Kiss and Tell

by Jacqueline Green

  Across the field, Coach blew her whistle, the sound piercing the air. Emerson jogged toward her all alone.

  Heading home, THANK GOD, Emerson texted Tenley as she got into her car after practice. My house for box recon?

  Tenley’s response came quickly. Meet u there.

  Emerson couldn’t help but think about Caitlin as she drove home. Cait had always been different from the others. She was the kind of friend who stayed up all night with you after a breakup even though she had a math test the next day. The kind of friend who skipped a party to bring you magazines and rom coms when you had the flu. In eighteen years, Emerson had had only one friend like that. Well, one friend and one boyfriend.

  She glanced over at her phone as she pulled into her driveway. She ached to call Josh and talk to him, tell him what she’d said to Jessie and the others. But she couldn’t. Josh was safer without her. She refused to drag him back into this, no matter how much she missed him.

  Tenley was waiting for her on the front porch. They were quiet as they took the stairs to Emerson’s bedroom. Matt’s trophy box was right where she’d left it. Emerson lifted it onto her bed, and they both climbed up after it. “We don’t mention this to Sydney until we have to,” Tenley said. Emerson nodded her agreement.

  Tenley was the first to reach in. She pulled out a silk C-cup bra, holding it between her fingers. “God, this is sick,” she said. “He’s like some kind of collector.”

  “I couldn’t bring myself to look through the whole box,” Emerson admitted. “But from what I gathered, these are all from high school girls. His conquests,” she added with a shudder. She pulled out a pom-pom she’d once left in Matt’s truck. She flung it at her trash can, watching in satisfaction as it sank inside.

  “Ew,” Tenley muttered as she tossed a pair of neon underwear and a book of love poems onto the bed. Emerson pulled out a napkin from Pat-a-Pancake, a lacy thong, and several handwritten notes. Suddenly Tenley let out a low whistle. “Houston, we have a match.”

  Emerson whipped her head up. Tenley was clutching a piece of blue stationery in her hands. “‘Matt,’” Tenley read off the stationery. “‘Please don’t call me anymore. I’m sorry.’” She tossed the note to Emerson. It was signed Kyla. “It sounds a lot like a breakup note,” Tenley said.

  “Which would make it true. Kyla and Matt were together once.” Emerson buried her head in her hands. “Could it really have been him all along?”

  “Did you ever see a typewriter at his place?” Tenley asked tightly. She began rooting through the box again, her movements jerky.

  Emerson closed her eyes, picturing Matt’s apartment. “No, there was a laptop, kind of an old one, but that was it.” She kept her eyes closed, thinking it through. “Maybe he kept the typewriter hidden—”

  “Holy. Shit.”

  At the sound of Tenley’s voice, Emerson’s eyes flew open. Tenley was holding up a skirt. It was red and pleated and high-waisted in an out-of-style kind of way. Emerson’s jaw dropped. She’d noticed the red swatch of fabric folded at the bottom of the box, but she’d never dug it out. Now that it was in full view, though, there was no doubt what it was. A Winslow cheerleading skirt, from at least two uniform changes ago. Tenley had pulled out its tag. A name was written on it in permanent marker. Meryl.

  “You don’t think…?” Emerson said. She knew of only one Meryl who had attended Winslow: Meryl Bauer, Calum’s older sister and the first Lost Girl. Meryl had died out by the Phantom Rock ten years ago, when they were in second grade.

  “I don’t know.” Tenley grabbed Emerson’s laptop off her desk. Emerson scooted closer as Tenley clicked open Winslow’s online yearbook.

  “Try eleven years ago,” Emerson said tightly.

  A minute later, Tenley had the photo of Winslow Academy’s cheerleading team from that year open on the screen. Emerson leaned in, scanning the names. There, second on the list, was the name she was looking for: Meryl Bauer.

  Emerson pulled back shakily. Not only had Matt dated Emerson and Kyla, but he’d dated the very first Lost Girl, too.

  “Whoa.” Tenley had zoomed in on the team’s photo until Meryl Bauer’s blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty filled the whole screen. “Calum clearly got the short end of the Bauer family stick. Meryl was hot.”

  Emerson glared in Tenley’s direction. “Not helping.”

  “Sorry.” Tenley returned her attention to the box. “Let’s see if there’s anything else in there.”

  Emerson felt itchy all over as she and Tenley went carefully through the rest of the box. If Matt was the darer, then what they’d had together had meant nothing. Less than nothing. It had just been a magic trick, a sleight of hand—his way of sucking Emerson into his game. She thought of their one night together at the Seagull Inn, how carefully Matt had pulled her onto the bed, as if she were a porcelain doll. At the time, she’d thought it was sweet, protective even. Now she wondered if it had all just been strategy.

  There was nothing else useful in the box, and Emerson wasted no time in shoving it back under her bed. “It makes sense in a lot of ways, doesn’t it?” Tenley asked slowly.

  Tenley slid off the bed and began pacing the room. “We already knew the darer had to be someone older, someone who was involved with the Lost Girl charade, someone who’s been sending notes for a long time.…”

  “Matt,” Emerson whispered. She flopped back on her bed. “It really could be Matt.”

  Tenley was silent for a minute, the only sound the plodding of her shoes against the carpet. “What I don’t get is the kidnapper. We know she’s involved somehow. The darer sent Sydney her ring! And it was the darer who framed Jack Hudson. But if it’s been Matt all along, where does that leave the kidnapper? It has to be someone connected to him—pretty closely.”

  “Tracey.” Emerson bolted upright in bed. The thought had slipped out before she’d fully formulated it.

  “Sydney’s mom?” Tenley abruptly stopped pacing. “No.” She gave Emerson a sharp look. “It’s not possible. Matt’s clearly a creep, but her mom… She and Sydney are really close.”

  “You’re right.” Emerson’s voice cracked, and she coughed to clear it. “Of course you’re right.” Her cheeks were flaming at having suggested it. She’d seen Tracey with her own eyes. She looked kind and happy, like a woman who’d fallen back in love with her ex-husband.

  Unless… it was all part of an act.

  “Except, it could fit, couldn’t it? Just in theory?” The words kept tumbling out; she couldn’t seem to stop them. “Matt didn’t just cheat; he went after high school girls. What if Tracey found out, and it broke her? What if she kidnapped Caitlin as some kind of sick revenge, and Matt was forced to cover her tracks?”

  “The scorned woman gone mad…” Suddenly Tenley froze. “In fact… maybe Matt’s not involved at all. Think about it. If Tracey found out what a scumbag her husband was, maybe she decided to go after the girls he’d dated as revenge. Then we would have been right all along: The kidnapper really is the darer.”

  “But why protect Matt from discovery, then? And why bring Caitlin into it?” Emerson’s head was spinning. “I get targeting Matt’s girlfriends, but how would kidnapping some random girl punish Matt?”

  “It wouldn’t.” Tenley shook her head forcefully, as if to banish the thought from her mind. “It can’t be Sydney’s mom. Because even if we could find a reason to explain Caitlin’s involvement, there would be no way Tracey would bring her own daughter into this.”

  Emerson looked down. Tenley might be wrong about that. The darer was twisted and hell-bent on revenge. If it was Tracey, Sydney would be the ultimate leverage—the final straw in Tracey’s revenge. Take his lovers one by one, then take his daughter. But where did Caitlin fit in? And what about Tenley? “You’re right.” Emerson practically yelled the words, hating herself for even having the suspicion. “If it’s anyone, it’s Matt. We already know he’s twisted.”

  “Maybe he was working with a different woman,” Ten
ley offered. “Or a high school girl—one of his conquests. Maybe she’s the one who kidnapped Cait. Or they could have done it together. Crazy does love crazy.”

  Emerson jumped up, adrenaline surging through her. If the darer had been Matt all along, if he’d not only tortured her and killed her best friend, but made her think he cared about her while doing it…

  “Enough!” She practically shouted the word. “We’ve been victims for too long. If Matt really is the mastermind behind this, then we have our name. Which means we can finally, finally end this.” She met Tenley’s eyes. In them, she saw the same fury she felt burning in her own. “It’s time we stop being the puppets and start pulling the strings.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Friday, 4:00 PM

  Everyone was smiling. That was the first thing Sydney noticed when she stepped into the cavernous, brick-walled room housing RISD’s Prospective Students Fair. Everywhere she looked, from the RISD representatives fawning over pamphlets to the eager students rushing from booth to booth, everyone was wearing wide, toothy like-me! smiles. A mother-daughter pair pushed past her, bickering over dining-plan options. Nearby, a dad cooed over a RISD photo book with his son. Sydney felt a pang of longing. Her own mom was stuck at work. And it wasn’t as if she could ask her dad to go, even if she’d wanted to. Not when he was suddenly at the top of Tenley and Emerson’s Most Wanted list.

  She stopped at the first booth and picked up a pamphlet about RISD’s class offerings. Her gaze went immediately to the photography ones. She couldn’t believe how close she’d come to losing this chance.

  No! There would be no thinking about that here. RISD was supposed to be her escape.

  But as she moved from booth to booth, admiring class syllabi and peppering professors with her most intelligent questions, those same thoughts kept creeping back in. Tenley and Emerson really believed her dad could be responsible for everything. It wasn’t just the possibility that scared her, it was why they thought it. She knew her dad had cheated on her mom; it was the reason they’d divorced. She also knew he’d been seeing Emerson lately. But to find out there had been more… The worst was how young they’d all been. Her age—long before she was her age.

  She thought about what Emerson had said about there being a trophy box. How could her mom not know? Had she turned a blind eye? Or had he just been that good at hiding it? Sydney stared unseeingly at a video screen flashing facts about RISD’s top professors. Even if her dad was that sneaky, even if he’d kept everyone in the dark all this time… that still didn’t make him their stalker.

  Right?

  She moved on to a booth featuring RISD student projects. She had to stop thinking like this. Her dad was a scumbag, yes. A high school girl addict, apparently. A class-A creep, definitely. But a murderer? A torturer? Her torturer? Of course not.

  She picked up an amazing photograph of the beach after a storm: trash piled so high it looked like a sculpture. LUCY CANDOR, SOPHOMORE, the label on the bottom read. If Sydney played her cards right, soon it would be her photographs at this table. And then her dad and the darer would be nothing more than blips in her past. She dropped the photo. It was time to do what she’d come to do.

  An hour later Sydney had spoken to four professors, including the head photography professor. It was the most schmoozing she’d ever done in her life. But it was worth it, because she’d shown the head of the photography program a copy of her portfolio, and he’d called her photographs “quite unique.”

  Now, Sydney kept hearing that word in her head. Unique unique unique unique. She pulled out her phone and dialed her mom’s cell to leave her a message. The voice mail picked up after just one ring. “Mom,” she said breathlessly. “Guess what. The head of the photography program just called my photos unique!”

  “Sydney?”

  At the sound of her name, Sydney ended the call and spun around. Standing before her with a RISD information packet tucked under his arm was Joey Bakersfield. Except it wasn’t the Joey she remembered.

  This Joey was no longer hidden behind chin-length hair and a huge hoodie sweatshirt that drowned him in fabric. Instead, he had a short, buzzed haircut that showed off his chocolate-brown eyes and sharp jawline. He wore a school uniform of khakis and a well-fitted blazer that called attention to his surprisingly broad shoulders. He looked taller, too, probably because he wasn’t hunched over his ever-present notebook. In fact, that ratty green notebook was nowhere to be seen.

  “Wow!” she managed to croak. “You look different! Good different,” she corrected hastily. Joey’s lips curved up a little. She couldn’t help but notice how nice they were without a mask of hair to hide them: heart-shaped and full. She let out a nervous cough. “What are you doing here?”

  “Danford’s college counselor suggested I come. He thinks RISD’s drawing classes could be a good fit for me.” Even his voice sounded different. It was still soft, but it was clearer now, so different from the mumble he’d adopted at Winslow. “I’m sorry I haven’t e-mailed you back yet. I’ve been meaning to, but we’ve had exams at school and…” He trailed off as, across the room, a petite, doe-eyed girl waved to him. She had a pixie haircut and milky skin. The way she glided across the room toward them screamed ballerina. “You coming to the party tonight, Joe?” ballerina-girl asked.

  Joe? Party? Sydney blinked in surprise as she watched the girl give Joey a friendly smile. Apparently more than just Joey’s appearance had changed. “Fencer’s calling it the Pre-Octo Bash. ‘Octo drinks for everyone,’” she quoted, rolling her eyes.

  “Uh… as in eight drinks?” Joey asked.

  “I guess. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it didn’t make sense.” She turned to Sydney, flashing her the same friendly smile. “I’m Brie,” she offered.

  “Sorry,” Joey said hastily. He looked flustered for a second, the old Joey creeping back in. He quickly cleared his throat, composing himself. “This is Sydney. She goes to Winslow. Brie and I take Animation together at Danford.”

  “Hey,” Sydney said. She dropped her eyes. She’d never been good at meeting new people, new girls in particular. But Brie didn’t seem to notice.

  “You should come to the party with us, Sydney.” She winked at her. “See how much better Danford does it than Winslow.”

  “Oh, um, thanks,” Sydney said shyly, “but I won’t be in Boston tonight. I’m catching a train back to Echo Bay after this.”

  “Well, considering the party starts in”—Brie glanced at her watch—“four minutes, that shouldn’t be a problem. Fencer’s house isn’t far from the train station.” She ran a hand through her short hair. “You can have your Octo drinks and catch a later train. Fencer always has a theme for his parties,” Brie added. “It should be an Octo-wonderland.”

  “With octuplets?” Sydney couldn’t resist asking.

  “And octopi,” Brie agreed solemnly.

  “And octogenarians,” Sydney added. “What’s a party without eighty-year-olds?” Brie laughed, and Sydney felt a tiny thrill. She couldn’t believe how relaxed she felt. At Winslow, she had a set place. But here, she could be whomever she felt like. She wondered if that was all it had taken for Joey to become Joe.

  “Don’t forget doctors,” Joey put in, his new, steady voice still taking her by surprise. Sydney gave him a confused look. Next to her, Brie did the same. “You know, doctors,” Joey said, his face flushing a little.

  Sydney groaned. “Remind me to never play Scrabble against you.”

  “Or Pictionary,” Brie chimed in. “This boy can draw.” She smiled over at Sydney. “So you coming? I promise it will be Scrabble-free.”

  Sydney glanced at Joey. His forehead was wrinkled as if in concentration. “You should come,” he said suddenly. “I’ll walk you to the station after.” He coughed, his face flushing again. “That way, I can answer your e-mail in person.” Sydney hesitated. Back home, all that waited for her was a Matt Morgan manhunt. “All right,” she said with a grin. “Octo-party it is.”


  “Whoa,” Sydney said as the elevator spit her and Joey out on the top floor of Danford’s tallest building. Up ahead, wide glass doors led to a huge roof deck. A glass railing provided a flawless view of Danford’s manicured campus below. Several tall heat lamps were scattered about, casting a warm glow over the whole place. “Are all of Danford’s parties like this?”

  “All of Fencer’s are.” Joey grabbed two beers off the glass bar and handed one to Sydney. She took it gratefully, downing a big sip. Echo Bay Sydney wasn’t a huge drinker, but if Joey could become Joe, surely she could enjoy a beer. She smiled over at him. Back at the RISD fair, when Brie said she had to run a few errands before the party, Sydney had been nervous to be left alone with Joey. But as they’d trekked through the city back to Danford, there hadn’t been a single lull in their conversation. In fact, Sydney couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much in common with someone. Not only was Joey applying to all the same art schools as she was, he was also applying for their scholarships and financial aid. “So, basically, you’re my competition,” Sydney had mused.

  Joey had wiggled his eyebrows in response. “Better watch out, photo girl,” he’d said. “Cartoon boy is swooping in.”

  “Joe!” A huge guy came over and pounded Joey on the arm. He was wearing what once was probably a Danford blazer, but was now plastered in so many bumper stickers it looked more like a billboard. “About time you got here.”

  “Hey, Fencer.” Joey nodded in Sydney’s direction. “This is Sydney. She went to my old school. Fencer and I are on the swim team together,” he informed Sydney.

  Swim team? Sydney raised her eyebrows. This new Joey was full of surprises.

  “Hola, blue eyes.” Fencer threw his arm around Sydney’s shoulders. “We’re about to play Kings. You in?”

  Sydney took another swig of her drink. She could feel the beer sloshing its way through her, slowing her pulse and unclenching her muscles.