Hunter snorted. “Only to make fun of it.”
“What about with you, Sean?” Tenley popped a chip into her mouth, doing her best to act casual. “You guys dated for a while. Did she talk to you about that kind of stuff?”
“Of course she did,” Sean said. He gave Tenley a strange look. “Why the sudden interest? Was there another Lost Girl tell-all on TV last night?”
“No,” Tenley assured him. It’s just…” She paused, summoning up her best lie. “I was only getting to know this new her. That’s all.”
“We all were, really,” Marta said softly.
Next to her, Emerson sighed, clearly putting on an act of her own. “We had more time with her than Tenley did, though.”
“Not enough time,” Sean said sharply. He stood up, grabbing his backpack. His sandwich sat untouched on his tray. “I just remembered I have some homework to finish up,” he mumbled. Keeping his head down, he stalked across the cafeteria and disappeared into the hallway.
Tenley watched him go. The guilt she’d managed to stomp flat suddenly twisted to life. She knew what it felt like to have Cait’s memory dismembered and dissected like some rat on a lab table. It was a knife directly to the chest, every single time. And here she was doing exactly that to Sean, putting on a performance. Her turkey sandwich rose in her throat. What had she done? He was obviously in pain.
Wasn’t he?
She cocked her head, thinking about how he’d snapped at her, the way his voice had taken on a sharp edge. It definitely could have been pain.
Or it could have been anger.
Had Sean just pulled off as believable a performance as she had? Maybe it was more than grief that drove him from the table. Maybe it was anger—anger at the very people Tricia had targeted.
Marta’s wide blue eyes flitted disapprovingly over to Tenley. “I think we all need to be a little more sensitive in front of Sean.”
Emerson jumped to her feet. “You’re right. I’ll go check on him.” She hurried out of the cafeteria, shooting Tenley a pointed look on her way out.
“Sean’s had a rough go of it lately,” Nate said, shaking his head. “On top of everything, Coach has been riding him pretty hard. Told him he’d bench him if he missed another practice.”
Tenley leaned forward in her seat, suddenly on high alert. “Sean’s been missing practices?”
“More than he’s been coming to them,” Hunter said.
“Of course he has, guys,” Jessie chided. “Marta’s right; we all need to be more sensitive. He just lost his girlfriend.”
“Believe me, we’ve all been saying that, too.” Tyler draped his arm around Jessie’s shoulders. A strand of black hair fell into his eyes. “And Coach did let it slide for a while. But, like it or not, we have a game to win.”
“A big one,” Hunter added. He pounded his fists against the table. “Kick Anaswan’s ass, and our season will get a serious boost.”
As the boys launched into a detailed analysis of their chances against Anaswan, Tenley’s thoughts drifted. Either Sean was putting on a really good show, or he was truly a grieving boyfriend. Either way, he could be their darer. Tenley knew firsthand how grief could do that—tear you down and knot you up until you were just a twisted shell, someone else altogether. It made her think of her dad; when she’d lost him, she’d felt as if she’d never be whole again.
She spent the rest of the day obsessing over the possibility. If Sean was the darer, then he was the one who’d thrown bottles at her head—tried to hurt her. But why? Could he be angry about the things she had done before she left Echo Bay, like Tricia had been?
In middle school, Tenley and her friends had tortured Tricia—Fatty Patty at the time—taunting her tirelessly with fat jokes and forcing her to take an awful dare during one of their games of truth or dare. It was why Tricia had targeted Tenley and Caitlin in the first place: to get back at them for how they’d treated her. But Sean hadn’t even gone to their school back then. Besides, that was a long time ago. Whenever she thought of the way she used to torment Tricia and Joey Bakersfield and even Sydney, it made her feel itchy inside, as if a thousand spiders had taken up residence under her skin. She was a different person now.
But maybe Sean didn’t know that. Or maybe he didn’t care. Once a sinner, always a sinner. If he loved Tricia enough, he might want to finish her dirty work for her no matter what it meant.
Between periods, Tenley dragged Emerson into the bathroom, hoping to get more answers. But Emerson hadn’t learned anything new. Apparently, Sean was nowhere to be found after he left the cafeteria, and he wasn’t answering his phone. Emerson had called his house, and his mom had said he’d come home sick and couldn’t talk.
“Enough,” Tenley declared. “I say we drop the witch hunt and take this to the cops instead.”
“We might as well transfer schools now if we do that,” Emerson snapped. “Because soon everyone here will know our secrets.”
Tenley’s curiosity flared, but before she could discover what the darer had over Miss Neutrogena Model herself, Emerson stalked to the bathroom door.
“Leave Sean to me,” she insisted. “I know him best. I’ll find a way to get him to talk. Until then, no cops.”
The door swung shut as Tenley slumped against the sink. Sydney was on the no-cop bandwagon, too, which meant it was two against one. She’d have to give in. For now.
By the time the final bell of the day rang, Tenley felt as if her brain had been stuffed with cotton balls and then put through the blender. To make it worse, her old shoulder injury from gymnastics had stiffened up, thanks to a volleyball game in gym class. All she wanted was to go home and take a nice, long soak in the hot tub—try to wipe the darer from her mind and the pain from her shoulder. But in between classes she had gotten a call from Caitlin’s mom. Mrs. Thomas had asked her to stop by after school to pick up some of Caitlin’s things she’d put aside for her. The idea of going to Caitlin’s house made Tenley more tense than ever, but she couldn’t find it in her to say no to Mrs. Thomas. One pit stop, then she was making a beeline to the hot tub.
When Tenley arrived at Caitlin’s house, she was surprised to find a note tacked to the door.
Tenley—
I had to run out, but the box is in Cait’s room. You know where the key is.
Jaynie
Curt and to the point, just like Jaynie Thomas. Caitlin couldn’t have been more different from her mom. The only time Tenley ever saw a soft side to Mrs. Thomas was in the sea-glass window hangings she made for her gallery. Tenley glanced at the bay window that overlooked the Thomases’ porch. Mrs. Thomas always used it as a display for her latest creation.
The piece that hung there today was different from her usual creations: darker, filled with deep, saturated hues of blues and blacks. When a cloud passed, the collage looked dull and opaque, almost impenetrable. But in the sun it brightened instantly, as if there were a light shining deep inside it.
Tenley tore her eyes away and walked over to the row of galvanized metal flowerpots that lined the porch. For as long as she could remember, the Thomases had kept their spare key in the middle one. At least one thing hadn’t changed.
As soon as she opened the door, the Thomases’ dog, Sailor, threw himself at her, yapping at her heels as she traipsed slowly upstairs. She scooped him up and buried her face in his fur as she paused outside Caitlin’s bedroom. She hadn’t been inside since before the crash.
Taking a deep breath, she flung the door open. The smell hit her first. Caitlin’s flowery perfume lingered on every surface. It made her feel so present, as if all Tenley had to do was pull back an invisible veil, and there Cait would be, lounging on her bed and laughing at Sailor. Tenley took one step inside, then another, squeezing Sailor tight in her arms. There was Caitlin’s old beanbag chair and Caitlin’s line of framed photos and Caitlin’s Harvard flag taped up above her desk. Memories rushed at her one after another, an onslaught. “Gabby Douglas, London,” she chanted under her breath. “Nastia Liukin, Beijing. Carly Patterson, Athens.” But it was useless.
Suddenly she was eight years old and playing dolls on Caitlin’s bed. She was ten years old and waking up in a sleeping bag on Caitlin’s floor. She was twelve years old and daring Caitlin to call her crush and claim to be Ivana Kissyu.
Tenley made a choked noise. Sailor twisted around in her arms and nudged her cheek with his small, wet nose. She squeezed her eyes shut. A sob welled inside her, and it took all her energy to stave it off. Slowly, she opened her eyes again. When she noticed the small box on the dresser labeled TENLEY, she blew out a sigh of relief. She put Sailor down and grabbed it. She’d look through it later. Right now, she had to get out of there.
She was almost out of the room when something on Caitlin’s desk caught her eye. A small, leather-bound journal with the word DREAMS embroidered across the cover. Caitlin’s dream journal. Cait had mentioned that she was keeping one, but Tenley had never seen it. She hesitated. The doorway beckoned to her, fresh air and no memories. But she couldn’t look away from that journal. It was a piece of Cait: her voice, her thoughts.