Kiss and Tell

by Jacqueline Green

  Hunter went to his locker, and Tenley followed. “I’ll go, Tenley, but, honestly, I don’t know that anyone else will.”

  “Then convince them!” She threw her arms up in frustration. “Do whatever you need to.”

  Hunter pressed his lips together, looking frustrated. “All right,” he relented. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thank you,” she said gratefully. “You won’t regret it.”

  “And my thing…?” Worry showed in his eyes.

  “My lips are still sealed,” she assured him. “Party or no party.” She knew what it was like to have to protect yourself. Sometimes the armor got so heavy it felt as if it were crushing you.

  She kept her head down as she ducked into her next class. She was early, but Emerson was already there, staring out the window in the back. Tenley’s shoulders loosened up at the sight of her. At least there was still someone who didn’t despise her.

  “Hey.” She joined Emerson at the window. “Your day been as lovely as mine?”

  “Better, I bet.” Emerson’s dark skin was almost always perfect, but today it looked pale and blotchy. Her hair frizzed at the crown, where she’d pulled it into a messy ponytail.

  “Any luck with the purple door?” Tenley asked hopefully.

  Emerson pressed her fingers into her temples. “None.” She lowered her voice. “I’ve spent hours researching, but I can’t find anything about a purple door anywhere on the North Shore. I’ll keep at it, but I think this key might be another dead end.”

  Tenley groaned. Before she could say anything else, the warning bell rang. She was halfway to her seat when she saw it: a small, gift-wrapped box sitting atop her desk. Every nerve in her body went on high alert.

  “What…?” Emerson murmured.

  “I have no idea.” She thought of the last gift she’d received. It had been a trap from the darer: another attempt at killing her. Tenley crept closer to her desk. People were streaming into the classroom now, chatter and laughter swirling around her. Next to her, Emerson said something. But Tenley heard none of it.

  Slowly, she lifted the box. It was small and featherlight. Its silver ribbon glittered under the classroom’s bright lights.

  She spun around, her eyes flitting from person to person. But no one was watching her. No one looked suspicious.

  “Ten—” Emerson began.

  Blood pounded in Tenley’s ears. Who had delivered this?

  “Be right back.” She sprinted out of the classroom, the box clutched tightly in her grip. The hallway was emptying out, only a few stragglers left behind. She jogged to one end, then the other. Who left me this? she wanted to scream. But there was no one to listen.

  She was breathing hard as she leaned against a locker, turning her attention back to the box. There were no attachments, no flashing lights, nothing that might trigger a falling beam or splinter a window. Still… she really didn’t want to be the one to open it.

  She took another quick scan of the hallway. A boy was on his way to the bathroom. A teacher Tenley didn’t recognize disappeared around the corner. “You!” Her eyes landed on the freckly girl she’d seen gaping at Hunter earlier. She was headed toward the band room, clutching a flute in her left hand. “Hold up!”

  The girl stopped so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet. “Yes?” she squeaked.

  “Open this,” Tenley commanded, shoving the box at the girl.

  The girl clumsily took the box in her free hand, looking shell-shocked. “I… uh… why?” she stammered.

  “Just do it,” Tenley snapped. “And I’ll get you a date with Hunter Bailey.”

  The girl brightened. “Will you get him to talk to me at lunch, too? In front of my friends?”

  “Sure, whatever.” Tenley waved her hand dismissively. “Just open the box. And no questions.”

  Tenley took a subtle step backward as the girl ripped the wrapping paper off and removed the box’s lid. Her body tensed, ready to bolt at the first sign of exploding foam or a loud horn blasting. But nothing happened. No crashes, no noise, no frights.

  “Ew!” the girl cried. “Why would someone give you this?”

  Tenley snatched the box back. Nestled inside was a small lock of shiny chestnut hair. The girl’s gaze went from the box to Tenley and back again. “Is that yours?”

  “I… uh…” The ground swam up to meet Tenley, and for a second she thought she might pass out. She put a hand on a locker to steady herself. It was definitely her hair. But how did the darer have it? She was just about to slam the lid back on the box when she noticed a folded piece of paper at the bottom.

  “Seriously,” the girl went on. “That’s so creepy!”

  “It’s for a… uh… science project,” Tenley lied hastily. “Thanks for your help!” She took off down the hallway at a sprint, clutching the box to her chest.

  “Wait!” the girl called after her. “How are you going to set me up with Hunter if you don’t know my…?”

  The girl’s voice faded away as Tenley flew through the doors, emerging into the afternoon sunlight. The wind whipped her hair into her face as she threw herself into her car. Only when all four doors were locked did she flip open the lid and yank out the note.

  Think what else could happen while you’re sleeping.

  Tenley sagged dizzily against the seat. At some point, this person had crept into her room, stood over her bed, touched her hair.… She let out a cry. The darer didn’t just want her to die. No, first she had to be toyed with. And the message was clear: It could happen anytime, anywhere.

  She forced herself to move, to grab her phone. Reed Park, she texted Sydney and Emerson, her fingers flying across the keys. ASAP! 911!!!! Then she threw her phone down and sped out of the lot.

  A half hour later, Emerson and Tenley were jammed inside Reed Park’s kid-sized tree house. “Do we really have to do this here?” Emerson grumbled, trying unsuccessfully to make room for her long legs. The box of Tenley’s hair sat open between them, and Emerson flinched as her knee bumped into it. “We’re not all the size of garden gnomes, you know.” She shot Tenley an accusatory look as Tenley easily crossed her legs underneath her.

  Tenley opened her mouth, but before she could formulate a comeback, Sydney climbed into the tree house. “Sorry, sorry.” She was panting a little as she forced herself into the tiny slot of space that was left. “Is there maybe a larger place we could do this?”

  “Finally, someone with sense!” Emerson threw her arms up in the air for emphasis. Her knuckles smacked against the wooden ceiling, eliciting another grumble.

  “This is the closest park to school, and I scouted out the whole place,” Tenley said firmly. It was what she’d done as she waited for Sydney and Emerson to show up, after she’d sent them a dozen texts about the lock of hair. “This is the only area that’s unexposed. We need privacy to talk.”

  “Let’s just get this over with.” Emerson wiggled in place, looking uncomfortable. “I want to get back to school before the end of the period.”

  Tenley looked over at Sydney, who was pink-cheeked and panting. “Where were you this morning, anyway? Why weren’t you at school?”

  Sydney picked at her fingernail. “I went to visit Guinness.”

  Tenley’s eyebrows shot up, but she didn’t say anything.

  “He wasn’t ready for family to visit yet,” Sydney continued hastily. “But he told me something kind of interesting. You know how Kyla was getting notes and phone calls before she died?” Tenley nodded. Sydney had already filled her and Emerson in on everything she’d found in the package Guinness had sent her. “Well, Guinness said that the summer before Kyla died, he found a note in her room. He can’t remember what it looked like exactly, but it was a love poem. What if the same person stalking Kyla also wrote her that love poem—calling her Lion like it was some special nickname? It almost makes it sound like a guy, doesn’t it? Maybe even—”

  “Wait,” Emerson cut in. Tenley glanced over at her. She looked uneasy al
l of a sudden. “What did you just say?”

  “A guy,” Sydney repeated.

  “No, before that. The nickname.”

  “Oh, Lion,” Sydney said. “That was the nickname that the guy—or whoever—used in the love poem. Guinness remembered it because he thought it was a strange nickname.”

  “Maybe she was quick to extract her claws,” Tenley offered.

  “Cheerleader,” Emerson burst out, making them both turn toward her. Her face was now an alarming shade of puke green. “Kyla was a Winslow cheerleader, right?”

  Sydney nodded. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”

  “Winslow Lions.” Emerson’s voice cracked. “The cheerleaders. That’s why the nickname.”

  “Could be,” Tenley agreed. She cocked her head, studying Emerson. Her face was scrunched up, and she was squeezing her legs so tightly her knuckles had turned white. “What is it, Em?”

  Emerson fidgeted, knocking against the box of hair again. “The guy I was seeing… You know, the one in that video? He—he used to call me that.”

  “What?” Tenley blanched. “Well, who was it, Em?” She scooted closer to Emerson, until she was practically sitting on top of her. Still, Emerson avoided eye contact. “I know you’re trying to protect your privacy, but this could be what we’ve been waiting for—a clue that actually leads us somewhere!”

  “I…” Emerson looked frantically between Tenley and Sydney. “I don’t… I can’t…”

  “My dad.” Sydney said it flatly, not a drop of emotion.

  “Excuse me?” Tenley cried at the same time Emerson yelped, “You know?”

  Sydney leaned back against the wall. “I’ve known for a while now,” she said quietly. “But it doesn’t make my dad a stalker, Emerson. Or someone after his own daughter.”

  Tenley’s gaze flipped from Sydney to Emerson and back again. One looked grimmer than the next. “You’re probably right, Sydney,” she said quickly. “Besides, we really think the darer is the same woman who kidnapped Caitlin.” She glanced at Emerson for backup, but Emerson was looking down, tugging at a loose strand on her jeans.

  “There’s something else I haven’t told you,” Emerson said quietly. “Last week, the darer made me sneak into Matt’s apartment. I found something under his bed. Kind of a trophy box. With my stuff in it, and other girls’, too. Other Winslow girls.” She closed her eyes, looking sick. “I’m sorry, Sydney,” she whispered.

  Sydney’s dad had a Winslow trophy box? Tenley gnawed on her lower lip, her thoughts launching into overdrive. “Where’s the box now?”

  “The darer made me take it,” Emerson muttered. “It’s under my bed.”

  Tenley bit so hard on her lip that she drew blood. “So you’re saying the darer had you remove proof from Matt’s apartment that would tie him to any girls from Winslow?”

  Emerson nodded miserably.

  “Then the darer outed you in that video, but covered up Matt’s face. Protecting Matt.”

  Emerson nodded again. Tenley kept her gaze on her, unable to look at Sydney. “Let’s say Kyla did hook up with Matt. She ended up stalked and dead. Then Emerson hooked up with him, and now her best friend is dead and she’s being stalked—”

  “Enough!” Sydney jumped up, bumping her head against the tree house’s ceiling. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to this. You might have pissed off the darer by hooking up with a guy twice your age, Emerson, but that does not make this tormentor my dad. We don’t even know for sure that Kyla dated him! Anyone could have called her Lion.” She climbed over Emerson’s legs, pushing angrily toward the exit. “All you’re doing is spinning conspiracy theories. One minute it’s the kidnapper, the next it’s my dad. Next it will probably be me!” She clambered onto the stairs. “You guys play Nancy Drew all you want. I’m out of here. I’ve got an actual murderer to find.”

  Tenley shifted restlessly as Sydney’s footsteps pounded down the stairs. She’d been so sure that the darer was the woman Caitlin had mentioned in her diary. Could she really have been so off? She felt queasy as she turned back to Emerson. “What do you think, Em?”

  Emerson closed her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. “I think you’re right. We can’t discount it.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Thursday, 3:00 PM

  Emerson could see them. They were standing in a clump at the edge of the football field: Marta, Jessie, Hunter, Sean, Nate, and Tyler. She would be there, too, if she were still one of them. But she wasn’t. She was watching from the outskirts.

  She tugged nervously at the peacoat she was wearing over her cheerleading uniform. All afternoon, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about this new Matt twist. Was it really possible he was behind everything? Just considering it made Emerson feel as if something was curdling inside her. He was Sydney’s dad. She kept trying to imagine her own dad tormenting and hurting her. It was unfathomable. But Sydney’s dad wasn’t Emerson’s dad. He had a trophy box of high school conquests. One of them being her.

  A shudder ran through her. She’d trusted Matt once. She’d slept with him once. The idea that she could have misjudged him so completely terrified her. She and Tenley planned to sit down with Matt’s stalker box later and take another shot at the darer’s identity. But first, she had to get through practice.

  Out on the field, she could hear Marta’s laugh. Emerson took a calming breath, then strode across the field. Her plan was to walk right up to the group and pretend nothing was wrong. Fake it. That was how she’d become friends with them in the first place, when she moved to Echo Bay in ninth grade. She’d acted as if she belonged, and they’d believed she belonged.

  Emerson dodged two runners who were circling the track. She could hear Nate talking by the goalpost. “I say we go all retro and dress up like the movie Dazed and Confused.”

  “I want to do Varsity Blues if we’re doing retro,” Marta whined.

  “As long as Jessie wears the whipped-cream bikini, I’m in.” Tyler slung his arm around Jessie’s shoulders with a grin.

  Emerson’s hands were trembling as she neared the group. She clasped them together and forced a smile onto her face. “Talking Halloween?” she asked brightly.

  Everyone fell silent. Jessie wrinkled her nose as if she smelled something sour. Nate met her eyes, then looked away. Emerson dug her nails into her palm, willing away the tears that were threatening to surface. “Yeah,” Marta said, finally. She dug the toes of her ballet flats into the grass, avoiding Emerson’s gaze. “Trying to decide what to dress up as.”

  Common sense was screaming at Emerson to bolt, but she refused to admit defeat. “I like the Varsity Blues theme,” she offered. She smiled in Marta’s direction, but Marta kept her attention solidly on her shoes.

  “You would like a whipped-cream bikini,” Jessie snorted.

  Emerson recoiled. She waited for someone to defend her, but no one said a word.

  “Yo, Em!”

  The shout made Emerson turn around. Trevor Mills, Winslow’s linebacker, was jogging down the track. “Got something for you.” He tossed a balled-up sheet of notebook paper at Emerson as he ran past.

  A note.

  Nerves shot through Emerson. She struggled to keep her hands steady as she opened the paper.

  A message was written in black marker. No typewriter letters in sight. But Emerson barely had time to relax. Because the large scribbled words that stared up at her were as cruel as anything the darer would write. Like guys with experience? Meet me at Sunset Point tonight, 8 pm, for a good time.

  Emerson took a step backward, right into the path of a passing runner. Their shoulders collided, and the impact knocked the note out of her hand. It fluttered down, landing faceup on the turf, its message visible to all.

  Marta’s jaw dropped. Nate shook his head. Emerson stood paralyzed as everyone stared mutely at Trevor’s words. Then Jessie let out a giggle. “You think you’ll go meet him, Em?” she asked mildly.

  “I—” Emerson looked aro
und the group, but no one would meet her eyes. “Of course I’m not going to meet him,” she spat out. She took a step toward Jessie, and suddenly it wasn’t just Jessie she was angry at, or Trevor, or even the darer. It was herself. She was sick of her own self-pity. She was sick of running in the opposite direction every time Jessie walked down the hall. When she moved to Echo Bay in ninth grade, she’d meticulously cultivated a new version of Em Cunningham. This Em would be a girl who commanded respect, a girl who didn’t shrink into corners, but stood up tall. The meek, silent girl she’d lapsed into this week barely resembled her at all.

  “And you know what, how dare you ask me that, Jessie? How dare you talk to me like that?” Emerson’s eyes swept through the group again. Finally, they were looking at her. It fueled her on. “I’m done with everyone treating me like this.” Her voice grew louder with each word. “Yes, I did something I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry if that upset or hurt any of you.” Her gaze lingered on Marta. “But how many times have you all made mistakes in the past? Did I ever judge you for them? Did I ever turn my back on you? No. Because that’s not what friends do.”

  She picked up Trevor’s note. “Do you know what Caitlin would do if she were still here?” She tore the note into a dozen pieces. “That’s what she’d do. And if this was any of you, that’s what I’d do. A friend isn’t just some accessory to flaunt while she’s trendy.” She narrowed her eyes in Jessie’s direction. “Friends are the people you choose to love. And, yes, they might make mistakes sometimes, or upset you, or embarrass you, but always, they stand up for you.”

  Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Coach walking onto the field, whistle in hand. “The next time any of you want a real friend, you know where to find me.” Emerson walked away without waiting for a response. It didn’t matter how they reacted; she’d had to say it. She refused to be silent any longer.