Where the Truth Lies (10 page)

We sit together in the night, the evening lit by the bright moon above us.

“It’s so warm,” I say.

“You’re right. It’s almost hot.” Del yawns. Then he pulls his T-shirt over his head and tosses it aside in a ball. He leans back on his elbows, staring at the sky.

I’ve seen him without a shirt on before, but the sight always startles me. Del has a flat stomach with visible muscles that curve at his hips. He’s still wearing his dress pants from dinner, but he’s taken off his belt so the pants are loose around his waist. I can’t stop looking at him.

“Well?” He yawns again. His stomach muscles flex. “What do you want to do?”

The question alone is enough to make my blood rush to my cheeks. My face gets hot.

“Emily? You’re so quiet.”

He blinks at me, the edges of his eyes wrinkling in a smile.

“I’m thinking,” I say.

“About what?”

“Nothing.” I’m too embarrassed to tell him. “You’re right. It
is
hot out here.”

“Take off your sweatshirt, then.” I’m wearing jeans and a tank top covered up with a Stonybrook Academy sweatshirt. “Here,” Del says, leaning forward to help me. When he pulls the sweatshirt over my head, my hair falls against my face.

Del tosses my sweatshirt aside. He looks me over. “You’re so pretty,” he says. Then he nudges me back against the ground until I’m leaning on my elbows. He brings his face close to mine.

“Sing something.”

He loves to hear me sing. Usually, when we’re outside, I love singing for him. It puts me in an entirely different place, a place so relaxing and calm and far away from all of the chaos of school and nightmares and everyone’s disapproval of Del.

But I feel so shy right now for some reason; maybe it’s because he’s half-naked. The idea of singing seems mortifying. “I don’t want to.” When I shake my head, the tips of our noses brush together. “Somebody could hear us,” I say. It’s never stopped me before. “We have to be quiet.”

“Then sing quietly.”

“What do you want to hear?”

“I don’t care. Your voice.”

I can’t think of anything. “I don’t know,” I tell him. I start humming the scale that we always warm up with in chorus. It’s a boring exercise. It seems very Neapolitan.

I stop singing to tell him about the conversation my friends and I had earlier with Grace.

“You,” he says, tugging on my red hair, “are anything but Neapolitan.”

“Oh yeah? What am I?” I lean back farther on the blanket and stare at the sky, which is bright with stars. “There isn’t a flavor that goes with ‘stupid.’ ”

“Emily, stop it. You aren’t stupid.”

“I don’t know what you’re doing with me,” I tell him. “Our GPAs are totally incompatible.”

“GPAs mean nothing,” he says. “I’m not even going to college.”

Somehow, the revelation doesn’t surprise me. What
does
surprise me is how little I’m bothered by it.

“No college?” I ask, tracing the outline of his tattoo with my index finger. “Won’t your parents be disappointed?”

He’s quiet for a while. Finally, he says, “I have other plans.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

He hesitates. “We can talk about them later.”

I want to ask,
Do they include me?
But I’m afraid of what the answer will be.

“You aren’t singing,” he says.

“I don’t want to sing.”

The whole time we’ve been talking, he’s been lying above me, against me, his face close to mine. Now he leans on his side and rests a hand against my stomach. I stare at him. His blue eyes are wide and glassy.

“I want to tell you something,” he says.

“What?”

“You know I love you. Don’t you?”

I nod. “Yes,” I whisper.

“You love me, too?” As we start kissing, I realize he’s crying. We both are.

“Yes.”

Del is my first kiss. He’s my first boyfriend, and my first love. It feels right that he would be my first
everything
.

“We can stop,” he says. “Nothing else has to happen.”

I wipe my eyes. I can’t stop staring at him. “I’m not going back,” I tell him. “Not now.”

He’s still crying. “Okay.” He nods. “Are you sure?”

All I can see is Del. All I can hear is his breath. “Yes,” I say, “I’m sure.”

It’s after two in the morning. The wind is whistling through the trees as we lie wrapped in the blanket together. I imagine even the Diggers must be asleep by now.

“I should go back,” I tell him. My eyes are closed. “I need to go to sleep.”

Then he does the strangest thing.

“Open your eyes,” he says. “Can you see me?”

I nod. “Yes.”

He says, “I want you to trust me, okay? Hold still. Keep your eyes open.” And he takes his index finger and slides my contact lenses—one eye, then the other—off to the side of my eyeballs, so that everything is blurry.

“Can you see me now?”

“No.”

“I can see you, Emily.” He kisses me again. “I can see parts of you that you don’t even see yourself.”

I blink my contacts back into place. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what I said.” He yawns. “You’re right. We should go. I wouldn’t want Daddy to find out what we’ve been up to.”

“He’d kill us,” I murmur.

Del smiles. “It’s more exciting that way, don’t you think?”

I kiss him again, for a long time, before saying, “It sure is.”

When I finally get back to my dorm, at almost three in the morning, I’m so tired that my whole body aches. I grab a quick shower and get into bed. It’s only after I’ve taken one of Dr. Miller’s pills, only once I’m drifting off, that it occurs to me there might be consequences to what we’ve done.

But we love each other. And we were careful enough. I’m sure of it.

The pills work quickly. It seems like only a minute or two before I can feel myself falling asleep. The nightmares start immediately. They don’t stop until morning.

chapter nine

“It’s rain,” I tell Dr. Miller. It’s been almost a full month, and my dream journal is filled with notes. I’ve been keeping it beside my bed, along with a pen, and have gotten used to writing down everything I can remember as soon as I wake up. “I don’t think it’s
drowning
that I’m afraid of. I think it has something to do with rain.”

She’s so thrilled, she actually claps her hands. “Oh, Emily. We’re making progress, aren’t we?”

I nod, smiling. My parents aren’t with me this time; they’re at a board meeting. It’s so much easier to talk with Dr. Miller when they aren’t here—even though, no matter what, talking with Dr. Miller is
not
my favorite thing.

“Are there any memories from your childhood that you can think of having to do with rain?”

“It’s more than rain,” I add, flipping through the notebook. “I wrote it down right here:
violent rain, so hard that I can’t breathe in it. Like standing in the shower, right under the spray, or being outside in a storm.

She shakes her head, thinking. “You know, it could be something as simple as a harmless memory. Maybe you were traumatized by being in a car wash when you were a baby, Emily. The car wash used to
terrify
my kids.”

This is the kind of crap from Dr. Miller that makes it hard for me to get along with her. I’ve been taking her pills and keeping a notebook for a month, and her suggestion is that I’m like this because of a
car wash
? “No,” I say, biting my lip. I can’t help but feel disappointed by her lack of insight. “That isn’t it. This is vivid. I feel like I’m drowning.” She’s so off that it’s giving me a headache.

“That’s the nature of night terrors. They seem very real.”

“It
is
real,” I insist. “You aren’t paying attention. I remember being in car washes when I was a kid. I wasn’t afraid of them. Trust me, it was no car wash.” I sit back hard on her sofa, sighing, glaring at her. “You’re a big help, Dr. Miller. You ought to have your own television show.”

She doesn’t seem offended. Her demeanor is still friendly, irritating as hell. “Emily, I’ve never seen you so hostile before. Is something else going on?”

“No.” I cross my arms. “I’m just tired of coming here and not getting anywhere.” I sniffle. “And I think I’m getting sick.”

She nods. “Well, it’s almost flu season. As far as not getting anywhere, though—it’s understandable that you would feel frustrated. What about the fire? Any progress in that area?”

I shake my head but don’t say anything. All of a sudden, I’ve had enough of her. All I want to do is get out of here.

Dr. Miller rests her chin in her fists, elbows propped on her desk, and gives me a long look. “Okay, Emily. This is what I’m going to do. I’m going to increase your dosage a bit, and I want you to continue with the dream journal.”

“Really? That’s shocking. That’s a surprising plan, I have to tell you. I never would have expected something like that from you.”

She squints at me. “Are you sure there isn’t something else you want to talk about?”

“
Yes
. I’m sure.”

“Okay, then.” She hands me a new prescription. “I’ll see you in two weeks. In the meantime, my door is always open.” She pauses. “Well, you know, metaphorically.”

As I’m leaving her office, Stephanie jumps out of the way. She’s been listening, I know, ear pressed to the door.

“Were you listening?” I snap.

“I didn’t even know it was you at first. I have an appointment in ten minutes.”

“Have fun. I can already tell you what she’s going to say.”

In spite of herself—Stephanie hasn’t done much smiling since her father moved his mistress in a full eighteen hours after her mother was out of the house—Steph giggles. “What’s she going to say, Em?”

I lower my voice to a deep, professional tone. I don’t care that Dr. Miller can probably hear me from the other side of the door, which I’ve pulled shut. “Stephanie, what I’d like to do is increase the dosage of your medication a bit, and see you back here in two weeks.”

Steph’s grin fades just a little. “You’re almost right. I’ve been seeing her twice a week.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t know because you’ve been spending so much time with Del. And Renee.” There’s a hint of bitterness to her voice.

“Steph, Renee is great. So is Del.” I lace my fingers through hers and we swing our arms back and forth as we stand in the hall together. “But you’re my best friend.” I smile at her. “We complete the quad.”

She doesn’t seem so sure. “Renee is just so … I don’t know, Em, she’s in the
tabloids
. And the whole thing with Bruce Graham is so weird.”

“It’s not that weird,” I say. “She isn’t close with her mom. It’s different, that’s all.”

“Huh,” Steph says. “You really like ‘different,’ don’t you?”

I frown. “What does that mean?”

She ignores the question. “I have to go,” she says. “I don’t want to be late.”

I give her a quick peck on the cheek. “Hey. You can talk to me anytime, you know. I love you.”

“All right,” she says, over her shoulder. “How about tonight, after lights out?”

I hesitate. I know she’s testing me, assuming I’ll be sneaking out to meet Del, like most nights.

When I don’t say anything, Stephanie just shakes her head, walking into Dr. Miller’s office without knocking. “That’s what I thought.”

I feel sicker and sicker as I make my way back to the dorm. My headache gets worse, and I start to feel nauseous. I have to rush into the bathroom as soon as I get inside. I throw up with
force
. Renee is in the stall next to me.

“Hey,” she lilts, coming out of her stall, tapping on my door. “Got some morning sickness in there?”

I gag into the toilet. “You’re funny.”

And then I pause, thinking. It’s just long enough that Renee says, “Emily—”

“No,” I say. “There’s no chance.”

But she can hear the doubt in my voice.

“Come to my room,” she says.

Hillary, as usual, is not around. Renee goes to Hillary’s desk, opens the bottom drawer, and rifles around until she comes up with a pregnancy test.

“She’s on these birth control pills where she only gets her period once every three months,” Renee explains, tapping the box against her open palm. “So she’s constantly paranoid that she’s pregnant. I don’t know why the moron doesn’t just switch to regular pills.”

“Won’t she know it’s missing? Won’t she think—”

“If she says anything, I’ll tell her I took it,” Renee says. “I’ll pay her back. It’s not a big deal.”

“I can’t be pregnant,” I tell her, trying to reassure myself at the same time.

“You slept with Del. I mean, you’re sleeping with him. Right?”

I nod.

“Are you taking the pill? What are you using?”

I’m embarrassed to admit how irresponsible I’ve been, especially to someone like Renee, who I feel sure would never be so careless.

When I don’t say anything, Renee raises one eyebrow. “Emily. You’re going to take this into the bathroom and pee on it. Right now.”

So that’s what I do. My hands are shaking. My whole body is nauseous as I sit on one of the toilets in the girls’ room. I’ve never taken a pregnancy test before; Renee, however, seems to be quite experienced with them. “It’s digital,” she tells me, “so there’s no room for error. It will say ‘pregnant,’ or ‘not pregnant.’ It’s designed to detect the hormone your body makes when it’s pregnant. It can’t pick up something that isn’t there.”

She stands guard outside the door to the bathroom while I pee. I’m shaking so badly that it’s hard to imagine I’ve even peed enough on the stick to get a response.

Turns out, it was plenty. I stare at the results for a good thirty seconds. Then I throw up.

“Emily,” Renee whispers, coming into the bathroom, locking the dead bolt behind her. “What the hell’s going on?”

I open the stall door. I hand her the test.

She peers at the screen. “Oh shit.”

“Oh shit is right.”

“Emily … you’re pregnant.”

“I am.”

“I can’t believe this.” She seems almost more shocked than I am. “You’re the headmaster’s
daughter
. Oh—oh, don’t cry. Listen, you have to do something. You have to … um …” Her voice trails off. For the first time since I’ve known her, Renee seems completely at a loss. She takes a step backward, leans against the wall, then slides slowly to the floor and sits cross-legged, gazing at the test. “I guess you should tell someone.”

“I’m telling you.” I still can’t believe any of this is real.

“Not me.” She shakes her head. “What can I do? I can’t do anything. You have to tell Del.”

The thought alone makes me go cold. I shake my head. “No. No, no, no. I can’t tell Del. I can’t tell anyone. That would make it real.” I reach out to grip her arm. “Oh my God … my parents …”

“Are you meeting Del tonight?” she asks.

I stare dumbly at the test. “We have other plans.”

“What do you mean, you have
other plans
? What can be more important than this?”

When I sigh, my breath comes out shaky. I wipe tears from my eyes, my vision blurry. “We’re breaking into my parents’ house to steal Madeline’s file. Remember, Del promised he’d find out what happened to her?”

“He said it would take two weeks,” Renee says. “That was months ago.”

I nod. “He’s been distracted.”

Someone is knocking at the bathroom door. It’s Amanda Stream.

“Helloooo. I have to take a shower. Unlock the door already.”

Renee slips the test up the sleeve of her shirt, not caring that she’s getting my pee all over her arm. “My room,” she says. “Now.”

Once the door to Renee’s room is locked, she sits on her bed for a moment, quiet, thinking hard. Finally she says, “Emily, what do you mean you’re breaking into your parents’ house?”

“I told you, we’re going to steal Madeline’s file. It will probably say what happened, and where she is now.”

Renee shakes her head. “That’s a bad idea. Why can’t Del do it by himself? Why drag you into it?”

“Because it’s my parents’ house. If he’s alone, it’s breaking and entering, not to mention burglary. But if it’s me and him … well, I guess it’s just entering.”

Renee studies me.

“What?” I ask. “What is it?”

“It’s … okay. Emily, it’s just that I cannot
believe
you were so irresponsible. What did you think would happen? You took health class. You’re not stupid. How could you just
not use anything
?”

I stare at a coffee stain on her carpet. “I didn’t say we
never
used anything. We did, sometimes.”

“Sometimes isn’t enough.”

“I was going to get on the pill. We were careful most of the time.”

“ …”

“ …”

“I don’t think that’s much of an excuse.”

I look at her. “What?”

“You heard me. You both should have known better. And I’m not just talking about pregnancy. I’m talking about diseases. You don’t know anything about who else Del has been with, do you? Did you even ask him?”

“No.” I don’t want to think about the other girls he’s been with. But I know Renee is right; Del could have given me anything. “We didn’t exactly talk about it.”

“Uh-huh. Maybe you should have.”

“I can’t believe you’re lecturing me right now! You sound like somebody’s
mother
.”

“Maybe I do. I don’t care.” She puts a hand to her forehead. “Oh my God. We’re in an after-school special. Emily, what the hell are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” I take a deep breath. “Would you stop? You’re practically yelling at me. I feel stupid, okay? I feel naive and irresponsible and—and I don’t know what I’m going to do.” My nose is running all over the place. I use the sleeve of my uniform to wipe it. My hands are shaking. I feel like throwing up again. “Can you just be my friend? Please?”