Kiss and Tell

by Jacqueline Green

  “It was anonymous,” her dad said. “Though that’s not what matters right now.”

  Her dad shoved a hand through his mess of blond hair, where it was starting to gray at the roots. He looked up, and Emerson was shocked to see tears in his eyes. She’d seen her dad cry only twice in her life, both times at funerals. She dropped her head as an awful thought pounded through her.

  This was her funeral.

  “I thought we raised you better than that,” her dad said.

  Shame swept through her. “It was a mistake, I swear. I didn’t mean for it to happen and I didn’t film it! I don’t know who did.” The words were tumbling out of her, one after another, but they weren’t enough. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered.

  Her mom gripped her dad’s shoulder. “We’re worried about you, honey. You have to tell us who this man is. You might be eighteen, but you’re still in high school; he took advantage of you! We need to make sure he can never come near you again.”

  Emerson looked wildly between her parents. She’d promised Matt she’d keep his secret. He could lose his job as fire chief if she didn’t; and then Sydney would lose her Civic Service Scholarship to Winslow. The room spiraled around Emerson, family photographs flashing in the corners of her vision. If she told, she’d be as bad as the darer. “I can’t,” she whispered. “It wasn’t his fault.”

  “You’re just a child, Emerson!” her dad exploded. “He’s the adult. That means it’s always his fault.”

  “I’m not a child,” Emerson shot back. “Like you said, I’m eighteen. It was a terrible mistake, but it was my mistake to make.” Emerson looked pleadingly at her mom, but her face was grim, her lips pressed in a tight line.

  “We need you to tell us, Emerson,” she said. “Right now.”

  “I—he…” The room spiraled faster, floor morphing to ceiling back to floor. She felt the day closing in on her—school and Coach and now this. “I can’t,” she gasped. She took off for the door. Her parents were still calling after her as she threw herself into her car and sped out of the driveway.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks as she pulled to a stop on Ocean Drive. Outside, the ocean unspooled toward the horizon, all open space and wide blue expanse, and all of a sudden, Emerson had never felt so small. The darer had turned her whole world against her. No. There was still one person on her side. And she wasn’t about to let the darer take him, too.

  She opened a new text. Can we meet up?

  Josh’s response came quickly. I was hoping you’d ask. :) Anaswan lighthouse in an hour?

  Emerson blew out a shaky sigh of relief as she typed back a quick yes. When Emerson had called Josh the night before, it was clear he hadn’t seen the video yet. He wasn’t on Facebook, but she knew the darer would make sure he saw it eventually. Which was why she had to tell him first.

  Emerson had met Josh a little over a year ago, during the summer she’d modeled in New York. He was a native New Yorker, and he’d introduced her to all his favorite places in the city. After just a few weeks together, they were inseparable. She’d never had someone look at her like that before, as if she were a gift. She kept waiting for it to wear off, for Josh to peel back her layers only to discover that he didn’t like what was wrapped inside. But it just kept getting better.

  She’d never given all of herself to someone before. It made her feel like he was carrying her heart in his hands. All it would take was one drop, and he’d break it. So, of course, she’d sabotaged things instead.

  She’d made the worst mistake of her life, sleeping with Remsen, a popular photographer. Afterward, she hadn’t been able to face Josh. So she’d left New York without a good-bye—just a note posted to his door—and she’d ignored every phone call and e-mail he’d sent. There was nothing to say. She’d fallen into her own trap and ruined everything. If she couldn’t forgive herself, how could he? But then last week, after a year of no contact, Josh had shown up in Echo Bay, and all their old feelings had resurfaced.

  Now, Emerson drummed her fingers nervously against the wheel. Soon she’d have to tell Josh about the video of her and Matt. The thought of Josh looking at her differently afterward made her chest squeeze painfully. She put her car back into gear. She had to do something to keep herself busy for the next hour or the nerves would eat her alive.

  She was subconsciously driving toward the Landing Spot diner before she realized where she was headed. Delancey had gone there the day before she died, even though she had despised the place. It could mean nothing at all. Or it could mean something important. If there was any connection between the Landing Spot and their darer, Emerson was going to find it.

  The smell of grease and stale coffee bombarded her as she walked into the diner a few minutes later. The place was a steel box, with fluorescent lights that made the waitresses’ orange polyester uniforms glow. She grabbed one of the cracked vinyl stools along the bar and pretended to study the menu.

  “What can I getcha?” Emerson looked up to find a bleached-blond woman standing over her. Her plastic name tag read KARRIE.

  “I’ll have a decaf coffee,” Emerson said, choosing the first thing she saw on the menu.

  “That all?”

  “For now.” Emerson pulled out her phone as Karrie went over to the coffeepot. Her stomach turned as she opened Winslow’s website and clicked to the memorial page dedicated to Delancey. Delancey’s big blue eyes smiled up at her, and suddenly the image twisted before her vision: those same eyes, now wide and glassy.

  Karrie placed a chipped mug in front of her, making some of the coffee slosh over the edge. “Cream or sugar?”

  Emerson shook her head. “Actually, I was wondering if you’ve seen this girl before? I think she came in here to see her cousin.” She held up her phone, and Karrie crouched down to get a better look.

  “That’s the girl who hung herself, right?”

  Emerson nodded. “Do you happen to know her cousin who works here?”

  Karrie shrugged, making her gold snake pendant slide across her collarbone. “No, but I only work Tuesdays. Helen, on the other hand, practically lives here. She’d be the one to ask.” She waved a white-haired waitress over. “This girl has a question for ya, Helen.”

  Emerson held up her phone once more. “I’m looking for this girl’s cousin. Her name’s Delancey Crane?”

  Helen leaned heavily against the green Formica bar. “Poor girl. Was she a friend of yours?”

  “Yeah.” Guilt flashed through Emerson at the lie, but she pushed past it. “It was just so sudden.” She hadn’t had time to plan out a story, but one just came spilling out. “My therapist thinks the best way for me to move on is to try to relive her last few days, feel what she was feeling, you know? And someone told me she came by here to see her cousin.” She looked up at Helen with her most innocent expression.

  “Marcus,” Helen said. Emerson’s heart leaped as Helen twisted a short strand of white hair around her finger. “He’s one of our line chefs. Pretty beat-up about her death. He’s in today. You think talking to him would help, honey?”

  Emerson nodded eagerly. “Definitely.”

  Helen pointed toward a swinging door behind the bar. “Kitchen’s through there. Just go on back.”

  Emerson glanced nervously over her shoulder as she went behind the bar, but no one seemed to notice, or care, that a customer was strolling toward the kitchen. She squared her shoulders and pushed through the swinging door. “You lost?” A guy with hairnet-covered cornrows stopped in front of her. He made no attempt at hiding the once-over he was giving her.

  “Are you Marcus?” Emerson asked, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze.

  “I could be,” the guy said appreciatively.

  “Ignore him,” a voice called out from across the kitchen. “What’s up?”

  Emerson followed the voice with her eyes. When they landed on its owner, her jaw practically hit the floor. The guy was young, probably only a few years older than she was. He was medium height and a little
gangly. But it was his face she couldn’t stop staring at. The resemblance was uncanny; he could easily have been Delancey Crane’s brother.

  “You’re Marcus?” she choked out.

  The guy nodded. “And you are…?” he asked, coming over to Emerson.

  “I’m Emerson. I was a friend of Delancey’s.” Emerson’s eyes bounced between Marcus’s brown curls and big blue eyes. “You were her cousin, right?”

  Marcus’s smile faltered. “I still can’t believe you have to say were.”

  “I know,” Emerson said quietly. “Delancey came by to see you, didn’t she? Right before…?” She trailed off, unable to finish.

  “Oh, are you here for the key?” Marcus asked. “I was wondering what to do with it now.”

  “The key,” Emerson repeated. Instantly, her pulse began to race. “Yeah,” she said quickly. “I thought I’d come get it.” She paused, praying she got the next question right. “When did she leave it with you?”

  “The day before she died. She said she was playing this big game of truth or dare with her friends and asked if I would hold on to it, hide it for her. Girls and their games,” Marcus added, with a rueful smile. “I just wish I’d known that it would be the last time I saw her.”

  Emerson nodded mutely. Her thoughts began to tailspin at the mention of truth or dare. Delancey wouldn’t have chosen that phrase at random; it had to mean something.

  “Yeah.” Her voice croaked and she quickly cleared her throat. “I know the feeling.”

  Marcus went over to the line of cabinets in the back of the kitchen and pulled a key off the top shelf. “Here.” He held it out to Emerson. It was gold and plain-looking, like a regular house key. “Good luck with your game.”

  Nerves shot through Emerson as she left the diner. This key had something to do with the darer; she was sure of it. Why else would Delancey have gone to such lengths to hide it?

  Whatever it was that Delancey had learned, this key was going to lead Emerson to it.

  As Emerson drove the winding roads to Anaswan, she forced her thoughts off the key and back onto Josh. He’d shocked her last week when he’d arrived in Echo Bay. He’d gotten a publishing deal for the book he’d been working on for as long as she’d known him, and he had put off college to work on revisions. He’d come to town looking for inspiration for the ending, but what he’d found instead was Emerson. Over the weekend, they’d finally kissed again. Emerson smiled at the memory. Kissing Josh had been like coming home after a long trip away. In some ways it had been the same, familiar and comforting. But it had been different, too, like finding a new bend in a road you’d traveled all your life.

  A heavy silence wrapped around Emerson as she climbed the long stairwell to the top of the lighthouse. It was dark, half of the lightbulbs burned out, and a shivery feeling crept under her skin. For a second, she could swear she heard the soft patter of footsteps behind her, but when she froze, the noise faded into nothingness. Just my imagination, she told herself. Still, she jogged up the last bend, emerging slightly out of breath into the lantern room.

  “Whoa.” She stopped short. The usually bare lantern room had been transformed. Strings of lights twinkled along the circular wall of windows. In the back of the room, a blue blanket had been laid out. It was covered in food: a box of Wheat Thins, a bottle of spray cheese, a tub of mint-chocolate-chip ice cream, a pile of York Peppermint Patties, and a bowl of Cheez-Its. A laugh bubbled out of Emerson. They were all her favorite snacks. Candles in small votives glowed next to the blanket, sending shadows dancing across the lighthouse ceiling.

  Josh was leaning against one of the windowed walls, his eyes a swirl of green and brown under the flickering lights. “I thought we were due an official second first date.” He grinned, and the sight of him was so familiar: the slight gap in his teeth and the crook in his nose, his hair combed into its half Mohawk, his frame almost too tall for the room. Something swelled deep inside Emerson’s chest.

  “I don’t know what to say.” She took a seat on the blanket and popped several Cheez-Its into her mouth.

  “A smile would suffice,” Josh replied. He sat down next to her, tucking his long legs beneath him. “You’ve been so down lately, Em. I thought you needed some cheering up.” Josh touched her hand, making a tingle shoot up her arm.

  “Thank you,” she said softly. “This is perfect.”

  Josh watched as she spooned up some mint-chocolate-chip ice cream, then crumbled several Cheez-Its over it. She added a spritz of cheese before sticking the whole spoonful into her mouth. “You do know that’s disgusting, right?” Josh asked, looking amused.

  “You mean delicious,” she replied, sending crumbs dribbling down her chin.

  Josh shook his head. “There’s the model I know and love.”

  Emerson started at the sound of that word. Josh was busy spraying cheese onto a Wheat Thin, completely oblivious to his word choice. But Emerson had heard it. The word rang through her head like an echo. Love. Love. Love.

  It was the one word they’d never said, the one word she’d never said to any guy. It made her squirm with a mixture of exhilaration and fear. She had to tell him about the video. Before someone else did.

  “Josh, there’s something I need to talk to you about.” She stood up abruptly, walking over to one of the windowed walls. Down below, the ocean rolled steadily toward the shore, waves rising and falling, rising and falling, as sure as breath. “I started seeing someone. After we broke up. It’s over now, but somehow someone got hold of a video of us and—”

  “Whoa, Em. Hold on.” Josh came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. He pulled her close, letting her head rest against the crook of his neck. “Were we broken up when this happened?”

  “Yes,” Emerson said quietly. She let herself rest against him, loving how solid he felt behind her. Not many guys were taller than she was, but Josh had a good three inches on her.

  “Then let’s not worry about it, okay? All that matters is that we’re honest with each other now that we’re back together. Right?”

  “Right!” It came out more forcefully than she’d intended, and she heard Josh chuckle.

  “Good.” Josh kissed the top of her head. “You know how things were with my parents after my mom cheated on my dad. If it taught me anything, it’s how important honesty is in a relationship. More important than anything.”

  “Honesty,” Emerson repeated. She kept her eyes on the waves below. Rising, falling, rising, falling.

  She should tell him. Not just about the video, but the real reason she’d left New York that summer, the real reason she’d spent a year avoiding his calls and texts and e-mails.

  She’d cheated. And then she’d run. And, worst of all, she’d lied.

  But Josh’s arms were still around her waist, and he was kissing her neck now, and he smelled so good, new and familiar at the same time. And it really was in the past. It had taken her a year, but she’d finally put it behind her. There was no reason to dredge it back up. Josh was right: Now was what mattered.

  “Should we go back to the blanket?” Josh whispered.

  It was her last chance. She could grab him by the shoulders. She could force him to listen. But then he kissed her again, and it was so sweet, and so here, and suddenly the rest of it—the darer and all her mistakes—seemed miles away, a ghost from another life. When Josh lifted her up and carried her to the blanket, she didn’t say a word at all.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Tuesday, 4:30 PM

  Relief flooded Sydney as she stopped outside the Fishing Hole Gallery & Bakery. She’d just spent an hour on the phone with Winslow’s college counselor, convincing her that the office had lost her scholarship application. It had taken about a thousand promises that Sydney really had handed the application in—and confirmation that the secretary had seen her do so—but, finally, the college counselor had agreed to call RISD tomorrow to work out an extension. For the first time since walking into school that morning, Syd
ney felt as if she could finally breathe.

  She still had to finish redoing her application, of course. She’d spent the whole day working frantically to duplicate it. She’d dropped her digital memory cards off at the photo shop for a rush printing. She’d spent hours in her makeshift darkroom, redeveloping her nondigital images. And she’d redone her written application from memory. There was still more to do, but first she needed some fuel.

  She grabbed a coffee and muffin at the bakery counter and took a seat in the back of the gallery. She plugged her phone in to charge. It was down to 10 percent battery for the third time that day, confirming her suspicion that her used phone was as old as cavemen.

  She clicked on her e-mail, chugging down some coffee while her phone took a full minute to process the request. Finally, Joey’s message popped up, still unanswered. She took another sip before opening a reply.

  Hey Joey,

  It’s been crazy here to say the least. Maybe everyone drank the Kool-Aid, like you said. Do you ever actually miss it here? I used to think I wouldn’t, but then the other day, I was shooting photos down at Willow Pond, and I started thinking about how you and I used to play there when we were little. Standing there, hearing a breeze rustle the willow trees and smelling that unmistakable Echo Bay smell of salt air and concrete, I actually kind of felt… affection. It’s weird how a place can beat you down again and again, leave you bruised and battered, and still you can feel this unbreakable tie to it. One of the great mysteries of life. Or a sign I have attachment issues.

  Anyway, thanks again for writing. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry every day for what happened.

  Sydney

  Sydney stared down at her words in surprise. They’d poured right out, as if they’d been inside her all along, just waiting for an escape. But she couldn’t actually send that. Could she? Joey barely knew her anymore, and she was pretty sure he didn’t like what he did know. Her finger skimmed the Delete button. It had felt so good to write it, to unclog her brain. She didn’t want to banish it to oblivion. Before she could change her mind, she hit Send.