“Oh.” Mr. Lozano nodded, looking placated. “Take your time, then.”
Tenley gave the art teacher her sweetest smile before limping off toward the auditorium. “Impressive,” Tim murmured as he made a big show of assisting her. “I should keep you around to get me out of detentions.”
Normally, Tenley would have been quick with a retort. You should keep me around for more than that. But her thoughts were stuck at a standstill on the assembly. Suicide prevention.
Everyone in town, cops included, believed Delancey’s death was a suicide. Besides the darer, only Tenley, Sydney, and Emerson knew the truth. Their tormentor had hunted Delancey, torturing and toying with her before going in for the kill.
Tenley’s eyes went immediately to the front of the room as she and Tim entered the auditorium. The same person had tried to kill her on that very stage. In the two days since, the stage had been mended and scrubbed clean. If it weren’t for a few cracked planks on the catwalk above, you’d never know anything had happened.
“Looks like your fan club saved you a seat.” Tim nodded toward the back of the auditorium, where Emerson and Sydney were waving her over. Between Sydney’s rat nest of a ponytail and Emerson’s unusually drab outfit, they looked as terrible as Tenley felt.
“I should probably—”
“Go,” Tim agreed. “Find me later.” He gave her a quick smile before sauntering over to the exit row, where his best friends, Tray Macintyre and Sam Spencer, were seated.
“Did you show up with Tim Holland?” Emerson whispered as Tenley dropped into the empty seat next to her. Emerson’s brown sweater dress might have been unusually plain for her, but her cocoa-latte skin glowed as always. “What were you talking to him about?”
Tenley hesitated. She hadn’t told anyone she’d kissed Tim at the homecoming dance. Caitlin had dated Tim before she died, and Tenley knew how touchy that made this situation. But Tenley and Tim had bonded over missing Cait, and she’d been surprised by how much she liked him.
“I bumped into him in the hall,” Tenley answered vaguely. Her gaze fell on the thick manila envelope Sydney was clutching. “What’s that?” she asked, hoping to change the subject.
“My scholarship application for RISD.” Sydney tugged at the red flannel shirt she was wearing, looking nervous. “It has to be postmarked by today, so I’m taking it to the office.”
“I can’t believe you’re already doing applications,” Tenley murmured. “I can’t even think about applying to college until all this is over.”
“I don’t have a choice.” Sydney gripped the folder more tightly. “Scholarship applications are due earlier in the year.” She didn’t say it accusingly, but, still, Tenley felt her face flush. She busied herself by pulling out her new phone. She’d splurged on the nicest case in the store: matte gold, with white polka dots.
Emerson pulled her own phone out with a smirk. It was identical to Tenley’s. “Nice case.”
“Better than mine.” Sydney held up her phone, which had a hideous orange case on it, imprinted with the letter S. She gave them a wry smile. “It was the only one I could find that was old enough to fit.”
“No phones, girls,” Miss Hilbrook called out sternly. Her lips were pursed as she patrolled the aisles of the auditorium. “Eyes up front.”
Tenley turned obediently to the stage, where Mrs. Shuman, the school counselor, was standing with Principal Howard. “Delancey Crane was a beloved student at Winslow,” Mrs. Shuman said, her voice trembling as it poured through the auditorium’s speakers. “She was cofounder of the Purity Club, head of the yearbook committee, and enrolled in all honors classes. She was a kind person and a dedicated student, and now, because of a tough time, she’s gone.”
Mrs. Shuman teetered on her heels. Her eyes flitted across the auditorium, wide and dismayed, and suddenly Tenley got the feeling that she knew something—knew the truth. But then she cleared her throat, and her lips curled down at the corners, and she was just naive Mrs. Shuman again, the counselor who passed out lollipops to high school students.
“Delancey was just like the rest of you,” Mrs. Shuman continued. “And I think she’d want us to take a lesson away from this. Depression and suicidal thoughts can happen to anyone. If you notice a friend who’s down or acting strange, it’s your responsibility to talk to them, to ask a question.” A motto flashed across the screen behind her as she spoke: ASK A QUESTION, SAVE A LIFE. “We’ll be passing out information packets on suicide prevention at the end of the assembly, but first, Abby Wilkins has put together a touching slide show to help us honor Delancey’s life. I hope it reminds you all what’s at stake here. We’re at this school together, and that makes us responsible for one another’s well-being.”
As classical music played, photographs faded in and out on the screen. Delancey running into the ocean, curls flying in the wind. Delancey volunteering with the Red Cross, her porcelain skin reddened by the sun. Delancey posing with her parents, her arms draped around their shoulders. As a photo of Delancey wearing this year’s homecoming crown filled the screen, someone began to cry nearby. Soon the auditorium was filled with muffled sobs and sniffles.
On the screen, a photo of Delancey playing with her cat faded out, replaced by an image of Delancey and Abby. Delancey was smiling widely as she leaned against her best friend, and suddenly it wasn’t Delancey that Tenley saw, but Caitlin. Caitlin squinting as she hung on to Tenley’s every word. Caitlin brushing Tenley’s hair after Tenley sprained her wrist in gymnastics. Caitlin yelling, “Race you!” and sprinting down the beach, her blond hair whipping in her face as she looked back at Tenley, laughing.
Tenley bit down on her lip so hard she drew blood. Caitlin was gone, and Delancey was gone, and Tenley had no idea who would be next. The darer had swept through their lives like a tornado, leaving only wreckage behind. Tenley looked over at Emerson and Sydney. She saw her own fierce expression reflected back at her.
“We’re going to end this,” Sydney whispered grimly.
“We’re going to make this person pay,” Emerson added.
Tenley nodded. She wanted to agree, to insist, but, for the second time that morning, her words were trapped inside her, just out of reach.
A burst of static drew Tenley’s attention back to the stage. The screen showing the slide show had gone black. “What’s going on?” a voice called out. There was another burst of static as a video flickered onto the screen. In it, a girl stood inside Winslow’s empty locker room. Tenley sucked in a breath. The girl in the video wasn’t Delancey. It was Tenley.
“What is this?” someone screeched from several rows up. Tenley recognized the high-pitched voice immediately. Only Abby Wilkins could sound that whiny and indignant at the same time. “What happened to my slide show?”
On the screen, Tenley walked over to a locker and looked around furtively before opening it. Tenley watched in horror as the video showed her pulling a water bottle out of the locker. Two large red initials were inked on its side. JM. Video-Tenley glanced hastily over her shoulder again. When she saw that no one was coming, she took a small pink pill out of her pocket and dropped it into the water bottle. Then she shoved the bottle back into the locker and slammed the door shut.
Scandalized gasps filled the auditorium. People were twisting around, gaping at Tenley. She ignored them, her eyes glued to the screen. The footage skipped ahead. The locker room door swung open, and the cheerleading squad jogged in. Jessie Morrow, the captain of the squad, was at the front of the group. “This routine is going to kick ass,” she said with a grin over her shoulder. She stopped in front of her locker and pulled out her water bottle. Two red initials—JM—winked in the fluorescent light of the locker room. “I’m talking epic pep rally.” She lifted the bottle to her lips, taking a long swig of water.
A time stamp flashed on the screen. It was the day Jessie had a seizure during the pep rally.
“Oh my god!” someone shrieked in the auditorium.
“Did she d
rug her?” someone else cried.
The world darkened around Tenley. Voices lifted, swirling around her in a tunnel. Insane… Criminal… Evil… And then Principal Howard, screaming, “Quiet, everyone! Order!”
In her own head, the words from their text: I fight dirty.
“Ten—” Emerson began.
Tenley didn’t stick around to hear the rest. Faces spun around her as she raced out of the auditorium. She flew down the hallway, searching for a place to be alone. She could still hear the voices behind her, in an uproar. There was a bathroom, but that was too public. An unmarked door caught her eye at the end of the hallway. The janitor’s closet. She squeezed inside it. Tears clogged her vision as she slid to the ground on top of a mop head.
Everyone knew.
Everyone knew.
How could she ever leave this closet?
Beep!
The sound reached down through her thoughts, shaking her into awareness.
Beep!
Her hand clamped around her phone. The number was blocked, just as she’d expected.
Like I said: I fight dirty.
CHAPTER THREE
Monday, 8:29 AM
Tenley wasn’t answering her phone.
Any luck? Emerson texted Sydney. They’d split up to find Tenley after she fled from the auditorium. Still MIA, Sydney wrote back. Emerson tugged at the horseshoe necklace she’d dug out of her jewelry box that morning, desperate for any semblance of luck. Where was Tenley?
She jogged up Winslow’s back stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. She had to find her. She knew what it felt like to have the darer flaunt your biggest mistake. But it was more than that, too. Because what no one knew, not even Tenley, was that this whole disaster was Emerson’s fault. Tenley might have drugged Jessie, but it was Emerson—not the darer—who, in an awful, weak moment, had sent the note daring Tenley to slip the antianxiety pill into Jessie’s water bottle. The memory made Emerson’s stomach turn. It was one of the lowest moments of her life, and the darer must have watched her do it—watched the whole thing unfold as if it were some kind of television show. And then videotaped the result for good measure.
A noise from the art studio grabbed Emerson’s attention. A muffled sob. “Tenley?” she called out. But when she burst into the room, it was Abby Wilkins she found. Abby was sitting at a desk in the back, her head buried in her arms. Her shoulders heaved up and down with sobs. Behind her, the mural that last year’s senior class had painted shone on the wall: bright, happy splotches of color. Emerson started to turn away. She really had to find Tenley. But Abby’s cries made her waver. The sound tugged at something deep in her chest.
The day she found out Caitlin had died, Emerson had cried so hard, and so long, she’d barely had the strength left to stand. She’d really thought it was over after that—how could she have anything more left inside her? But the pain kept striking, relentless. She’d see a blond girl in the bleachers at cheerleading practice, or hear an actress in a commercial who sounded just like Cait, and all at once, the tears would return.
She turned back. “You okay, Abby?”
Abby sat up. She was wearing an ugly ribbed sweater and an even uglier patterned skirt. Normally, Emerson would jump at the chance to mentally edit clothing like that, but Abby’s face was so red and blotchy that Emerson quickly forgot her atrocity of an outfit. “I just miss her so much.” A sob accompanied Abby’s words, and the sound stabbed at Emerson’s chest.
Abby pushed a sweaty strand of hair off her forehead. “You know who I wanted to talk to about that ruined video? Delancey. She would have told me to take a deep chakra breath, probably. Or maybe she would have known who was behind it, because she always knew gossip like that. I’ll never know, though, because I can’t talk to her.” Abby’s shoulders heaved with another sob, and Emerson was taken by an urge to hug her, wrap her up in her arms the way her mom always did. But she and Abby weren’t friends; they barely even knew each other. So, instead, she took the seat next to her, tracing a heart that had been graffitied on the desk.
“I do that all the time,” she admitted. “Last night, I was halfway through dialing Caitlin’s number before I remembered.” The realization had been like a truck slamming into her chest at a hundred miles per hour. “Every time I start to think I’m okay, something happens that rips my heart open all over again.”
“Do you ever feel like your memories are warping?” Abby wiped a tear off her chin. “I keep thinking there must have been something I could have done to help her, something I could have said or asked.” Abby squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again. “Delancey was so jumpy the week before she died. I just figured she was worried about the homecoming race or college applications.…”
Fresh tears rolled down Abby’s cheeks. “Then, before the homecoming dance, I got an e-mail from Nina, a freshman in Purity Club, saying she was worried about Delancey. Something about Delancey saying she was going to lose her virginity in the bio lab before the dance. When I showed up to talk Delancey out of it, I ended up locked in a supply closet for half the night. The whole thing was some weird setup. I talked to Nina after, and she never even sent that e-mail.”
Emerson stared at a row of half-finished ceramic mugs. The truth burned a hole inside her. She, Tenley, and Sydney had sent that e-mail, and locked Abby in the closet. It was back when they thought Abby was the darer. The truth rose inside her now, begging for release. But she couldn’t tell Abby. Not with the darer still on the loose. No one else deserved to be dragged into this game.
“Did you ever figure out what happened?” she asked instead.
Abby shook her head. “I’ve gone through the whole thing a thousand times in my head. Maybe Delancey was secretly dating someone. Maybe he set it up, so he could have her to himself at the dance. Or maybe—maybe it was Delancey herself who did it.” She choked on the last sentence. “How could I have been so in the dark about my own best friend? How could I not have known she was planning her suicide?”
Guilt squeezed painfully at Emerson’s chest. Abby couldn’t have known—because Delancey hadn’t killed herself. If the darer’s taunts hadn’t been enough proof of that, Delancey’s suicide note would have been. Emerson had watched Delancey’s mom show it on the news earlier that morning, in a segment about suicide prevention. It was a short tearjerker of a note—typed up on the darer’s trademark typewriter. But once again she couldn’t tell Abby any of this. Not without telling her about the darer. “It’s not your fault, Abby.” She said it firmly, but the words hung limply between them, not nearly strong enough.
“It just makes me wonder if I even knew her at all,” Abby said sadly.
Emerson dug her nails into the soft wood of the desktop. She chose her words carefully. “Maybe it wasn’t planned. Maybe it just sort of… happened. A moment of terrible weakness.”
Abby shook her head. “She was planning it. She had to have been. Her mom told me she stopped at the Landing Spot diner the day before she died.”
Emerson scrunched her forehead up in confusion.
“Delancey’s cousin works there,” Abby explained. “But she hated that place. Said it gave her major creeps. She never went there, not even when her cousin was working. And then the day before she dies, she just walks in on her own? She must have gone to see him one last time, to say some kind of good-bye.”
Emerson looked up sharply. Delancey couldn’t have gone to the Landing Spot to say good-bye, because Delancey didn’t kill herself. So why had she been there?
She stood up, giving Abby a shaky smile. “I should go find Tenley.” She started toward the door but paused halfway there. “Abby?” She turned around for a second time. Abby’s eyes were wet and rimmed in red. “If you ever need to talk more, I’m here. I—I know what it’s like.”
Abby gave her a small smile. “Thanks, Emerson.”
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Emerson finally found Tenley in a janitor’s closet and managed to talk her out. She took a m
ath test after that and ate lunch with Tenley in her car, and waited outside the principal’s office while Tenley’s stepdad pulled strings to keep her from being suspended. But she was so consumed by thoughts of the darer that she barely remembered any of it. Now, as Emerson headed to cheer practice, she braced herself. Cheer practice meant seeing Jessie.
She couldn’t help but cringe when she saw the group gathered around Jessie on the field. They were standing in a circle, and from a distance they looked like a flock of birds, pecking and chirping at its leader. “Hey, Em,” Jessie called out as Emerson rounded the bleachers. “We were just talking about Psycho-Ten.”
“We’re taking bets on how much Stepdaddy Reed is going to have to cough up to make this one disappear,” Marisa Henley said with a giggle. “Apparently he’s already donating a new auditorium just so she won’t get suspended.”
Emerson shifted uncomfortably. “Have you even talked to Tenley, Jessie?”
Jessie gave Emerson a weird look. “You want me to talk to the girl who almost killed me as a prank?”
“I really don’t think she meant—”
“I don’t care what she meant,” Jessie said, cutting her off. “She drugged me and nearly ruined my life in the process. That’s all I need to know.”
Emerson opened her mouth. There were a thousand things she wanted to say, but everyone was watching her, their eyes like laser beams, and not a single word came out.
“Girls!” Coach’s voice cut across the field. “Why aren’t you warming up?”
“Just about to, Coach!” Jessie replied. Her voice was high and sugary again. She brushed past Emerson, knocking into her arm.
“Cunningham?” Coach called out. “You planning on joining the team?”
Emerson’s stomach turned as she watched Jessie whisper something to Marisa. “I’m not feeling so great all of a sudden.”
Emerson waited for Coach’s okay before hurrying off the field. She headed straight to the locker room and dropped down on a bench, burying her head in her hands. This was all her fault. If she’d never sent that note to Tenley, then Tenley would never have slipped the pill into Jessie’s water bottle, and the darer would never have found a way to film it. The guilt was like thorns, pricking at her insides.
Kiss and Tell Page 2