Truth or Dare (26 page)

She couldn’t believe she was so off tonight. The only good thing about that hot mess of a routine was that the judges weren’t here to see it. She took a deep breath, straightening her shoulders. After her performance on Saturday blew everyone away, no one would remember this little faux pas. Lifting her eyes, she peered up at the stage. A girl was dragging a huge cello to the center. As she took a seat, positioning the cello between her legs, Tenley realized that it was Tricia.

As Tricia began to play, the music flooded the theater, rising and falling over the audience like waves. Tenley felt the tiniest flicker of worry. Tricia was
good
, the kind of good that made you want to close your eyes and let the music pull you in.

But it didn’t matter, Tenley reminded herself. She pushed any inkling of worry out of her head. With both her ribbons, she’d be even better.

Tricia finished up her song and carried the cello offstage. It was almost twice as wide as she was and it made Tenley think suddenly of the day in fourth grade when everyone had chosen their instruments. Caitlin had gone straight for the flute, like ninety percent of the girls in their class. Tenley, on the other hand, had been all about the drums. She’d loved the idea of being that
loud
. Tricia had been the only person to choose the cello, and Tenley remembered thinking how it was almost sad. “Of course Fatty Patty would choose the cello,” one of the boys had joked. “It’s the only instrument that needs to go on a diet as much as she does.”

As the next contestant, a scantily clad girl, ran through a hip-hop dance, someone dropped into the seat next to Tenley. She looked over to see her mom. Her smile was gone, and in its place was that tight-lipped look that Tenley thought made her look constipated. “What the hell was
that
?” she spat out.

“It was just a run-through, Mom,” Tenley whispered. “Besides, look at my competition,” she added, wrinkling her nose as she nodded toward the stage. The hip-hop girl had finished and a redhead in full pageant regalia—strapless beaded gown and all—was now doing what could only be considered yodeling.

“The cello player was good,” her mom argued, keeping her voice low. “And pretty. You know how judges always love that classic blond, blue-eyed look.”

Tenley flinched. Her mom had been comparing her to other girls for as long as she could remember. It didn’t matter that Tenley won almost every pageant she entered and that people were always complimenting her wavy chestnut hair and her big brown eyes. When Tenley’s mom looked at her, she saw what she
wasn’t
, instead of what she was. Tenley tossed her hair. “Well, I’m better,” she said confidently.

Her mom sighed as she watched a girl in toe shoes wait for her turn to take the stage. “Let’s just hope you manage to show up with both your ribbons,” she whispered. “Because I won’t be here to babysit you.”

Tenley looked over at her sharply. “Where will you be?”

“Lanson needs me to go on a business trip to China with him.” A few rows up, another mother twisted around, signaling for them to be quiet.
Sorry
, Trudy mouthed, flashing the woman her very best faux-guilty look, eyelash batting and all. Appeased, the woman turned back around.

“Does he know I have my pageant?” Tenley asked, not bothering to lower her voice for that hall monitor of a mom.

“It’s an important trip, Ten Ten,” her mom replied quietly. “We’ll be back Tuesday morning. Sometimes a man needs his wife by his side.”

And sometimes a girl needs her mom by hers
, Tenley wanted to retort. But it wasn’t worth it. Maybe it was that her mom didn’t care, or maybe
she just didn’t understand. Either way, Tenley knew it wouldn’t make a difference.

Tenley fumed silently through the rest of the run-through. When the final girl, a tap dancer wearing a top hat, click-clacked her way offstage, she stood up abruptly. “See you at home,” she said, pushing past her mom.

“Ten!” her mom called out behind her, but Tenley just kept going. It was just like her mom to harp constantly on this pageant, and then not even bother to show up for it.

Tenley was so angry that she almost didn’t see Tricia step into the hallway in front of her. She stopped at the last minute, narrowly avoiding bumping into her. “Hey, Tenley!” Tricia chirped. “Run-throughs are such a pain, right?”

“Seriously,” Tenley agreed, forcing herself to play nice. Through the window she could see her mom heading into the parking lot from the theater’s back entrance.

“Well, don’t worry, everyone says a bad run-through means you’ll have a good pageant. It’s like the whole rain on your wedding thing,” Tricia said, laughing.

Tenley’s stomach clenched. She couldn’t believe Patty “I Wear Duct-Taped Sneakers and Think Mozart Is Cool” Sutton was giving her advice on pageants now. In middle school, Patty had been such a dork, always dying to hang out with Tenley and her friends. Tenley thought of that time down at the beach when Marta had invited her to join their game of truth or dare. Patty had practically peed her swimsuit in excitement. But when Tenley had given her the dare to swim out to the Phantom Rock, Patty hadn’t been able to handle it. The instant her fingers skimmed the rock, she’d completely freaked out. In her craze, she’d gotten her suit stuck on a reef, and by the time she swam
back to shore, the entire top half of her suit had ripped off. It had kept Tenley and her friends laughing for days. But now here was Patty, all “classically” pretty and popular, and acting like she knew more about run-throughs than Tenley did. “This isn’t my first pageant,” Tenley snapped.

“Sorry,” Tricia said, her face clouding over. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Tenley said, cutting her off. “It’s fine. I’m just not too worried about Saturday. In fact, I’m throwing a party at my house after the pageant Saturday night.” The words just fell out of her mouth, but she instantly loved the idea. She might as well get
something
out of her mom being away. Forget the pool house. This party would be in the main house—maybe even in the master wing. She smiled as Tricia bent down to tie her shoe. “A victory party,” she clarified. “Hope you can make it.” Before Tricia could answer, Tenley waved good-bye, leaving her to her shoelaces.

She was feeling a little better as she made her way through the theater’s grand, chandeliered lobby. Pulling out her phone, she sent Cait a text.
Spread the word: party at my house Sat night to celebrate my victory!!
She was about to head out to the parking lot when a framed photograph hanging next to the doorway caught her eye.

It was of Art Walk, the sun painting fingers of light across the gallery windows. Underneath it was a plaque:
PHOTO BY SYDNEY MORGAN, WINNER OF THE FIRST ANNUAL BYRNE THEATER AWARD FOR EXCELLENCE IN THE ARTS
. Tenley walked over to it, studying the image. A boy’s profile was reflected in one of the windows, his eyes dark and hooded. He looked vaguely familiar, and Tenley stepped closer, trying to place him. Was it Daniel Berg? No, his hair was too long. Clark DeHaven? Suddenly it hit her. It was Joey Bakersfield.

She took a step back, dazed. Tricia passed by with her cello case, but Tenley didn’t hear a word she said. Why was Joey Bakersfield in a photo taken by Sydney? Were they
friends
? Rabies Boy and Loner Girl… it would make sense.

Tenley’s head was spinning as she got into her car. If Joey and Sydney were friends, he could have told her about that night in Vegas. Tenley smacked her palm against her forehead. Of
course
he would have told Sydney about it. What guy wouldn’t brag about helping Angel Thomas into bed? And if Sydney knew about that night in Vegas, she really
could
be the one sending Tenley the notes. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, Tenley turned left out of the parking lot instead of right. She had a stop to make before going home.

A few minutes later, she turned into the Dread.

She found herself gripping the steering wheel a little tighter as she pulled to a stop in front of Sydney’s apartment building. Pulling out her phone, she checked the Winslow directory.
APARTMENT 1B
. Reminding herself why she was there, she marched up to the door, being sure to lock her car behind her. She was just about to push the buzzer when she heard someone come up behind her. Her breath seized up as she whirled around, opening her mouth to scream.

Facing her was an ancient-looking man, stooped over a cane. “A little jumpy there?” he asked in a creaky voice as he unlocked the door to the building with shaking hands.

Tenley snapped her mouth shut, her breath slowly returning to normal. “Uh, yeah, guess so.” She forced out a laugh, flashing him her sweetest smile as she slipped into the building behind him. “My friend lives in 1B,” she explained, but either he didn’t care or he didn’t hear her, because he ignored her, hobbling into an elevator so rickety looking,
Tenley wouldn’t have set foot in it even if it led straight to a treasure chest of gold.

The apartment was easy to find—the first door in the building—but after she banged on the door for a minute, it became clear that no one was home. Tenley paced down the narrow apartment hallway, her feet padding against the old, stained carpeting. This new knowledge about Joey Bakersfield was eating away at her. If Sydney was the darer, what Tenley needed was proof. She stopped at the door one more time, banging on it until her knuckles turned red. But still no one answered.

With a sigh, she made her way back out to the parking lot. Maybe she should just wait in her car until Sydney got back. It wasn’t like she was in any rush to get home and see her mom. Besides, it was late for a school night; Sydney had to come back eventually. But as Tenley started for her car, her eyes landed on a window a few paces down from the door. It was open just a crack, and it led to Sydney’s apartment. Tenley began to smile.
Perfect
.

Carefully, she wedged her hands under the window. Once she did, it was easy to hoist it open. She glanced behind her. The parking lot was dark and still, the only movement a bug scuttling across the pavement. For a second she paused, wondering if this counted as breaking and entering. But she shook off the worry. “It’s for a good cause,” she muttered to herself. The missing Vegas photo flashed through her mind. It was for more than just a good cause. It was for Caitlin. Before she could lose her nerve, she pushed herself up onto the windowsill, shimmying inside.

The apartment was smaller than she’d expected: a cramped living room with a small box for a kitchen, and two side-by-side bedrooms. She couldn’t help but pause in the living room, looking at the photo framed above the mantel. It was of a young Sydney, sandwiched between
her parents. Her mom was laughing and her dad was smiling serenely at the camera. For a second, it made Tenley think of her own real family—her own real dad.
He
wouldn’t have missed her pageant on Saturday.

Blinking the thought away, she went into the smaller bedroom, which she could tell right away was Sydney’s. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was looking for. An old-fashioned typewriter? A dare just waiting to be delivered? But she found nothing. Not in her drawers, not on her desk, not under her bed. Just crappy clothes and dog-eared paperbacks and tons and tons of photos. She picked a stack of photos up off her desk, flipping through them at random.

They were taken at the docks, early in the morning, when the sun was barely a mention on the horizon. There were shots of fishermen, of lobster traps, of crates filled with flopping, scaly fish. At first glance, the photos were beautiful, filled with soft pink light, the ocean cascading along the edges. But when you looked closer, they seemed almost angry: the creases in the fisherman’s brows, the way the lobsters were crammed into their traps, the sharp arc of the fish as they tossed themselves into the air.

There was one photo that looked oddly familiar to Tenley. It was of the backs of two fishermen, standing by a small boat, their shadows long and crooked across the water. It was probably another one of Sydney’s award winners, Tenley figured, flipping to the next one.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

At the sound of Sydney’s voice, Tenley gasped, letting the photos slip from her fingers. “What do you think I’m doing here?” she spat out as she spun around. “I don’t know why you’re playing this game with us, Sydney, but it’s enough.” Tenley’s voice was rising with every word. “It has to stop now!”

Sydney fixed her bright turquoise eyes on Tenley. “What are you
talking
about?” She took a step closer, and Tenley could smell a mix of alcohol and coffee on her breath. “I already told you I had nothing to do with those photos on the beach.”

“You know it’s not just the photos.” Tenley grabbed Sydney’s arm, shaking hard. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, but if it’s popularity you’re after, then you’d have to be pretty crazy to think this is the way to get it.”

“
I’m
crazy? You’re the one standing in my bedroom!” Sydney’s voice was suddenly shaking. She tore her arm out of Tenley’s grip. “Just get out, Tenley. You have no right to be here.”

But Tenley refused to let it go. It was enough. She had to know. “Just admit it already, Sydney.” She stepped toward her, trying to grab her arm again. “You’ve been—”

“Don’t
touch
me!” Sydney cut Tenley off, whacking her in the side with her purse. “What don’t you understand about ‘get out’?” She was shouting now, her face red with anger. She went to hit Tenley again with her purse, but it slipped out of her hand, tumbling to the floor. As it did, something fell out of it. A piece of paper, with a single line of type on it.
Looks like Daddy’s up to his old tricks again.… And so are you
, it said in an old-fashioned typewriter font. Tenley’s eyes widened. The darer’s font.

“This proves it!” She dove for the paper, but before she could get to it, Sydney grabbed her from behind.

“Don’t touch that!” she shrieked. She shoved Tenley, hard, and Tenley stumbled toward the door, just barely catching herself on its handle. When she looked up, Sydney’s hands were clenched and there was a wild look in her eyes. “Get. Out.
Now!
”