldn’t want fourteen bedrooms to themselves?” It was clearly supposed to be a joke, but this time Sydney was sure: A sniffle followed.

Her heart tugged. She’d never heard Calum cry. She’d never heard him be anything but joking and nerdy. It made her realize how little she really knew him. He’d been there for her time and again, but she’d never really looked past his computer-game-loving, SAT-acing, valedictorian facade to the depths underneath. “You shouldn’t be alone, Calum.”

“I’m fine.” His voice broke, exposing the lie. “Honestly, it’s better being here alone than having my aunt and uncle tiptoeing around me. They were acting as if I were being held together by chewing gum.”

Sydney closed her eyes. She knew that feeling. After she returned home from rehab, people tiptoed around her for weeks. It had made her recovery even tougher. It’s impossible to piece yourself back together when everyone’s waiting for you to break.

She opened her eyes. Outside, the snow was falling a lot harder, but there should still be some time before the roads got really bad. “I’m coming over,” she declared. “And you might want to put in some earplugs, because I’m a stomper, not a tiptoer.”

“Syd—”

“See you soon.” She hung up before Calum could protest.

Her mom would be at work for another hour, so she left her a quick message, telling her where she was going. “I’ll be home before it gets worse out,” she promised. Then she jogged to her car and pulled into the street, her headlights slicing twin paths of light through the wall of white.





CHAPTER TWENTY


Tuesday, 2:35 PM


“You’re sure you’re feeling okay? You don’t need anything?” Concerned wrinkles marred Tim’s forehead as he rested his hands on Tenley’s shoulders.

Tenley smiled up at him. Tim didn’t know about what happened at Sam’s house, but he did know about the fire—or at least the darer-free details she’d told him—and he kept popping up outside her classes, making sure she was feeling all right. “I’m fine. Really.” It was only half a lie. Bruises and scrapes crisscrossed her body, the burn on her leg still hurt, and there was a steady pressure in her head, a headache that wouldn’t quite go away. But the darer was gone. It was like a salve, rubbing away all her pain. She looked into Tim’s deep blue eyes. “Better than fine, actually, now that school’s over. I have the perfect cure-all evening planned for tonight.”