Truth or Dare (29 page)

Sydney twisted her ring around her pointer finger as she remembered what happened after she took that photo. She’d been packing up
her camera bag when she felt a warm puff of air on the back of her neck. She’d whirled around to find Joey standing right behind her, only centimeters between them. She’d tried to step away, but he’d grabbed her arm, roughly pulling her toward him. And then suddenly he was leaning in and his nose was banging against hers and he was trying to kiss her.

“What are you doing?” she’d yelled, twisting out of his grip.

In her haste, she’d tripped, fumbling to the ground. When she’d looked back up, Joey was standing over her again, close enough for her to smell the peanut butter on his breath.

He’d pushed his long hair out of his eyes as she scooted away from him. “I thought…” he’d stammered. “I wanted…” His eyes clouded over as he trailed off and then, just like that, he was turning away. He ran into the gallery’s back room, locking the door with a loud click. Sydney hadn’t bothered sticking around. She’d grabbed her stuff and bolted, and they’d never spoken again. Whenever they passed each other in class or in the halls, he ducked his head, refusing to look at her.

And now, three years later, Sydney had gotten a dare asking her to go through with that kiss. Who would want her to do that? And how did the darer even
know
about that kiss? She’d definitely never told anyone.

Unless…

An idea suddenly hit her, like a punch to the gut.

Unless Joey
was
the darer.

What if this was his twisted way of finally getting that kiss? She closed her eyes, feeling queasy. Had she told Joey about Sunrise and the fires that night? She closed her eyes, thinking hard. But it was a long time ago. She couldn’t remember.

The bell rang and Sydney stood back up. The period was over and
she hadn’t developed a single photo, but she didn’t care. She stormed out of the darkroom, ready to get far away from this fishbowl of a building.

She’d just grabbed her stuff out of her locker when she passed Hunter, who was standing around with a bunch of his friends. “Who knows who poled me? Probably some loser whose girlfriend still isn’t over me. I mean, I
have
hooked up with pretty much every girl at school.” He looked like a peacock fanning his feathers, and Sydney pushed past him, disgusted. She hurried outside, more ready than ever to get away.

But as she stepped into the parking lot, a car honked loudly, making her jump. She looked over. Sitting at the edge of the parking lot was her dad’s truck.

Her dad leaned out of the window, beckoning her over. “Please, Syd,” he pleaded.

Sydney groaned. “Just pile it all on today, why don’t you?” she muttered to no one in particular. Crossing her arms against her chest, she marched over to him. “What?” she said curtly.

“You wouldn’t answer my calls, Syd,” her dad said. He ran his hand through his full head of thick brown hair, which had begun to turn salt and pepper over the years. He seemed nervous. His eyes kept flicking to the crowd behind her. “This was the only way I could talk to you without getting your mother involved.” Sydney couldn’t help but notice how terrible he looked. His skin was sallow and he had bags under his bloodshot brown eyes, as if he hadn’t slept at all. “Please just get in for a second and let me explain.”

Glaring at him, Sydney climbed into the car, leaving the passenger door hanging open. “You have one minute.”

Her dad sighed. “I admit it, okay? I was seeing someone else.” He
fidgeted a little, slouching down in his seat. “But I ended it! It’s done, Syd. I want to be with your mom.”

“Do you always go to seedy inns before ending things?” Sydney snorted. “I’m not five anymore, Dad. You’re going to have to do better than that.” Her dad’s eyes darted around the parking lot once more. “Are you even
listening
to me?”

“Sorry,” he said hastily. “I just… haven’t been to your school in a long time.” Twisting in his seat, he looked directly at Sydney, his eyes pleading. “I’m telling you the truth. It’s over. I really want to do right by your mom this time, Munchkin.”

“Do
not
call me that!” Sydney snapped. “You lost the right to call me that when you left us. Or did you forget about that already?” She knew she was being nasty, but she couldn’t help it.

Her dad flinched. “What can I do, Sydney? How can I prove to you that I mean it?”

Sydney rested her forehead on the dashboard, blinking away a few pesky tears.
You could be a real dad
, she wanted to say. But instead, she said nothing.

On the floor of the truck, something caught her eye. Something gold and sparkly. Curious, she reached down and picked it up. It was a chain with four tiny charms hanging off it. Sydney ran a finger over them. An angel, a key, a horseshoe, and a teddy bear. Where had she seen this before?

She turned back to her dad. “What is this?”

“That? Uh. I… I don’t know,” her dad stammered, his cheeks flushing. “Someone must have left it in my car.”

Sydney lifted the tiny gold bear charm, staring at it. She’d
definitely
seen it before. Suddenly, an image flashed through her mind. Fashion-plate Emerson standing in the locker room, a gold charm bracelet with a teddy bear on it hanging loosely from her wrist.

Oh my god.

“Where did you get this?” Sydney demanded.

But her dad just shook his head, his brown eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights. The look on his face told Sydney everything she needed to know.

Emerson
. The mystery woman her dad had been seeing was Emerson Cunningham.

That’s why her dad was acting all squirrelly, she realized, looking around the parking lot like he was scared of getting caught. He
was
—by Emerson.

Shoving the bracelet into the pocket of her jacket, she stumbled blindly out of the car.
Emerson
, she kept thinking. She was
Sydney’s
age. “Syd, wait!” Her dad leaned out of the truck, calling after her, but she ignored him. She raced back to her car, locking the doors. She wanted nothing more to do with him.

She drove straight to the docks. There was only one thing she could think of to make herself forget everything right now, and that was a nice, long photo shoot. But as she reached for her camera bag in the backseat, her eyes landed on the pack of matches she’d taken from the hotel.

Her hands reached for them automatically. She rubbed her thumb over the strip of sandpaper on the matchbook. She could almost hear the match catching fire, that sizzle as the flame burst to life. She trailed her finger over the matches. If she lit one right now, she could forget it all. She could let the fire wrap its arms around her, burning through everything.

No!
Opening the door, she threw the matchbook as hard as she could, all the way to the ocean. It landed in the waves, bobbing gently out to sea. What was she thinking? She was done with that. She was better than that. She turned to photography now, not fire. She reached for
her camera bag, pulling out her camera. But with it came something else. A piece of paper, with several lines typed on it in an old-fashioned typewriter font. Tears sprang to Sydney’s eyes as she began to read.

Everyone knows fires don’t start on their own. There’s always a culprit… and usually it’s you. Want to keep the truth about the Melon Street fire a secret? Then I suggest you get moving on that dare. Good thing you like to get
hot
and heavy, right?

Sydney banged her fist against the window, letting the note crumple up inside it. “
How?
” she yelled, her voice bouncing around her car. No one knew about the Melon Street fire. Not her parents. Not Guinness. Not even Dr. Filstone or her counselors at Sunrise. All these years she’d carried the secret alone.

It had happened the night before she left for Sunrise. She’d been so mad at her parents for sending her away. It felt as if they were just throwing her out, making her someone else’s problem. That night she snuck out of the apartment and wandered the streets for hours. She had a stolen lighter in her pocket, and she kept reaching in to touch it.

Finally, she couldn’t resist any longer. She sat down on a grassy corner on Melon Street and began setting leaves on fire. One leaf for her dad. One leaf for her mom. One leaf for the girl they’d thrown out. She’d thought she could keep it under control, and she probably could have. But then a huge gust of wind blew in. It lifted the flames, tossing
them left and right and backward and forward. And suddenly instead of tiny pinpricks of light, there was fire, blazing all around her. One flame fed into another, licking at her ankles and her arms as they surged together, no longer hers, but a beast of their own.

Sydney had barely escaped. She’d sprinted home, sneaking back into her apartment. She still remembered how dark and still it had felt in there. And cold. After the heat of the fire, everything else had seemed so frigid. Only when Sydney was in the safety of her room did she place an anonymous call to the firehouse, telling them of the fire on Melon Street.

Three houses burned down that night. But by the time Sydney’s dad and the rest of the firefighters put out the flames—saving all the residents from injury—Sydney was already in her bed, tucked tightly under her covers. No one ever knew she’d been gone. No one ever knew what she’d done.

Until now.

Thursday, 5:30
PM

YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME.” TENLEY HURLED
her brand-new pair of red rhythmic ribbons into the air in frustration. She’d been practicing her pageant routine for almost an hour now, but every time she got to the finale—the moment that was supposed to wow the judges, make them mark down triple tens on their score cards—her ribbons twisted and tangled together. Maybe it was that her new ribbons were defective.

Or maybe she was.

She raised the ribbons over her head, launching into her routine yet again. The problem was, she just couldn’t stop thinking about her last dare. She’d planned to go through with it this morning. She’d gone to school extra early, with her nicest pair of silk underwear in tow. She’d used a silver paint pen to initial them and everything.
TR
, in large silver letters. But when she’d gone over to the flagpole, she’d frozen up.

Back in middle school, she’d been fascinated by Winslow’s Flagpole of Shame. At the time it had seemed exciting, like the ultimate
dare. But as she’d stared up at it, imagining
her
underwear flying from that flag… her arms had suddenly turned to lead. She couldn’t go through with it. She’d stuffed the underwear into her backpack and walked away.

Refusing the dare had given Tenley a scratchy, nervous feeling all day, as if she were standing under an ax, just waiting for it to fall. She knew she had to confront Sydney again, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it at school. If Sydney really was sending her these dares, then she was clearly batshit crazy. There was no way Tenley was giving her the chance to unleash that crazy on her in the middle of Winslow—where anyone could hear. So instead, Tenley had spent all day avoiding her like the plague, which had just left her feeling worse.

“Playing with ribbons again, Tiny?” Guinness walked into the living room, dropping down on the couch. “Admit it.” He smirked. “Instead of Barbie dolls, you used to have a trunk full of ribbons.”

Tenley kicked one of her ribbons at him. “The only trunk I have is full of trophies,” she retorted. “Thirteen, to be exact.”

“Fourteen after Saturday,” Guinness pointed out.

Tenley kicked at the other ribbon with her bare foot. She’d never been one to get nervous before a pageant. Why should she? Compared to a gymnastics meet, pageants were a walk in the park. But between the dares and her botched rehearsal, she kept getting a tiny flutter in her stomach lately, as though there were a moth in there, beating its wings. “Let’s go to the
Justice
,” she said suddenly. She bounced on her toes. She needed to do something fun. Something to make her feel like
her
again.

She grabbed Guinness’s hand, pulling him off the couch. “Come
oooon
,” she pleaded. She batted her eyelashes theatrically. “How can you say no to this face?”

Guinness laughed. “All right, all right,” he said, giving in. “Let me just grab my camera.”

Twenty minutes later, they were out on Lanson’s yacht, and Tenley was stripping down to her bathing suit. She’d put on her skimpiest black bikini for the occasion, and she couldn’t help but smile as she felt Guinness’s eyes watching her pull off her shirt. It was cold and breezy out on the water, and she hopped from foot to foot to keep from shivering. There was no way she was going to let a little fall air get in the way of her time with Guinness.

“We’re going in the ocean,” she announced. She reached for Guinness’s sweatshirt, pulling it up over his head and letting it drop to the floor. She couldn’t resist letting her eyes flit up to his bare chest.

“I don’t have a suit on,” Guinness protested.

“So?” She moved closer to him, touching her hand lightly to his chest. “Wear your boxers. I won’t tell.”

She went over to the teak trunk of supplies on the other side of the yacht’s deck and began rooting through it. “Aha,” she said, yanking out a raft. “I knew this was in here.” It was one of those chair rafts with drink holders on either side, just big enough for two—if you were sitting really close. She lifted the raft over her head, noticing the way Guinness’s eyes darted down to her bare stomach.

She brought the raft to the edge of the boat. The soft evening sunlight skipped over the waves, making them glitter like cut glass. “When was the last time you went for an autumn dip?” she asked, smiling temptingly at Guinness. “Last one in has to swim to the Phantom Rock!” She pushed the raft into the ocean and lifted her arms overhead. Behind her she could hear the steady clicking of Guinness’s camera. She looked back once more, smiling prettily for the shot. Then she dove in.

The water sliced at her from every side, making her gasp out loud as she came up for air.