I need to be alone.
Inhaling the sea air, I step out of my shoes and sit in a grassy patch of sand in front of the deck, where no one inside can see me. I don’t care if the sand ruins my dress. I can’t remember Ryan with people constantly offering me food and asking me how I am.
I can’t say good-bye to him in the middle of a crowd.
Behind me, the door slides open, and I start to stand, assuming Luke has followed me out. But then Holden’s voice freezes me where I am.
The sliding door clicks shut. “She seems to think she can talk her way out of it,” he says, and when there’s no reply, I realize he’s on his phone. “As if everything’s up for negotiation.”
I can’t hear the voice on the other end of the line.
Holden’s footsteps come closer, and I scoot back until I’m practically under the deck. “Yeah. The scotch was a good idea. Thanks.” He pauses. “I’ll let you know how it goes. But you can’t call me—”
The door slides open again, and Holden’s shoes squeak as he spins around. “I gotta go.”
“Hey,” Luke says.
“Hey.” Then Holden’s steps clomp toward the door and disappear into Genesis’s house.
The door slides shut again and Luke jogs down the steps. “Maddie? Are you out here?”
“Yeah,” I say, and he jumps, startled to find me just a couple of feet away. And on the ground.
“Are you hiding?”
“No.” I tug him down next to me. “I’m declining company. Except for yours.” His arm slides around my waist and I lay my head on his shoulder.
“And Holden’s?”
I snort. “He didn’t see me.” I sit up and meet Luke’s gaze, frowning. “Would you believe that bastard’s bragging to someone about blackmailing Genesis?”
“To whom?”
“No idea. I can’t think of anyone other than Pen who’s truly loyal to Holden.”
“Is she loyal to him? I mean, after he dumped her like that . . .”
“I don’t know. I think she’d take him back, if he wanted her.” I shake my head, mystified. “That girl can do, like, fifty backflips in a row and walk on her hands for a solid mile. You’d think she’d have a pretty strong spine, but she falls all over him every time Holden so much as smiles at her.”
“I don’t understand what she sees in him. What your cousin saw in him for so long.”
“Well, you’re asking the wrong person. I’d take you over Holden any day of the week. And twice on Wednesday.”
Luke chuckles. “Today is Wednesday.”
I lean forward until my mouth meets his. “What an incredible coincidence.”
2 DAYS, 13 HOURS EARLIER
I can move on with my life.
GENESIS
“Are you ready?” the production assistant asks.
“Yes.” No. But admitting that you’re not ready for something never helps. “I’m sorry, what is your name?” I’ve seen her so often now that I can identify her perfume and her chewing gum, but I don’t know what to call her.
She looks surprised by the question. “Marlena.”
“Yes, Marlena, I think I’m ready. Thanks.” I pat the microphone clipped to my shirt and decide to live with the fact that the battery pack is scraping my back raw again. I’m ready . . . to get this over with.
This time, there’s no green screen. This time we’re in a studio with an actual set: a chair and a love seat, angled to semi-face each other. There’s a lamp and a rug, and a coffee table, where three steaming mugs have already been set out.
This time there’s a reporter on set to interview us. In person. And she’s not local. I recognize her face from the entertainment segment of a national news show, though I can’t remember her name. The station sent her to us, last minute.
That realization resonates, and suddenly my nerves are back. Is this that big a story? How can they possibly justify this kind of expense for a segment that will end on a note of forgiveness with both of us deciding to move on?
“There they are.” Marlena nods at the set, where both Holden and the reporter are taking their seats. Holden laughs at something the host says as she settles into her chair, and I take a deep breath.
Just get through it. Then I can move on with my life. Free from Holden.
I climb three steps onto the set and Holden moves down so I can have the half of the love seat closest to our interviewer.
“Hi, Genesis.” She extends her hand for me to shake as I sit. “I just want to make sure you both understand that this is live television. So no profanity. Nothing crazy, or we’ll be fined by the FCC.”
“Yes, we’ve been briefed.” This isn’t my first rodeo, but with any luck, it’ll be my last.
“Okay!” She settles back into her chair and tugs her skirt over her knees as she crosses her legs at the ankles. The cameraman begins counting down.
Holden looks too calm.
Unease crawls up my spine. Something isn’t right. Suddenly I can feel his impending betrayal like the tip of a knife poking into my back.
Holden’s going to go back on his word. He’s going to talk about the video and “confirm” that it’s me. That I cheated on him. Or he’ll announce that he’s forgiven me and we’re moving on, totally abandoning his promise to let me go.
I stand, ready to walk off the set. But he grabs my hand and pulls me down next to him just as the cameraman mouths “one” and points his finger at us. We’re live.
I freeze, staring at the camera. Unable to smile. Unable to breathe.
“Thanks, Don,” the host says to her cohost, several hundred miles away. “I’m thrilled to be here today with Holden Wainwright and Genesis Valencia. By now most of you are familiar with the story of how they survived not just being kidnapped by terrorists in the Colombian jungle, but being recaptured by those same terrorists after their friends had escaped. I can’t even imagine.” She turns a sympathetic gaze on us, and I don’t realize that we’re supposed to respond until Holden is already talking.
“It was tough,” he says. “Demoralizing. It was like that moment in a scary movie where the girl gets her hand on the doorknob, but before she can escape into the yard, the killer grabs her and pulls her back.”
“Except we didn’t die,” I point out. Then I feel like a fool. Of course we didn’t die. How else would we be on live television?
“Yes. Well, this morning Holden and Genesis are here to make a little confession . . . !” Her voice rises into an excited pitch and she leans forward in anticipation.
Chills roll across my skin. This kind of excitement is usually reserved for cheesy talk show hosts announcing the results of paternity tests. What the hell has Holden’s publicist told her we’re going to say?
“Holden?” the host prompts with a supportive nod.
“Okay.” He swallows thickly, visibly, and I can practically feel sympathy pouring in for him over the airwaves. “This isn’t an easy thing for us to admit, and I want to thank Genesis for the courage she’s shown by coming on with me today.”
The knot in my stomach grows until it’s all I can feel, pinning me to my chair like an anchor to the ocean floor.
“I’m sure many of you saw the video that surfaced recently.”
My face is on fire. I should have known he’d do this. That he’d say whatever it took to get me on TV, then stab me in the back.
“And I know most of you are thinking some pretty uncharitable things about Genesis right now. But I want to ask you to stop. You don’t know her. You don’t know what she’s going through. You don’t know what she’s been through.”
I am frozen—a painful irony considering how flushed every inch of my skin feels. I’ve become a human coal burning from the inside out with fear and humiliation.
“Genesis is seeing a therapist to help her deal with what happened last week in the jungle. But it’s been rough going. She’s struggling to adjust to being back and to put everything behind her. And I think you’ll all understand w
hy she did what she did on that video if you knew what she’s privately trying to overcome.”
Nonononono.
“Holden,” I croak, but his name hardly carries any sound.
“What you don’t know is that while we were out there, Genesis fought hard to get us all free. To stop what our captors were trying to do. And when an opportunity came, she felt she had to seize it. She got ahold of one of our captors’ detonators and blew up the bombs, hoping to disarm them.”
My nails dig into his hand, but he continues as if he can’t feel a thing. “Instead, she blew up the cruise ship Splendor.”
She didn’t—
MADDIE
Ignoring the stares, I set my books on my desk and sink into my chair. The ten minutes before school starts are the worst ten minutes of my day, because I have no real friends in first period. I have no one to talk to and nothing to do but pretend I can’t hear the whispers or feel the gazes trained on me.
I feel like a fish in a bowl, swimming in circles for the entertainment of the voyeuristic masses. Which of us is more pathetic: the fish with nothing better to do or the people with nothing better to watch?
My phone buzzes, and I’m relieved to see a text from Luke. It’s come with a video, so I dig my earbuds from my purse and step into the hall as I read the text, ignoring the new stares and the way people slow down on their way to class to stare at me.
It’s still going live, so I rewound and recorded this. Watch NOW.
I press the play button, and shaky video begins. Luke has recorded something playing on television with his phone.
It’s Holden and Genesis on the national news.
“Wait.” The host blinks. She looks confused. “Did you just say . . . ?”
“Don’t get me wrong.” Holden leans forward and stares earnestly into the camera, as if he’s horrified by the idea that he might be misunderstood. “It was totally an accident. She didn’t know the bombs were on the ship. Did you, Gen?”
Oh my God. He practically pushed her in front of a bus on national television.
“Is it true?” a voice asks, and I pull my earbuds free as I look up. A girl stands in front of an open locker a foot away, and she can see what I’m watching. “Did your cousin kill all those people? Is she one of the terrorists?”
“No!” I didn’t mean to shout, but now everyone’s looking. “She didn’t—”
But she did.
And suddenly I understand what Holden has obviously already figured out—sometimes it’s easier to believe a simple lie than a complicated truth.
I was destined to lose.
GENESIS
Holden waits for my answer with wide eyes, and I can only stare at him in shock while control of my life slides out of my grasp like the tide receding from the shore.
When I don’t reply, Holden turns back to the camera. “She had no idea. I mean, she obviously knew someone could get killed from an explosion of that size, but she certainly never meant to hurt anyone innocent.”
I can’t breathe.
He’s just made the case for reckless endangerment against me. On national television.
“Genesis?” The host’s voice sounds hollow. She’s not smiling. Holden may be playing the idiot-who-was-trying-to-help role, but she clearly understands just how bad this is for me. “Is that true? Did you . . . ?” She can’t bring herself to say the words.
I can’t either.
I stare at the camera. Silence builds all around me. I can’t see the crew members behind the bright studio lights, but I can feel how still they’ve gone. How attentive.
I can almost feel Marlena, the friendly production assistant, looking at me. Waiting for me to deny it. To somehow exonerate myself. But I can’t, because after four years and at least a thousand lies, Holden has just eviscerated me with the truth.
The moment stretches around me, and every second that passes drives his knife deeper into my back. Finally, I stand and run from the set. I hit my knee on the coffee table and overturn one of the mugs, but I keep going. I hardly feel the bruise.
I run out of the studio and down the hall, heading for a red exit sign blurred by my tears.
I press the release bar on the door, and when it swings open, I practically fall into the parking lot. I gulp air and squint against the sun, shocked to realize that though this is the darkest moment of my entire life, somehow it’s still broad daylight outside.
The worst day of my life has really just begun.
My phone rings. It’s Maddie. I don’t answer.
The sore spot on my lower back reminds me that I’m still wearing the microphone, earpiece, and battery pack. I pull them all free and drop them in a heap in front of the door. Then I run for my car.
Maddie calls again as I pull out of the parking lot. I nearly swerve into the next lane as I reject her call, and the moment I make the ringing stop, another call begins. It’s my dad.
The next call comes from Neda.
Then from my father again.
Then the texts start rolling in.
I roll down my window, ready to throw the phone out to smash against the curb, but then I freeze with my cell in my hand. What if someone finds the ruins of my phone and manages to reconstruct enough of it to get to the data?
What have I said that could add to the damage Holden has just done?
I turn my phone off and drop it in the center console.
Two news vans are already parked near the gate in front of my house. Their sliding doors open as I approach, and reporters climb out, shouting questions at me through my car window as I pull through the gate.
“Genesis, is it true? Did you blow up the Splendor?”
“Are you currently under investigation by US or Colombian authorities?”
“Do you have anything to say to the survivors and family members of the victims?”
As the gate closes behind me, they’re still shouting. Hoping for a response.
I pull into the garage, then race across the three empty spaces and into the house. The second I step into my living room, an anguished sob wrenches free from my throat so violently that I feel like I’ve swallowed a mouthful of thorns.
I’ve spent most of my life learning how to fight, and deep down, I think I always knew that someday I’d have to. When we were kidnapped, I thought that moment had come. I fought, and I thought I was doing the right thing.
But I had no idea that the real battle would be a war of words, or that whether I armed myself with the truth or with lies, I was destined to lose before I even began.
I couldn’t face the stares.
MADDIE
I stare at my phone in the shadow of the school gymnasium, as far from the huge trash bins as I can get without being seen. The only people who ever come back here are the janitorial staff, and they don’t care that I’m supposed to be in class.
“How’s she doing?” Luke asks as he rounds the corner. I don’t think he’s ever skipped class before—neither have I—and I probably shouldn’t have asked him to. But I couldn’t face the stares in the hall or the silence behind the gym alone.
“I don’t know. Her phone’s going straight to voice mail.”
“I assume you tried texting?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, Luke, I tried texting. That’s no longer a last-ditch effort at communication. But thanks for trying to help.”
He laughs as he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me close. “So I guess I shouldn’t bother with my second- and third-place suggestions?”
“Psychic communication and Morse code?” I guess.
“Close. Carrier pigeons and sky writing.”
I try to laugh, but what comes out sounds more like choking back tears.
He tugs me toward the relatively clean curb at the edge of the sidewalk behind the gym. “So . . . it’s true? I knew her plan was to detonate the bombs on the mini-subs, but when the cruise ship blew, I assumed that was Sebastián or Silvana.”
“It was Genesis. But it could just
as easily have been me.” I’ve never said that out loud before, and the admission feels terrifying. Yet there’s no judgment in Luke’s eyes. “We had no idea the explosives had been transferred to the Splendor. We thought we were blowing up bombs and cocaine. And Holden knows that.”
“Holden’s an asshole.”
“He’s psychotic.” I sink onto the curb and Luke sits next to me. “You should see the chatter online. There are already death threats. I wish there was something we could do.”
“You can’t refute the truth, so I’m not sure how you could help her.”
“Right now I’d settle for hurting him.”
Luke crosses his arms over his chest and stares at the side of the trash bin. Then he sits straighter and gives me an odd smile. “That might be doable.”
“You want to take on Holden Wainwright? A billionaire with more lawyers than actual friends?”
“Well, when you say it like that . . . hell yes.” His smile grows into a grin. “I don’t think we’re going to learn anything else today. Let’s get out of here.” He stands and picks up his backpack, then pulls me up by one hand. “So what would hurt him the most?”
“A baseball bat.” I’m only kind of kidding.
“Ha ha,” Luke says as we round the far side of the gym, headed off campus the long way to avoid seeing anyone.
“Money,” I say as we cross the street, and I realize we’re headed for a park about a block down. “But we can’t sue him for telling the truth, and even if we could, he wouldn’t feel the loss unless we could take billions.” I grunt in disgust.
My uncle. Holden. Why do all the worst people seem to have the most money?
“Genesis might actually be brought up on charges thanks to him, and he’s going to be a billionaire someday. I wish we could even that score and send him to . . .”
99 Lies Page 20