Kiss and Tell

by Jacqueline Green

  By the time Sydney turned into Moorhead an hour and a half later, she’d talked herself in circles so many times she could barely see straight. At least there was one thing in her life that the darer hadn’t destroyed. Thanks to the Winslow counselor’s wheedling, RISD had granted her an extension on her scholarship application. She’d overnighted the application herself, which meant it should be arriving safely at RISD today.

  Sydney tried to clear her head as she passed a shut-down post office, a tiny diner with a half-lit sign, and a one-pump gas station. At the end of the road, a sign for Roseview Drug & Alcohol Rehabilitation Center came into view. 2 MILES DOWN THE ROAD! it read in big, cheery letters.

  She followed the sign to a fancy, wrought-iron fence that stood at least eight feet tall. It encircled an ornate stone building that looked more like a castle than a rehab center. Sydney pulled up to the entranceway and pushed the buzzer on a high-tech security system. A video screen flickered to life. “Sydney Morgan, here to visit Guinness Reed,” she said into the screen. She squeezed the steering wheel, right where Kyla’s necklace had been left when she was on the cliffs Tuesday. Just the memory was enough to set her heart pounding again, and she sighed with relief when a man in a suit appeared on the video screen.

  The man was sitting behind a huge wooden desk. “One moment, please,” he said in a formal voice. With a ring of a bell, the door to the fence swung open. “Please park in Lot A,” the man said, sounding disturbingly like a robot. “Then proceed to the visitors’ desk in the lobby.”

  Lot A, it turned out, was a field lined with flawlessly manicured bushes. A flagstone path led to the center’s stained glass front door. Only the Reeds would find a rehab center that was nicer than their beachfront mansion.

  It took Sydney fifteen minutes to make it through the center’s rigorous sign-in regimen. (ID: deposited. Bag: examined. Clothes: patted down. Four-page release form: signed.) Finally, a tiny, wrinkled nurse guided her to an expansive rec room, lined with shelves of board games, books, and instruments. “Your friend’s in the back,” she informed Sydney, nodding in the direction of a small chess table. “He’s a charmer, isn’t he?” She gave Sydney a wink before leaving.

  “That he is,” Sydney murmured to no one in particular. She lifted her hand in a hesitant wave to Guinness. Now that she was actually here, waves of nerves were suddenly rolling through her.

  It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen Guinness in rehab before. She’d first met him at the Sunrise Center, when they were both patients. They’d connected immediately back then, even though Sydney was several years younger. She’d never met someone who understood her like he did; someone who didn’t shy away from the anger brewing inside her, but met it head-on. At Sunrise, she and Guinness were on the same plane; they shared the same world. It had tied them together with a knot so tight she was still working to loosen it.

  She’d thought seeing him here would bring back a rush of memories—tighten that knot once again. But it felt different this time. They weren’t on the same plane anymore. This time, Guinness was on the inside, and she was on the outside. It made her feel as if they’d been tossed around in a snow globe, and only she was left standing.

  Guinness waved her over. She studied him as she crossed the room. He had a few days’ worth of stubble on his cheeks, and his dark hair hung in tousled waves. She was surprised by how good he looked, more relaxed than she’d seen him in a long time.

  “So have you prepared for the impending weather doom?” Guinness asked as she dropped down across from him.

  “I can barely fit inside my apartment with all the canned goods my mom’s stockpiling,” she confirmed.

  “Octo-storm is all anyone here can talk about,” Guinness said. “The nurses are freaking that we’ll lose power. Addicts without electricity,” he said with a laugh.

  “Sounds like a reality show,” Sydney mused.

  Guinness’s dark brown eyes met hers, holding her gaze for several seconds. He was usually so hard to read, a book written in a different language, but right now his expression was surprisingly unguarded. “It’s good to see you.” He put his hand on hers and an old, familiar tingle worked its way through her.

  “It’s good to see you, too, Guinness. You look great. Better.”

  “I am.” Guinness glanced around the mostly empty room. In the corner, two women were playing chess, both bent low over the board. A few tables up, a gangly guy who looked as if he couldn’t be more than thirteen was absorbed in a book. No one was paying any attention to them. “I actually kind of like it here. They have fancy cameras that I’m allowed to play around with, and as long as I follow my treatment plan, people leave me alone. There’s no one following me, no one leaving me notes.” He leaned back, resting his hands on his stomach. “I feel like I can breathe again.”

  Sydney twisted at her ring. She let herself imagine what that would be like: to slip out of Echo Bay’s chains and just walk away. But she wasn’t in rehab. Unlike Guinness, she had to go home at the end of the day. “I was hoping we could talk about that package you sent me,” she said.

  A muscle clenched in Guinness’s jaw. “I figured as much.” He scraped his chair back, standing up. “Let’s take a walk. As of today, I’m allowed on the grounds unsupervised.” He pressed his hands to his chest in a fake swoon. “It’s like Christmas and my birthday all wrapped into one!”

  Sydney laughed as Guinness began the long process of signing them out. Finally, he led her outside and onto a wooded path. The iron fence rose on either side in the distance, but inside the property, tree branches threaded into an awning of gold and orange. Sydney breathed in deeply. The air smelled strongly of fall, that fresh, blank-page smell.

  “So, Kyla,” Guinness sighed.

  “Kyla,” she repeated. A bright red leaf fluttered down, and Sydney reached up, letting it land in her palm. “When I brought her up last week, you said you barely knew her, Guinness. But you don’t hunt down a stalker of some girl you barely knew.” She glanced over at him. “Why did you lie to me?”

  Guinness kicked at a rock on the ground, watching it skitter ahead into the grass. “I was getting those notes, Syd. Not just the one I sent you, but others, too. I was freaked out. And I didn’t want you getting dragged into it. But then things started to get really weird, and I just—I had to tell someone. You’d been asking all those questions, so…” He looked over at her, squinting in the morning sun. “At the time, that package seemed like the safest way to do it.” He shook his head. “If I’d known what this person was capable of, I would never have sent it. The last thing I want is for you to get involved with this.”

  Sydney hesitated. She wanted so badly to tell him that she already was involved, but what would that accomplish? Guinness was finally doing well. How could she ruin that for him? Besides, it wasn’t as if he could help her from inside rehab. “How close were you with Kyla?” she asked instead. She knew Guinness had once had a thing for Kyla. He’d even dated her sister, Lacey, like some kind of consolation prize. She tried not to let the memory sting. She and Guinness were over; whom he’d dated in the past shouldn’t have a bearing on her.

  “She was Kyla Kern,” Guinness said with a shrug. “She was the hottest waitress at the Club. Every guy who summered in Echo Bay was into her. It drove me crazy that she wouldn’t give me the time of day.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “I wasn’t used to hearing no.”

  Sydney made a face at him. “You don’t say.”

  “But Kyla never seemed to be dating anyone,” Guinness continued. He kicked at another rock, and Sydney watched it leap ahead. “Or at least that’s what I thought.”

  “What changed?”

  “The summer before she died, I was at a party at her house, and, being my usual drunken asshole self, I decided it was a great idea to sneak into her room. I was going through her underwear drawer—I know,” he groaned when Sydney gave him a horrified look. “Like I said, drunken asshole. How do you think I ended up here?” He waved b
roadly at the grounds surrounding them. “Anyway, that’s where I found a hidden note. It was this whole love poem, written to ‘Lion.’” He air-quoted on Lion. “At the time, I figured that was why she wasn’t into me—because she had some secret boyfriend.”

  Sydney twisted her ring. “And now? Do you think it could have been from the person who was stalking her?”

  “It’s hard to know. I’ve been trying to remember what the note looked like, but I can’t.” He gave his head a frustrated shake. “It was a while ago, and I was drunk. The only thing that really stuck with me was that name—Lion—because it was such a strange nickname for a girl as sweet as Kyla.” He guided Sydney toward a long, gurgling brook. “It would make sense, though, wouldn’t it?”

  “It would.” Except that it didn’t fit with their kidnapper theory. Caitlin’s kidnapper had been a woman. “You definitely think the note was from a guy?”

  “Unless Kyla had a lady love.” Guinness gave her a rakish grin.

  “Was there anything else you found?” Sydney pressed, ignoring the comment. “Maybe something about the night she died?”

  “No.” Guinness pushed a strand of dark hair out of his eyes. “I ended up here before I could dig any further.”

  “And nothing else you remember about that first note?” Sydney was walking faster now, and Guinness picked up his speed to match hers.

  “No, and listen, Blue.” Guinness grabbed her arm, pulling her to a stop. Despite everything, her heart swelled at his use of his old nickname for her. “I want you to drop this when you leave here today, okay? Someone clearly wants to keep this information buried—enough to have my weed laced so I almost died. I finally feel safe now that I’m out of Echo Bay, but you…” He swallowed hard. “I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.” Guinness’s eyes searched hers. “Promise me you’ll let it go, okay?”

  Sydney clamped her lips together. There was no way she could do that, but she wasn’t about to tell Guinness that. Not when he was doing so well. “Sure,” she lied. “Whatever you want.”

  “Good.” Guinness looked relieved. “So,” he said, taking off down the path again. “Tell me about you, Syd.” He stopped next to a wide rock at the edge of the brook. He sat down, gesturing for Sydney to join him. “Have you stayed… in control?”

  Sydney knew what he was asking. “I’m fire-free,” she informed him.

  Guinness broke into a huge smile. “That’s great, Blue. I’m so proud of you.” Sydney’s chest squeezed. For so long, she’d wanted Guinness to look at her like that: as if she were the only thing in the world that mattered. But most desires had an expiration date, and as she turned away, focusing on the water foaming over the rocks, she wondered if she’d finally hit hers.

  Next year she’d hopefully be leaving Echo Bay behind. There would be new teachers and new roommates and probably new guys. But none of them would ever understand her like Guinness did.

  “I’m so sorry, Guinness.” She reached out and took his hand. “You needed me last week, and I had blinders on. I was too caught up in my own problems. I should have been there, like you’ve always been for me.”

  Guinness shook his head. “You were there, Syd. You’re always there. I think I just forgot where to look.” Then he was leaning in, pressing his lips against hers, and, for a minute, Sydney was fifteen again and this was the moment she’d been waiting for. She felt it all—the hope and exhilaration and desire and love—but the emotions were softer this time, muted somehow. It reminded her of how, on a sunny day, even after you looked away from the sky, you could still see spots of color behind your lids. The light lingered, even after the sun was gone.

  Gently, she pushed Guinness away. “I can’t,” she said softly. “Not anymore.”

  Guinness looked down. “So it’s not just fire you’re done with.”

  Sydney touched his cheek, not sure what to say. She and Guinness had stopped and started so many times over the past few years. But this time, she could feel something shifting. It felt less like turning a page and more like closing a book. Guinness looked back up at her. It was written across his face: He knew it, too. So she said nothing, just wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Thursday, 12:22 PM

  Tenley leaned over the desk she’d claimed in the back of the computer lab. She’d skipped the cafeteria, unable to face another freeze-out during lunch. Right now she preferred the peaceful quiet of the computer lab anyway. After the near-disaster at Bauer Industries yesterday, she’d been jumping at every little sound. Here, among the rows of computers, with just two freshmen geeking out over computer games up front, she could almost relax.

  She’d planned to use the period to finish an essay, but twenty-two minutes later, all she’d done was Google Jack Hudson’s name. Posting the sapphire ring online had turned out to be a dead end, which left only one lead: Jack himself.

  The darer had set Jack up to take the fall for Cait’s kidnapping, then orchestrated his suicide. It didn’t just feel convenient; it felt personal. Which got Tenley wondering: If she could find Jack’s enemies, would it lead her to her own?

  She took a bite of a granola bar as she scanned over the list of facts she’d compiled.

  JACK HUDSON

  1. Grew up in Boston

  2. Attended BU, dropped out after sophomore year

  3. Started and sold several businesses—including website paying cash for gold

  4. Prior conviction for a bar fight, attended anger-management classes as punishment

  5. Never married

  At the bottom of the list, Tenley had pasted the few photos she’d found of Jack, each one showing him with a woman more gorgeous than the last. Most were at events: him in a tux, a (usually blond) woman at his side in a jaw-dropping gown. Jack Hudson might never have married, but he didn’t seem to have a problem with the ladies. Could the kidnapper have been a scorned ex? A lover desperate for revenge?

  The bell rang and Tenley quickly deleted the document before logging out of the computer. She’d already erased any trace of her search. She wasn’t taking chances anymore. She’d just pushed her way into the crowded hallway when she heard her name. “Tenley!”

  She tensed, bracing for the insult to follow as they had all week. But none came. She looked over to find Calum leaning against a trophy case in Winslow’s Hall of Fame, waving his bandaged arm at her. She smiled, relieved for the first time in her life to run into Calum Bauer. She quickly crossed over to him. “How’s the arm?”

  “Vexatious, more than anything.” Calum’s backpack hung from his good arm. It was so full that it strained at the sides, the zippered pockets bulging. “I’m just sorry you had to witness that malfunction yesterday,” Calum continued. “I promise, Bauer Industries isn’t usually a death trap.”

  Only when I’m there, Tenley replied silently. Guilt wormed its way through her. She’d been targeted, and Calum had gotten caught in the cross fire. The beginning of a headache pulsed at her temples. “At least I got a party out of it,” she said, changing the subject.

  “As long as Octo-storm doesn’t interfere,” Calum pointed out.

  “They’re saying it won’t hit until Tuesday or Wednesday, so your party should be safe. Which reminds me.” Tenley dug into her bag and removed a sheet of paper. “For the party.”

  “‘Tenley Reed’s Guide to Planning the Perfect Party,’” Calum read off the sheet. His brow furrowed as he looked over the list of friendly tips Tenley had thrown together the night before. “Wow. This is very, uh… detailed.”

  Tenley gave him a reassuring smile. “Just follow that guide and it will be a killer party, I promise.”

  “Killer,” Calum repeated. He looked down at the list again. “If you say so.”

  “I do.” Out of the corner of her eye, Tenley caught sight of a familiar pair of broad shoulders. “I’ve got to run. Party inviting to do.” She pointed a finger at Calum as she backed away. Her leg was still ach
ing, but she fought the urge to limp. “Follow the guide!”

  She caught up with Hunter Bailey at the other end of the hall. “Thanks for sticking up for me at lunch yesterday,” she said sarcastically. She hugged her arms over her chest. “I thought you owed me, Hunter.” Recently, Tenley had discovered what very few people knew: that Hunter Bailey was gay. She’d promised to keep his secret for him—at least until he was out of his house and away from his monster of a father. She’d even campaigned with him for the homecoming court, leading most of the school to believe they were a couple.

  “I do.” Hunter peered down at her with icy-blue eyes. “I’m sorry, Ten. Everyone’s really pissed.”

  “Yeah, I got that.”

  “Jessie’s our friend. Tyler’s girlfriend. What you did—”

  “I know,” Tenley cut in. “Believe me, I’ve regretted it every day since. But I really thought it was a caffeine pill!” She’d already repeated the story a dozen times into her friends’ voice mail. “I keep trying to apologize, but no one will call me back!” She grabbed his arm, causing a freckly girl with big eyes and bony arms to gape jealously as she passed. “I need your help, Hunter.”

  Hunter gave her a wary look. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “I need you to get everyone to go to a party I’m throwing Saturday night. It’s going to be at Calum’s mansion on Neddles Island.” She bounced nervously on her toes as she spoke. The night before, when nightmares about the darer had kept her awake once again, writing Calum’s party-planning guide had been the only thing to soothe her. Parties and popularity: Those were what she knew. The darer could strip everything else away, but she refused to lose that, too.

  She gave Hunter a pleading look. “It’s going to be amazing. A private party, just for our grade, on the island that everyone’s been dying to visit. This party is my big gesture, Hunter. My way of showing everyone how sorry I am.”