Kiss and Tell(8)

“I don’t think—” Officer Funley began.

“Come on, Tenley.” Trudy tossed her hair. “We’re going home.”

Tenley made a big show of dabbing at her eyes as she followed her mom out of the station. “Of all the nerve,” her mom was muttering. “Making my baby cry! Are you okay, Ten Ten?”

Tenley nodded absently. There were a million explanations she could give her mom, but she was too busy thinking about the stolen pages inside her purse.

“Do you want me to drive you home?” Her mom patted Tenley on the head, the Trudy version of a hug. “I can come back later with Lanson to get your car.”

“No,” Tenley said quickly. “I’ll be okay. I actually have an errand to run for school, so I’ll just meet you at home.” She hurried to her car before her mom could protest. She couldn’t wait a second longer to get her hands on those pages. She sped away from the station, driving to the first place with a parking lot. Alone outside the minimart, she dug the file out of her bag.

The first few pages were nothing interesting: photos and notes documenting the DNA on Caitlin’s coat, which had been discovered abandoned on the beach not long after her return home. The evidence had been all over the news back in sixth grade. The DNA belonged to Jack Hudson. It was the evidence the police had used to name Jack as the prime suspect in the case. Tenley shuffled through more pages. There was a police report, some official-looking documents about Jack’s suicide, and—oh my god.

Tenley froze, the pages shaking in her hands.

She was looking at Jack Hudson’s suicide note. It held just five words: I can’t be this man. But it wasn’t the words that struck Tenley; it was their shape. They were typewriter letters: boxy but curved and slightly faded. Just like in all the notes she’d received.

Delancey’s suicide letter had been typed in the same way—because the darer had faked it.

The air in the car suddenly felt much too thin. There was no way this was a coincidence. Which left only one logical conclusion.

Jack Hudson didn’t commit suicide. He was killed by their darer, too.





CHAPTER SIX


Tuesday, 3:15 PM


They’d all seen the video. As Emerson stretched with the cheerleading squad and sweat her way through warm-up laps, not a single person met her eye. She wasn’t sure which was worse: the silence or the insults. Because there had been those, too: catcalls and so many comments on her Facebook wall that she’d had to take down her profile.

Years ago, when she lived in Florida and still had gangly legs and frizzy hair, Emerson had been an outcast at her school. But that was nothing compared with this. It wasn’t an outcast the darer had turned her into; it was a leper.

As the squad went through the last rounds of warm-up, Coach gestured for Emerson to join her. A pit formed in Emerson’s stomach as she jogged across the field. She could feel Jessie and the others watching her, making her cheeks burn. She was panting a little as she stopped in front of Coach. “You wanted me?” she asked, her voice coming out much too high-pitched.

Coach gave her a brisk nod. “I want to talk to you before we start practice, Emerson.” Her gaze dropped to her white sneakers. “I’d like to think this goes without saying, but maybe we all need a reminder sometimes.” Her eyes flitted up briefly to meet Emerson’s, then dropped down again. “When you wear the Winslow Lions cheerleading skirt, you’re not only representing our squad, but our whole school. You and the team are the face of Winslow, and with that comes responsibility.” This time, when Coach lifted her gaze, she didn’t look away. Emerson flinched at the unmasked disappointment in her eyes. “Wearing this skirt is a privilege. I’m going to need you to think long and hard about whether you can live up to that privilege.” She paused. “If you can’t, I think it’s best you turn in your uniform.”

Emerson’s heart plummeted to her shoes. Coach had obviously seen the video.

Emerson opened her mouth. She closed it. She opened it again. “I…” she began. But the words wouldn’t come. A giggle drifted over from across the field. Jessie, probably. She was sure they were all watching her right now, guessing exactly what Coach was saying. She wanted to close her eyes and disappear, vanish into nothingness. “I…” she tried again. Once again words failed her. “I—I still don’t feel well,” she finally choked out.

She didn’t wait for Coach’s response. She didn’t wait for anything. She just ran, away from the field and away from her life.

Tears blurred Emerson’s vision as she changed out of her uniform and drove home. Caitlin was gone. Everyone at school hated her. Now, even Coach wanted her off the squad.

She inhaled deeply as she headed into her house, breathing in the familiar home smell. Maybe she’d tell her mom she was sick. She’d curl up on the couch and let her mom feed her chicken soup and stroke her hair. She could stay home all week, wrapped in the blanket knitted by her grandmother, a cocoon from the outside world. “Mom?” she called out wearily. She wandered into the kitchen. “You home?”

“In the living room, Emerson.” The voice that replied wasn’t her mom’s, but her dad’s. What was her dad doing home in the middle of the afternoon?

“Dad? Is everything okay?” She hurried into the living room to find her parents on the sofa, matching frowns on their faces. “What is it?” Emerson asked. “Is someone hurt?”

“Everyone’s fine.” Her dad studied his hands as he wrung them together, and for the briefest of seconds, Emerson was relieved.

Then all at once, reality hit her. A tidal wave dragging her down.

Her parents had seen the video.

“Someone sent a video to my work e-mail,” her dad continued, confirming her suspicions. His voice cracked slightly as he said it.

Emerson’s thoughts were caving in on her. Bare skin. Heavy breathing. Matt’s salt-and-pepper hair. “Who?” she whispered. “Who sent it to you?”

“It was anonymous,” her dad said. “Though that’s not what matters right now.”

Her dad shoved a hand through his mess of blond hair, where it was starting to gray at the roots. He looked up, and Emerson was shocked to see tears in his eyes. She’d seen her dad cry only twice in her life, both times at funerals. She dropped her head as an awful thought pounded through her.

This was her funeral.

“I thought we raised you better than that,” her dad said.

Shame swept through her. “It was a mistake, I swear. I didn’t mean for it to happen and I didn’t film it! I don’t know who did.” The words were tumbling out of her, one after another, but they weren’t enough. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered.

Her mom gripped her dad’s shoulder. “We’re worried about you, honey. You have to tell us who this man is. You might be eighteen, but you’re still in high school; he took advantage of you! We need to make sure he can never come near you again.”

Emerson looked wildly between her parents. She’d promised Matt she’d keep his secret. He could lose his job as fire chief if she didn’t; and then Sydney would lose her Civic Service Scholarship to Winslow. The room spiraled around Emerson, family photographs flashing in the corners of her vision. If she told, she’d be as bad as the darer. “I can’t,” she whispered. “It wasn’t his fault.”

“You’re just a child, Emerson!” her dad exploded. “He’s the adult. That means it’s always his fault.”

“I’m not a child,” Emerson shot back. “Like you said, I’m eighteen. It was a terrible mistake, but it was my mistake to make.” Emerson looked pleadingly at her mom, but her face was grim, her lips pressed in a tight line.

“We need you to tell us, Emerson,” she said. “Right now.”

“I—he…” The room spiraled faster, floor morphing to ceiling back to floor. She felt the day closing in on her—school and Coach and now this. “I can’t,” she gasped. She took off for the door. Her parents were still calling after her as she threw herself into her car and sped out of the driveway.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she pulled to a stop on Ocean Drive. Outside, the ocean unspooled toward the horizon, all open space and wide blue expanse, and all of a sudden, Emerson had never felt so small. The darer had turned her whole world against her. No. There was still one person on her side. And she wasn’t about to let the darer take him, too.

She opened a new text. Can we meet up?

Josh’s response came quickly. I was hoping you’d ask. :) Anaswan lighthouse in an hour?

Emerson blew out a shaky sigh of relief as she typed back a quick yes. When Emerson had called Josh the night before, it was clear he hadn’t seen the video yet. He wasn’t on Facebook, but she knew the darer would make sure he saw it eventually. Which was why she had to tell him first.

Emerson had met Josh a little over a year ago, during the summer she’d modeled in New York. He was a native New Yorker, and he’d introduced her to all his favorite places in the city. After just a few weeks together, they were inseparable. She’d never had someone look at her like that before, as if she were a gift. She kept waiting for it to wear off, for Josh to peel back her layers only to discover that he didn’t like what was wrapped inside. But it just kept getting better.