Emerson squared her shoulders, bracing herself. More like time to pretend that just the sound of Tricia’s name didn’t make her want to barf.
Abby had just launched into an infuriating speech about celebrating “those we’ve lost” when Tenley’s phone beeped loudly. “Oh my god,” Emerson heard her sputter. Immediately Tenley grabbed Emerson’s arm and pulled her roughly away from the group.
“Ow! What the—?” But she, too, fell silent as Tenley shoved her phone at her.
On the screen was a text, sent by a blocked number. Emerson’s heart seized as she read it.
Time for a new game, girls: show and tell. The only rule? Don’t tell. Or I’ll show your secrets to the world.
Emerson looked wildly around, but the beach was dark, the shoreline crowded with classmates. It could have been sent from anyone—here or elsewhere. “Maybe it’s a joke,” she said nervously. “Maybe someone found one of Tricia’s notes and thought it was just some game.”
Tenley nodded, but her expression told Emerson she wasn’t buying it. “I’m going to try responding,” she said tightly. Tenley typed out a quick text, but a second later, she held up an error message for Emerson to see. Invalid Number.
Emerson’s head started to pound. “I guess it’s one-way communication,” she muttered.
“We should go see if anyone we know has their phones out,” Tenley said.
Emerson reached up to massage her forehead. She felt hot and stuffy all of a sudden, as if she were standing inside a sauna instead of on a wide, cold beach.
“Are you okay?” Tenley asked.
“I actually don’t feel so good.” Emerson wiped a bead of sweat off her brow. “I—I think I need to go home.”
“Go. Please.” Tenley sounded tense, but her forehead was scrunched up in concern. “You look like you’re about to faint. I can look into the phone thing myself.”
Emerson nodded. “Text if you find anything. But I bet it really is just a terrible joke.” She gave Tenley a weak smile before hurrying toward the street. Her mom had dropped her off earlier, which meant she’d have to call for a ride home, but right now it just felt good to be moving. The farther away she got from the beach, the less her head pounded and the more her body cooled down. She decided to walk a few blocks before calling.
Tenley’s text circled through her mind as she turned onto Maple Avenue. Joke or not, she felt a stab of guilt at how relieved she was that it had nothing to do with her. She wasn’t part of Tricia’s horrible game, never had been. Her secrets were safe.
“Hey, Lion!” A car rolled to a stop in the street behind her. Before she even turned around, she knew who it was. Matt Morgan, Echo Bay’s resident fire chief. And Sydney Morgan’s father. He was the only one who called her by that nickname—coined because she was a Winslow Lions cheerleader. His voice made her stomach lurch. It had been weeks since she’d seen or heard from him, and she’d hoped to keep it that way.
She turned to face him. He was in his blue pickup truck, his arm propped up on the rolled-down window. He was as good-looking as ever, his thick brown hair just starting to turn salt-and-pepper. “Let me give you a ride,” he offered.
“No thanks,” she said coldly. “I’m fine.”
“Come on, Em.” He leaned out the window. He was in his gym clothes, his muscles toned underneath his thin T-shirt. She quickly averted her eyes. “This is a good coincidence. I’ve been wanting to talk to you, actually. You know, get some closure on everything.”
Emerson snorted. Forget closure; she wanted to erase the whole terrible Matt Morgan Mistake from her mind.
“Please,” Matt said. There was a pleading note in his voice that surprised her. “You look like you could use a ride, anyway.”
Emerson sighed. It would save her parents the trip. “Fine.” She climbed into the truck, keeping her eyes on the road as he pulled into the street. “Go ahead,” she said woodenly. “Talk.”
“What happened between us this summer…” Matt paused. It was clear he was choosing his words carefully. “I’m not saying I regret it, because, of course, I don’t. It was great, but… it still shouldn’t have happened. You might be eighteen, but in the eyes of this town, you’re still a kid. I’m the adult; I shouldn’t have let it go on.”
A laugh escaped Emerson. “You probably should have thought of that before giving me your number.” He’d done it slyly at the cheerleaders’ end-of-year car wash, smiling that knowing, little smile of his, with his eyes glued to her wet, sudsy sundress. She knew it would be wrong in about a thousand different ways if she called him. He wasn’t just older, he was Sydney Morgan’s dad. A girl in her grade. But that’s what made her do it in the end: the wrongness of it. She wanted it to consume her, to help her do the one thing nothing else had been able to: make her forget Josh.
She’d tried everything that past year, dating the senior quarterback, throwing herself into cheerleading, dragging Caitlin to party after party. But still the memory of Josh clung to her, like a cold she couldn’t quite kick. So when Matt gave her his number, she wanted to believe that this would work—let her box up that part of her life and ship it far away at last.
It had, for a little while. But then Matt had ended it, and all she’d been left with was a new batch of memories she wished she could erase.
“I know I was the one who started things,” Matt continued, “but I was at a different point in my life then. Now I have a real chance of working things out with my ex-wife. And if she found out…”
Emerson nodded. She kept waiting for the emotions to hit—anger or sorrow, maybe even a pang of lingering desire—but all she felt was regret. Hot, snaking regret. It made her feel itchy inside her own skin. “Believe me,” she said. “I’d like to forget about this as much as you would.”
“Good.” Matt blew out a relieved breath as he turned onto her block. “Because it’s not just me I’m worried about; it’s Sydney. If this got out, I could lose my job—and Sydney’s Winslow scholarship is contingent on my being a fireman.” He braked the car at the bottom of her driveway. “I couldn’t live with myself if she lost her scholarship her senior year.” He put a hand on Emerson’s shoulder, but she shrugged it off.
“Like I said, I don’t want people to know about this, either.” She slid down from the truck. But as she started toward her house, she glanced back. Matt was slumped behind the wheel, a defeated look on his face. “I won’t tell anyone,” she called to him. “Okay? You have nothing to worry about, Matt.”
She took off toward her house without waiting for a reply. All she wanted to do right now was curl up in bed and pretend Matt Morgan didn’t exist. But as she climbed onto her porch, she saw something propped against the front door. It was a small package, wrapped up prettily with a sticker of the letter E on the front. Emerson crouched down and picked it up. The wrapping paper tore off easily, fluttering to her feet.
It was a pink rabbit’s foot key chain. Her pink rabbit’s foot key chain. The one she’d named Big Foot and taken to every game and pep rally she’d ever cheered at—until she lost it over a month ago. There was a folded piece of stationery with it, and she quickly smoothed it open. A message was printed across it in boxy, faded letters, as if it had been typed up on an old typewriter.
“No,” Emerson whispered. She knew that font. She’d seen it before, on one of Caitlin’s dares. Light-headed, she sank into a porch chair to read.
You’re already a naughty girl, Em. Follow my rules, or you’ll become a Lost Girl, too. Welcome to the game.
CHAPTER TWO
Monday, 11:02 PM
Tenley was booking it down the beach. The party was over, and she wanted to get far away from it as fast as possible. The more distance she put between herself and the scene of that text message the better. Still, she couldn’t resist pulling her phone out as she walked. She swiped at the screen, making a thin beam of light cut through the darkness.
Time for a new game, girls. The words made the hairs on her arms stand on end. After Emerson left, she walked up and down the beach, looking for anyone acting suspicious. But it was a party: People were drinking and laughing and running into the waves fully clothed. No one’s behavior screamed, I just sent a creepy stalker text! She tried to forget about it after that and have fun, but the same question looped through her mind all night: Could this text be related to the last one?
At Caitlin’s memorial, only seconds after finding the note in her purse, she’d received a text. No words, just a photo: Tenley fast asleep and curled up against her stepbrother, Guinness, Photoshopped to look as if they were sleeping in a coffin. She deleted it before Sydney or Emerson could see. She didn’t need Sydney—or anyone—seeing her with Guinness like that. She knew exactly when the photo had been taken, and it wasn’t her proudest moment.
It had been just a few nights after the Justice crash. She’d been lonely, missing Caitlin like crazy, and desperate for some comfort. So she crawled into Guinness’s bed. He’d been passed out drunk, and she left before he woke up. He never even knew she was there. But someone did. She wasn’t sure which part scared her more: that someone had been inside her house, photographing her… or that whoever it was would rather see her in a coffin than a bed.