Kiss and Tell

by Jacqueline Green

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  For Lauren, Rachel, and Meryl—three girls I’d be lost without

  PROLOGUE

  The cliffs were slick with snow, and she slipped as she climbed higher, slamming hard onto her knees. Pain reeled through her, but she refused to stop. In the distance, a round beam of light broke through the snow. A flashlight.

  The killer was here.

  She pushed herself further. One foot, then the next, then—ice .

  Her foot slid out from under her. Suddenly she was careening forward, the edge of the cliff much too close. She cried out as she caught herself on a jagged rock. She stretched a toe out, searching for a safe pathway, but at every angle she was met with ice. This high up, it coated everything.

  Behind her, the flashlight burned brighter. She was trapped.

  She looked out over the cliff. The storm was colorless: stark white brushstrokes against a black sky. Down below she could hear the ocean roaring and crashing. She wrenched the sapphire ring off her finger. She was breathing hard as she threw it over the cliff.

  She was nearly at the edge now. Just a few more inches and, like the ring, she, too, would fall into nothingness.

  The icy crunch of footsteps rang out through the night.

  There was nowhere left to run. Nowhere left to hide.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Sunday, 11:37 PM

  Sydney was driving much too fast. The scenery blurred outside her window, but it didn’t matter; she could dredge up every inch of it from memory. The sprawling Cape Cod–style homes. The paved walking path that wound alongside the ocean. The taut stretches of golden sand, dotted with seagulls. On the surface, Echo Bay looked like a picture-perfect beach town. But things weren’t always what they seemed. Sydney had learned that the hard way.

  Her phone buzzed from inside the car’s cup holder. Instantly, her muscles tensed, but she forced herself to relax. It can’t be from the darer, she reminded herself. Earlier that morning, she, Tenley, and Emerson had destroyed their cells, running over them with Tenley’s car. Sydney was now using an ancient, beat-up phone that had once belonged to her mom—probably back when smartphones were first invented. The upside was that no one but her parents, Emerson, and Tenley had her new number.

  She grabbed for her cell at a red light. 23 minutes till MOT, Tenley had texted.

  MOT: Moment of Truth. It was what Tenley had taken to calling tonight ever since they’d sent a threat to the darer on Facebook that morning: It’s over. There’s no more tracker, no more phones. If you want us, you’re going to have to come get us. The pier, tonight at midnight. It’s show and tell, remember? And it’s finally time you show.

  Sydney slammed on the gas as soon as the light changed, making her car lurch forward. She was sick of being played and tortured, taunted and teased. She was ready to catch whoever was sending the dares.

  Dares. The word made rage boil under her skin. Every time her focus slipped, the memory would assault her: Delancey’s lifeless body dangling from the beam last night. She’d looked so young up there in her homecoming dress, and so scared, her eyes frozen wide with horror. Bile rose in Sydney’s throat. Delancey would never be in school again. She’d never run another Purity Club meeting or choose another photo for the yearbook or spend another lunch period whispering with Abby Wilkins. She would never graduate from high school or go to college, leave Echo Bay or get married. She would be a high school senior forever, just like Caitlin and Tricia—and it was all because of one person’s sick, twisted game.

  For over a month now, someone had been after them: sending them threatening notes and punishing them when they disobeyed. Caitlin had paid the ultimate price, dying out on the ocean, and now Sydney, Emerson, and Tenley had been promised a similar fate. They’d blamed Tricia, then Delancey. But it turned out that those two were just puppets. There was a mastermind behind them both, pulling their strings.

  Sydney screeched to a stop on Hillworth Drive. Tenley was already there. She wore black jeans and a black sweater under her dark coat, her long chestnut waves swept back in a ponytail. With Sydney’s own all-black ensemble and ponytail, they almost matched: a spying uniform. “You drove?” Sydney asked. Tenley lived a short walk away, in one of the oceanfront mansions that lined Dune Way.

  “Leg’s sore.” Tenley gestured to her left leg. Her pants covered the injury, but Sydney had seen it before it was bandaged: an angry red burn slicing across Tenley’s calf. Last night at the homecoming dance, the darer had lured Tenley onto the auditorium’s catwalk, where a spotlight had been rigged to fall on her. Tenley had been lucky to walk away with just that burn.

  Tenley lifted up a long-lens camera. Sydney recognized it as one of Guinness’s, but she quickly pushed the thought away. She couldn’t let anything distract her right now. “You have yours?” Tenley asked.

  Sydney responded by crawling into the backseat of her car. Her hand brushed against her RISD scholarship application, making her jaw clench up. It was due tomorrow. “My two best,” she said as she climbed out with the cameras she’d brought. Their lenses glinted under the beam of her car’s headlights.

  “You should probably…” Tenley nodded toward the lights. Their plan was contingent on the darer never seeing them. It was why they’d parked five blocks from the pier. Sydney switched off the headlights, and darkness spilled in, making the hair on her arms stand on end. “Do you really think this will work?”

  “It has to,” Tenley said softly, and again Sydney saw it: Delancey’s crooked neck, her feet swinging in her high heels. “If we can get a photo of the darer—actual, hard evidence of who this person is—then we’ll finally have something we can lord over him or her.”

  Sydney nodded. Earlier that day, they’d taken a small step in figuring out more about the darer. So many crimes had plagued Echo Bay over the past ten years—the deaths of the Lost Girls, Caitlin’s kidnapping in sixth grade, and now their own stalker—and each incident seemed tied to one another. It had made them wonder: What if the same person had been tormenting Echo Bay residents for all these years?

  But how could they go to the cops? Last night, when the police came for Delancey’s body, Tenley had blurted out that it was murder, even though they’d been warned against it. The cops had explained that wasn’t possible: Delancey had left behind a suicide note. Immediately after, the darer had texted Tenley. Tsk, tsk, Ten. Looks like I have another girl to silence.

  Even if they could convince the police, it would take the cops weeks to hunt down the culprit—plenty of time for the darer to exact retribution. But if the girls took in a photo of their stalker, then the police would have a real lead, which meant they wouldn’t have to waste time searching.

  A pair of headlights flashed in the distance. The car flew toward them without slowing, its lights blinding. Sydney shielded her eyes, her brain frozen on a single thought: Darer. Next to her, Tenley grabbed Sydney’s arm, her hand cold and clammy.

  The car skidded to a stop a few feet away. The headlights switched off, and Emerson Cunningham climbed out. She, too, wore all black, but in her leather jacket and cashmere scarf, she still managed to look photo-shoot ready.

  Sydney sagged with relief as she handed Emerson a camera. “Phones on vibrate?” Emerson asked. Sydney nodded.
So did Tenley. “Okay, then.” There was a tremor in Emerson’s voice. “Let’s do this.”

  They were silent as they walked the five blocks to the pier. Sydney’s pulse raced faster with each step. “I guess it’s time to split up,” she said hesitantly. None of them moved. Sydney felt for Tenley’s hand in the dim light of the pier. “M-O-T,” she said.

  They all turned away at once. They’d chosen their individual stakeout spots during a run-through earlier that day; they were each to cover one section of the pier. Soon the darkness swallowed up the others, leaving Sydney all alone. It was cold by the water, and she wrapped her coat tighter around her as she located the boat she’d chosen earlier. Small and tethered close to the pier. A perfect hiding spot.

  She clutched her camera to her chest as she climbed into the boat. It rocked under her feet, making her stomach flip as she knelt beneath its rim and dropped her purse next to her. Minutes crept past, the only sound the shriek of a seagull overhead. The ocean slapped against the docks, punctuating the silence.

  A clock on the boat glowed. 11:56. What if no one showed? Sydney’s chest hitched. Or what if someone did—and her hiding spot wasn’t good enough?

  Her grip tightened on the camera as time ticked by.

  11:59.

  There was a sound.

  Sydney froze, every nerve suddenly on high alert. There it was again—a footstep! It came from above. Sydney lifted her camera, her gaze landing on the country club’s pool deck, which jutted out over the ocean at the end of the pier. Her hands shook as she trained her camera on the deck. But the darkness formed a barricade; she couldn’t see past it.

  Her finger rested on the camera’s shutter button. She could press it—set off a flash and clear the cobweb of darkness. But what if it wasn’t the darer? Or what if it was and the flash scared him or her away before she could get a clear shot?

  A loud scuffle up on the pool deck gave her a start. Her finger slammed against the button before she could catch her balance.

  Flash.

  For a single instant, the sky lit up. The light caught something tumbling over the railing of the pool deck. Arms and legs and—oh god.

  Her camera slipped from her hands. The world seemed to stop as Sydney watched the body plummet through the air. She heard it hit the water with a sickening splash. She was moving before she could fully process what had happened, grabbing her flashlight and sprinting off the boat and down the pier.

  Was it the darer?

  No. The darer didn’t lose, didn’t make mistakes. Which could mean only one thing: It was another victim.

  Panic clutched at Sydney’s chest. If this was retribution… If someone else had died because of the threat they’d sent the darer…

  Tenley and Emerson must have seen the fall, too, because Sydney heard them running behind her, their footsteps breaking open the silence. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore, not their plan, not the photo. All that mattered was getting to the victim. Could someone survive that fall?

  Sydney reached the shore at the end of the pier first. She scrambled to turn on her flashlight, shining its thin beam over the ocean. Body parts caught the light as they tossed on the waves. A leg. An arm. A flash of long blond hair. It was a girl. “We need to get her out!” she heard Tenley scream.

  Instinct took over as Sydney dropped the flashlight and launched herself into the ocean. She gasped as the cold water stabbed at her. Her limbs screamed in resistance, but she ordered them to move, kicking and paddling toward the body. Please don’t be dead. The thought crashed into her with each wave, again and again.

  Two splashes sounded behind her. She could hear Tenley and Emerson in the water now, but she kept her eyes locked on the body. The girl was bobbing facedown, her hair floating in a halo around her.

  Paddle. Kick. Please don’t be dead. Paddle. Kick. Please don’t be dead.

  “Who is it?” Tenley screamed. Sydney shook her head soundlessly. It was too dark to tell. The darkness made everything seem mercurial, as if at any moment she could blink and this would all disappear.

  Another stroke and Sydney was at the girl’s side. She hooked her arm around the body, but the girl was slippery and heavy—soaked with water—and when a wave hit, she couldn’t hold on. Sydney paddled desperately, trying to stay afloat. “I need help!” She tried again, but a fresh wave hit, pulling her under instead.

  She came up gasping for air. Emerson was there, wrapping her arms around the body. “Let’s get her to shore.” Tenley reached them, too, and together they towed the body to the sandy beach at the end of the pier.

  “On three!” Tenley said. “One, two—”

  Together, they crawled onto shore, dragging the girl’s body with them. Sydney’s teeth were chattering violently, but all she could focus on was the girl. “Is she—?” Tenley began.

  She stopped short.

  The girl was on her back, blond hair splayed around her. Except she wasn’t a girl at all.

  Sydney collapsed onto her knees next to the body. A red clown nose and black beady eyes stared up at her. “A doll,” she choked out. “It’s a clown doll.” Scrawled across the clown’s face in thick red marker was a message.

  This is no joke.

  Sydney couldn’t breathe. Once again their tormentor had bested them. He or she had been there—had fooled them—and then had vanished again without a trace.

  Unless…

  Her camera. She raced down to the pier, panting as she snatched her camera off the boat. She jabbed at the screen. There it was: the photo that had lit up the night. The pool deck was too tiny to make out any details. She zoomed in, and then zoomed in again. A doll came into focus, hoisted on top of the deck’s railing. Behind it, a shadowy figure ducked low.

  She zoomed in again and again, as close as the camera would let her. But the figure on the deck remained nothing more than a dark outline, impossible even to tell if it was male or female.

  Buzz!

  The noise made Sydney jump. It was coming from the boat. From inside her purse.

  Buzz!

  There it was again, this time from behind her. Emerson joined her on the pier, then Tenley. They were both holding their phones.

  Buzz! Buzz!

  “How?” Emerson whispered. “We have new cells, new numbers!”

  No one replied. Terror became a noose as, with a single click, the text message popped up on Sydney’s phone.

  Mutiny leads to war—and I fight dirty.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Monday, 7:50 AM

  Tenley ignored the ache in her leg as she sprinted toward Winslow’s red double doors. She’d overslept, and now she was ten minutes late to school. Which would look just great alongside the math test she’d recently bombed and the classes she’d recently skipped. For a while the “my best friend died” excuse had allowed these things to slide, but she could tell it was starting to wear thin. What was she supposed to tell the attendance office today? Sorry I’m late, but I was awake half the night thanks to a clown doll haunting my dreams.

  Tenley felt sick at the memory of what had happened last night. At first, she’d been sure it was a person—another casualty in this cruel game. As she’d watched the body fall, the possibilities of who it could be had curled around her like smog, until she was choking on them. Mom. Marta. Tim. But the whole thing was just a sick joke, the darer’s way of showing them that they weren’t in control.

  Mutiny leads to war—and I fight dirty.

  The darer had already tried to kill Tenley twice—in her hot tub and on the catwalk in the auditorium. What was dirtier than that?

  She was halfway to her locker when two large hands grabbed her from behind. The scream that slipped out of her was so high-pitched it sounded like it belonged to a little girl.

  “Whoa there.” The voice was low and lazy. And familiar. Tenley spun around to find Tim Holland staring down at her, an amused look in his dark blue eyes. “You being chased?”

  Tenley tried to speak, but he
r voice was trapped somewhere beneath her still-pounding heart. She forced herself to focus on Tim: his messy, damp blond waves; his beat-up hemp necklace that he never took off; his calm, easy smile. “I overslept,” she managed, finally.

  “I oversurfed. It happens.” Tim pushed a strand of hair off her cheek, and Tenley had to fight the urge to bury her head in his chest and not lift it again until Christmas. “Did you get my messages, Tenley? I’ve called you, like, ten times since you disappeared on me Saturday night.”

  Tenley tried not to wince. Tim had shown up at the homecoming dance Saturday night just for her. They’d kissed, and it had been amazing. But then everything had spiraled out of control and she hadn’t spoken to him for the rest of the weekend. “I got a new phone number yesterday. I’m sorry. I meant to call and tell you, but it was a pretty rough day.”

  “Delancey, I know. The whole town’s been talking about it.” Tim entwined his fingers through hers. “How are you doing?”

  Tenley sighed. “Honestly, I’m just trying really hard not to think about it.”

  “Maybe I can help with that.” Tim pulled her into a hug. She closed her eyes, letting herself melt against him. His arms were strong and warm, and he smelled faintly of the ocean. She could feel the muscles in her neck unclenching, just a little.

  “Miss Reed and Mr. Holland!”

  Tenley drew away from Tim with a start. Mr. Lozano, the art teacher, crossed his arms against his chest as he strode toward them. “May I ask why you two are not at the assembly?”

  Tim fiddled with the tangled mess of string bracelets tied around his wrist. “Assembly?”

  “The suicide-prevention assembly that was announced just before homeroom?” Mr. Lozano arched an eyebrow. “It’s mandatory.”

  “Oh that assembly,” Tenley backtracked. “We’re on our way right now. Tim was just helping me out.” She gestured down to her left leg, which was thicker than her right thanks to the bandage underneath her jeans. “I hurt my leg, so I’m moving more slowly.”