Truth or Dare (21 page)

Sydney blinked, staring numbly at her dad. A thousand thoughts were suddenly colliding in her head, so fast she couldn’t keep any of them straight.

“Is everything okay?” a woman called out from the bathroom.

Sydney’s eyes flew to the bed behind her dad, where a woman’s silk nightie had been abandoned.

And suddenly one thought rose out of the colliding mass, simple and crystal clear. “You’re here with someone,” she whispered. She could feel fury suddenly tearing through her like wildfire. After everything he’d been telling her mom—how he missed them, how he loved them, how he wanted them back—now here he was in a hotel room, shacking up with some tramp.

“Let me explain, Syd,” he whispered. He stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him. “Please.” There was a pleading, desperate look in his eyes that disgusted her. “It’s not what you think,” he said.

“It never is,” she spat out. The anger was blazing inside her now, the kind of anger that used to eat her up, swallow her whole. She had to get away from him. But as she turned to leave, her dad grabbed her arm, holding on tight.

“Please, Sydney. Just wait!”

“Let go of me.” She shook his hand off with a strength she didn’t even know she had. She took off, racing down the hallway. She felt hot as she pounded down the stairs, as if there were steam coming from her ears, and she was overcome by the sudden desire to get it out of her—all that burning, hot anger—however she knew how. She was almost at the hotel’s exit when she saw it. A basket of matches, sitting on the front desk.

She knew she should look away, walk away,
run
away, but she couldn’t. Closer and closer she got, and then her hand was in the basket, her fingers closing around one of the matchbooks. The desk was empty, no one in sight; still, she half expected sirens to go off and warning lights to flash as she lifted the matchbook out of the basket. But nothing happened. Nothing changed.

Clutching the matchbook tightly, she hurried outside. It was dark in the parking lot, the moon a thin slice of silver in the sky, and she dove into her car, her heart galloping wildly as she looked down at the matches. It hit her suddenly that there was no way Guinness had sent her that note. But if he hadn’t… then there was someone else, someone who
knew
things about her, things she’d worked so hard to keep private.

Fresh anger tore through her and she fiddled with the matchbook, relishing the roughness of the lighter strip against her thumb. It stirred something inside her: that old forbidden desire, the one that was supposed to be locked up in the very back of her mind, the key long gone. When she was younger and her anger at her father had threatened to consume her, fire had been the only thing strong enough to beat it back. Sometimes she’d steal something of his—a card he’d written, a shirt he’d worn, his favorite CD—and light it on fire, watching until every last inch of it had darkened to ash. After Sunrise, she’d refused to let herself think that way anymore. Fire couldn’t be an escape, and it couldn’t be a cure. But now, as she stared down at the matchbook, she imagined what it would be like to touch one of those matches to that silk nightie and watch as it burst into flames.

She tossed the matchbook into the passenger seat, turning the key in the ignition. She had to get out of there before she did something she’d regret. But as the headlights switched on, sending twin streams of light pooling across the parking lot, something caught her eye. Sitting on the asphalt, directly in the path of her headlights, was a camera lens. And tucked underneath it was a sheet of paper.

For a second Sydney couldn’t breathe. Moving stiffly, she unbuckled her seat belt and climbed out of the car. Even before she touched
the lens, she knew. It was one of hers. She recognized the slight dent in its side, from the time she’d dropped it while chasing a shot of seagulls. She crouched down, running her finger over the initials she knew she’d find on the back.
SM
. She’d had them etched into every one of her camera lenses, so she could identify them if they got lost.

This wasn’t a coincidence. Someone had left this here for her.

Her hands went clammy as she picked up the paper. It was card stock, thick and hard, and there was a message on it, in a typewriter font.

Looks like Daddy’s up to his old tricks again… And so are you.

Sydney drew in a sharp breath as she turned the paper over. Printed on the back was a photo. It was her, in full, vivid color, lighting a sky lantern outside the boathouse with Guinness. Sydney remembered that exact moment. It was when they lit the first match together, Guinness’s hand wrapped protectively around hers.

In the photo, Guinness was looking down at her, his expression tender. Next to him, awash in the light of the match, Sydney was surprised to find she actually looked pretty. Her skin was more luminescent than pale, her dark brown hair was lush and windblown, and her cheeks were pink with excitement. But it was her eyes that really stood out. They were a vibrant turquoise, and they were wide and transfixed, gazing steadily at the match’s flame. Sydney shivered. The way the fire reflected off them… she looked almost possessed.

The photo slipped out of her grip, fluttering lightly to the ground.
Whoever was sending her these notes had been there that night. Watching her.

She whirled around, scanning the parking lot. Her heart seized up as she caught sight of a figure in the hotel lobby, but it was just the guy from the front desk, fixing the window’s curtains. Hugging the camera lens to her chest, she picked up the photo and hurried back to her car, locking the doors up tight. She was breathing heavily as she picked up the photo and pulled out of the lot. She turned her favorite radio station on, trying to calm herself down. But as she turned onto Ocean Drive, the music switched off, replaced by the hourly newscast.

“Good evening, Echo Bay. In the wake of the Nicole Mayor conviction, there’s another news story making waves in town. An investigation continues into the cause of the truck crash that caused a ten-car pileup on Ocean Drive last night.” Sydney leaned forward to turn the radio off. She didn’t want to hear this right now. But suddenly the newscaster said something that made her stop cold. “The truck driver continues to hold firm to his claim that he was distracted by the Yacht Club’s sky lanterns, which were let loose over the ocean last night. The results of tests determining the level of alcohol and drugs in his blood are still pending.” Sydney turned the radio off before she could hear anything else.

A ten-car pileup.

Because of the lanterns.

She looked over at the photo she’d tossed onto her passenger seat. Solid proof that she’d been the one to light them.

Suddenly she was so angry she could barely see. Why was someone
doing
this to her? She wrenched her car to the side of the road, killing the engine. It had been a long time since she’d felt like this, as though
the anger inside her was too big to contain. Her eyes darted over to the matchbook. Just one match and she’d feel so much better….

She grabbed at it, tearing off a match before she could stop herself. As she struck it against the lighter strip and the flame burst to life, relief and shame flooded her at once. She drew the match closer to her, watching, entranced, as it began to burn.

The first time she used a match, she was in second grade. Her dad was still living at home and her parents had been fighting, as usual. When she spotted the matches lying on the kitchen table, all she could think about was how her dad had made light burst from them, like magic.
Never play with matches, Sydney
, he’d told her at the time. He’d still had on his yellow firefighting pants from work that day.
Never
.

As her parents’ yells grew louder, fiercer, Sydney reached for the matches. She’d pulled one out and struck it weakly against the strip, expecting her dad to notice, to stop yelling at her mom and start yelling at her instead. But he hadn’t. And after several attempts, the match lit up in her hands, the flame flickering and dancing, nipping at her fingers like teeth.

She’d been mesmerized, her parents’ angry yells fading into whispers in the distance. As the match blazed, it seemed to scream out what she was too scared to—
I hate this, I hate you, I hate me
—and for the very first time, she’d felt it. That rush. For once in her life, she didn’t feel small or meek or helpless. She felt a thousand feet tall and as loud as thunder.

Now, in the car, as the match burned down to the bottom, singeing her skin, Sydney snapped out of her trance. Quickly, she blew out the flame and opened the door, tossing it onto the grass. Tears filled her eyes as she sagged back in her seat. She couldn’t believe she’d just done that, fallen back into that trap.

She was not this person anymore. She didn’t need this. Gritting her teeth, she threw the matchbook into the backseat of her car, taking a deep breath when it landed in a far corner, out of her reach. It was okay. She was fine. She was in control. But as she pulled back onto Ocean Drive, her tires squealing loudly, she kept seeing that flame in her head: a single beam of light, brightening up the darkness.

Wednesday, 12:15
PM

TENLEY WOUND HER PURPLE RIBBON AROUND HER HAND,
rubbing the silky fabric between her palms. It was only her second day back at Winslow, and she was spending her lunch period in an empty classroom, trying to practice her rhythmic gymnastics routine for Saturday’s pageant. She kept telling herself she’d skipped lunch because she needed the practice time. She
did
; the pageant was three days away. But the truth was, she just couldn’t stand to hear everyone gossiping about Jessie’s accident. She’d sprained her ankle and broken her wrist in the fall—which was lucky, everyone was saying, considering what could have happened.

Tenley lifted the handles of her ribbons over her head, launching into her routine. Rhythmic gymnastics—or ribbon dancing, as her mom called it—had never been her favorite, but she couldn’t exactly drag a balance beam with her to every pageant. Besides, she was good at it—always had been. She could close her eyes and let the ribbons become a part of her, another extension of her limbs. Her special double-ribbon routine always wowed the judges. But today, as she
leaped across the floor, letting the ribbons wind through her legs and under her arms, she couldn’t seem to find her focus. Instead she kept picturing Jessie, teetering on the top of the pyramid, her eyes rolling back in her head….

Her foot tangled with one of the ribbons and she went stumbling forward, slamming into one of the desks she’d pushed aside. Flinching, she reached down to rub at her hip.

Taking a deep breath, she rolled her shoulders a few times. If she had known what would happen with Jessie, she would never have slipped her that pill. But she hadn’t, and she did, and there was nothing she could do about it now. Picking up her fallen ribbons, she launched back into her routine, bending easily into a back walkover.

“Impressive.”

Tenley quickly pulled herself back to standing. Jessie was leaning on crutches in the doorway, a pink cast on her wrist.

“J-Jessie,” Tenley stammered. She tried to smile at her, but her lips refused to move. She couldn’t help it; she felt as if her guilt was written all over her face. “How are you?”

Yesterday, when Tenley left the cafeteria to sneak into the girls’ locker room, she almost hadn’t gone through with the dare. The tiny pink pill had seemed to weigh a hundred tons in her pocket and her hands were shaking so badly she could barely open Jessie’s locker. But then she’d thought about Caitlin, and what a wreck she’d been at her house last night. If that photo of her got out… She couldn’t let that happen. Plus, she had no idea what other dirt this darer had on them. All she knew was that the freak wasn’t kidding around.

Besides, it wasn’t as though the pill was that big of a deal. She’d researched it online, and it was just some antianxiety medication. It would probably make Jessie feel
good
. Before she could change her
mind, Tenley had slipped the pill into Jessie’s water bottle, watching as it fizzled into nothingness.

“I’m okay.” Jessie held up her cast for Tenley to see. It was already covered in messages from her friends. “I got one break and one sprain. Though honestly I think the crutches are the worst part. I swear they’re like torture devices!” She let out a weak laugh, and Tenley couldn’t help but notice that her usual off-the-charts energy level had been dialed way back. “I was shuffling past on them when I saw you practicing,” she added. “I didn’t realize you kept up with gymnastics.”

“I don’t,” Tenley said quickly. “I just do rhythmic for pageants.” She couldn’t take her eyes off Jessie’s cast. “So,” she said, wrapping and unwrapping one of the ribbons around her palm. “Do the doctors know what happened yesterday?” She tried to keep her voice calm, but inside she felt as if every one of her bones were rattling.

“Seizure.” Jessie shook a stray curl out of her face. “I used to have them when I was little, but I haven’t in years. The doctors are still doing tests to figure out what triggered it.”

Tenley wanted to say something, but her throat had suddenly squeezed shut. She knew exactly what had triggered it. That stupid pill. How long would it take the doctors to figure that out?

“They say I’m lucky I didn’t hit my head,” Jessie went on. “But I can’t say I’m feeling so lucky. Especially since I’m off the cheer squad for now.” A strange look flickered in her eyes. “And the worst part is I lose my place as captain.”

For as long as Tenley had known her, Jessie had been the kind of person who could stay peppy even during a math test. But right now she didn’t look the least bit peppy. In fact, she looked almost… mad.

“I’m so sorry, Jessie,” she said quietly, her voice breaking a little. “That really sucks.”

Jessie stared at her evenly. “Not your fault,” she said lightly.

Tenley took an instinctive step back. Was there an edge to Jessie’s voice? There was no way Jessie could know. Was there?