Truth or Dare (11 page)

“Don’t call me that,” Tenley said through clenched teeth. She hated the nickname; it made her sound like a yapping, bow-wearing Pomeranian. And she hated her mom’s digs at her body even more. She’d always been tiny and slim, more tomboy than temptress. She used to love that about herself. But what had once been perfect for gymnastics made her feel ugly and immature in the pageant circuit. And her mom never let her forget it.

Her mom had never understood the gymnastics thing in the first place. It was her dad who had gotten it, who had come to every meet and driven her to inhumanely early practices and called her “my littler Tenner”—his term for a perfect score. When she won her first meet, her dad had hung her gold ribbon on their front door, for all of Echo Bay to see.

Her mom, on the other hand, had gotten excited about gymnastics one time and one time only: when she realized it gave Tenley a viable talent for pageants. It had taken some convincing, but her mom had finally roped Tenley into joining the pageant circuit. When, many wins later, Tenley had told her she wanted implants, her mom had shrieked so loudly you would have thought she’d won an Oscar.

Tenley blindly grabbed a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a tank top out of her dresser. “Uh-uh, no way,” her mom said, eyeing the combo in disdain. She bustled into Tenley’s walk-in closet, selecting a Marc Jacobs sundress off a hanger. “No daughter of Lanson Reed’s is dressing like a truck driver.” She tossed the dress to Tenley and gave her a quick air kiss. “Don’t forget, we’re going to dinner at Chez Celine tonight,” she called over her shoulder as she floated out of the room, a train of red chiffon trailing behind. “Lanson wants to show off his new daughter!”

Tenley watched her mom disappear down the long hallway, leaving only the sickly sweet smell of her perfume behind. “
Step
daughter,” she said out loud to the empty room. With a sigh, she flopped down on her bed. She couldn’t stop thinking about that note—and whoever had left it. Just how long had they stood there before knocking on the door? Long enough to see her with Guinness? Long enough to witness her mishap with the hose? She thought about how tightly her wet dress had clung to her. It would have left little to the imagination.

The whole thing gave her the eeriest feeling—as if she was being watched.

Watched.
Suddenly she remembered something her mom had said to her when they moved into Lanson’s house, after Tenley had made a wisecrack about the size of their new home.

“My friends could be living here with me and you wouldn’t even know,” she’d joked.

“Not so fast, Ten Ten,” her mom had replied, wagging a freshly manicured finger at her. “Lanson has this place wired top to bottom. You remember that the next time you’re up to no good, okay? Even when you’re out of sight, I could still be watching you.” At the time Tenley had blown off the comment—as if her mom would ever care enough to check security footage of her—but suddenly she realized what it meant.

Tenley threw on the dress and raced downstairs. The security room was in the very back of the house, which meant she had to jog through about ten rooms to get there. But when she finally reached it, she was forced to stop short. Because the maid, Sahara, was mopping in front of it.

“Can I help you, Miss Tenley?” Sahara asked in a voice that made it clear she’d like to do anything but.

“I need to get into the security room,” Tenley announced in her most commanding voice. She fixed Sahara with a pointed look. The last thing she needed right now was the
maid
getting in her way.

But Sahara didn’t budge. “You have key?” she asked curtly.

Tenley sighed. Of course someone as rich as Lanson would not only have a security room, but a
locked
security room. “The key,” she moaned dramatically, slapping her forehead in a how-could-I-be-so-stupid gesture. “Of course. I would normally just get it from Lanson, but I…” She thought quickly, running through a slew of possible excuses. “I need it because I can’t find the diamond necklace he gave me,” she finished quickly. “I know he wants me to wear it to dinner tonight, and he’ll be so upset if I lost it! So I thought I could look through some security footage to figure out where I left it.” She paused, acting as if a thought had just occurred to her. “Actually, you haven’t seen a diamond necklace anywhere, have you, Sahara?”

“Of course no!” Sahara said. “If I find a necklace, I return the necklace!”

Tenley nodded. “I’m sure you do. Well, then you wouldn’t mind getting the key for me, would you? You can just tell Lanson you need to clean the room.”

She felt a tiny flicker of guilt as she smiled innocently at Sahara. But it was like her mom always said: Desperate times call for clever measures.

Sahara narrowed her eyes at Tenley as she dug around in the pocket of her uniform. “Here,” she barked. She pulled out a key ring and removed a single silver key, thrusting it into Tenley’s hands. “No need to bother Mr. Reed.”

“Thanks, Sahara,” Tenley said as sweetly as she could muster. Then she bolted into the security room, closing the door tightly behind her.

The room was small—more like a large closet—with several filing cabinets lining one wall and several TV screens and a desk with a large computer lining the other. Beneath the TV screens, a bunch of wires jutted out from the wall, crowded with tiny labels. Tenley sat down at the desk, turning her attention to the computer. Most of the files on it were encrypted or password protected, but she quickly found the one she was looking for:
SECURITY CAMERA FOOTAGE
.
Bingo
.

It opened right up, no password needed. And Tenley quickly found out why. The folder was completely empty. Frustrated, she abandoned the computer and wandered over to the wires. After a minute of scanning, she found the label she was looking for:
SECURITY CAMERA
. There were three jacks beneath it—but not a single wire was plugged into any of them.

Suddenly it hit Tenley. None of the cameras were connected to the feed. Lanson’s whole expansive camera system wasn’t even turned on; it was just there for show. Tenley shook her head. She shouldn’t be surprised.
She was quickly learning that a lot about Lanson Reed—and Trudy Reed, for that matter—was for appearances only.

Tenley slumped against a filing cabinet. She was back to square one. In her mind, she saw the note again.
You have an hour to post the truth about your new assets on Facebook—or I’ll spread the news for you. Be at the docks at midnight tonight, because the game is far from over.
Whoever had written it couldn’t actually be serious about spreading the news… could they?

No, of course not. It was just some stupid joke that fell about a hundred feet short of funny. Tenley straightened up, her fists clenching at her sides. All of a sudden she was furious. Things were finally going well for her again. She wasn’t about to let some freak—whoever it was—ruin it.

She took a deep breath. That settled it. There was no way she was going through with the dare, but she
would
go to the docks at midnight. She’d go and she’d find out who this person was, and then she’d put them in their place.

Because there was one truth she did want everyone to know: When it came to dares, Tenley Reed was the master.

Sunday, 4:10
PM

SYDNEY STIFLED A YAWN AS TONY WAVED HER OVER
to the Club’s bar. Sunday was
supposed
to be her day off. She’d had the whole day planned out: nap, shoot photos, nap, repeat. But when Tony had offered her overtime to fill in for a sick pool waitress, she couldn’t refuse the extra pay. Plus, she was hoping the Club would do what nothing else had been able to so far: take her mind off Guinness.

“Mason called up from the umbrella stand,” Tony said briskly. He barely looked up from the drink tickets he was sorting behind the bar, giving Sydney a front-row view of the bald spot on the top of his head. “He wants a coffee. Skim milk, three sugars. And when you’re done with that, stop by the cabana to see if Mrs. Cunningham needs anything, and then give the pool a thorough sweeping.” He finally looked up, his squinty, mud-brown eyes meeting hers. “I noticed a fallen napkin dangerously close to the pool, which is
unacceptable
.” He dragged the word out so it came out more like
un
(pause)
accept
(pause)
able
. “As we both know,” he added.

“We do,” Sydney agreed solemnly, resisting the urge to salute him. Tony would have made a better drill sergeant than club manager.

Sydney eyed Mason’s coffee a little bitterly as she crossed the pool deck. Tony would probably spit in the face of any other employee who asked for a free coffee. But Mason, who worked part-time at the Club’s umbrella stand on the beach, was the nephew of Tony’s boss.

On the other side of the deck, Sydney spotted the cabana she was supposed to stop by. Grace Cunningham, Echo Bay’s own resident ex-supermodel, had rented it out for the day, and with her was none other than her daughter, Emerson. Sydney sighed as she watched Emerson’s mom adjust the silk scarf wrapped elegantly around her headful of braids. Emerson was stretched out next to her, wearing a pink belted bikini. There was no
way
Sydney was going over there to offer her services. It would be like walking straight into a lion’s den.

“Hey, Laurie,” she called out, waving down the other pool-deck waitress on duty today. Laurie paused, looking harried as she tried to balance four plates on her chubby arms. “Tony asked if you could stop by the cabana to check on Mrs. Cunningham,” Sydney said brightly. “No rush or anything, just in the next few minutes or so.”

“Oh, uh, sure.” Laurie blew a sweaty strand of hair out of her face. Sydney felt a pang of guilt. The pool was packed, and with Tony dragging Sydney away for errand duty every other minute, Laurie clearly had her hands full. But Laurie went to Harbor Public, not Winslow—which meant come Tuesday she wouldn’t be the one sharing a hallway with Emerson.

Sydney promised herself she’d help Laurie out later. But for now she took her time as she headed down to the beach, enjoying the chance to escape from the crowded pool deck. She paused at the bottom of the stairs, digging her feet into the sun-warmed sand. The waves were big
today, the ocean packed with surfers. She watched as they rose and fell on the waves, a bobbing rainbow of colors.

She couldn’t help but wonder what Guinness was doing right now. He hated coming to Echo Bay, hated being anywhere near his dad if he could avoid it—which she, of course, understood completely. In the past, there’d been only one thing that could drag him back to Echo Bay when his dad was in town:
her
.

Was that why he was here? To see her?

Down by the water, a lifeguard blew a whistle at a swimmer venturing too close to the no-swim zone. When the swimmer didn’t back off, the lifeguard jumped down from his chair, two other lifeguards hurrying over to meet him. Sydney shook her head as all three blew their whistles in unison. Thanks to the Lost Girls, Echo Bay had more lifeguards per capita than any other town on the North Shore. It was like her mom always said: Their deaths had made a town bordered by water wary of its own waves.

“Delivery,” Sydney sang out when she reached the umbrella stand. “Skim milk, three sugars, as requested.” She held out the EB Golf & Country to-go cup. “Though just so you know, I never get this kind of treatment.”

Mason glanced at an identical to-go cup sitting on top of his folding chair. “I already have my coffee,” he said, looking confused. “And three sugars? Who takes
three
sugars in their coffee?”

Sydney raised her eyebrows. “Wait. So you didn’t call up to the bar for a coffee?”

“Not me.”

“Hmm.” Sydney took a sip of the coffee. She’d take three sugars if it was free. “Guess it was a mistake.” She took a few more sips of the coffee before tossing it into the umbrella stand’s trash can. As far as she
was concerned, she’d done her job. She was just about to head back to the pool deck when something caught her eye. White sheets of paper, littering the sand behind the umbrella stand.

There were at least a dozen of them, all flapping lightly in the breeze. Part of some protest, probably. In a town with its fair share of artists, you could usually count on at least one protest taking place at any given time: save the whales, save the sand crabs, save the linear-leaved milkweed plant. Last year, right before the annual lighting of the lobster-trap Christmas tree downtown, someone had papered flyers all over it, right up to the buoy at the very top.
Lobsters have feelings too!
they’d read.

Sydney glanced around, but she didn’t see any of the usual suspects who tended to accompany a protest: patchwork-wearing artists or Winslow’s three Environmental Club members. In fact, Sydney didn’t see anyone at all. The flyers were so far back on the beach—almost under the pool deck—that no one else had even seemed to notice them. Sydney laughed as she bent down to pick one up. Not exactly a prime spot for a protest. But her laughter caught in her throat as she stared down at the paper.

Because it wasn’t a flyer.

It was a photo. Two photos, to be exact.

They sat side by side, framed by the white edges of the paper. Both were of a girl’s bare chest—one flat and undeveloped, and one anything but. They looked like medical photos, the kind a doctor might keep on record for a patient. Above the photos, two words were stenciled in purple ink.

Before
and
After
.

Sydney sucked in a breath. Her eyes widened further as they ran down the page. Stenciled along the bottom was one more line.

Tenley’s last name isn’t the only thing that changed.

Her heart beating fast, Sydney reached for another paper. And then
another. They were all identical, that same line staring up at her again and again.

Tenley’s last name isn’t the only thing that changed.

Tenley had implants? Not what she would have expected from Miss Perfect herself. Sydney pushed her shaggy bangs out of her eyes. The real question was, who would make
flyers
of them?