Where the Truth Lies (11 page)

“Oh, sweetie.” She sighs. Her anger appears to fade. “You are in a
load
of trouble. Listen to me. You cannot break into your parents’ house tonight. If Del loves you so much, why would he ask you to put yourself in a position like that?”

“I volunteered to come with him,” I say. But it’s a lie. Del is the one who convinced me this was the easiest way to get to Madeline’s information.

“What time are you meeting him?” Renee asks.

“Eleven.”

She shakes her head. “That’s so late. You’ll have to sneak out.”

“We have to wait until my parents are in bed.”

“Emily, you have got to tell him that you’re pregnant.”

I put my head down. “I don’t know.”

“What don’t you know?”

I wipe my nose again. “I don’t know anything. I’m in so much trouble, Renee.”

She lets out another deep breath. “Okay. You need to sort this out. Go find Del right now, before dinner. Tell him you aren’t coming with him later tonight. We don’t need to know what happened to Madeline, not right now. You’ve got bigger problems. Talk to him. He’s in just as much trouble as you are. I mean, it’s his baby, too.”

I nod dumbly. “Talk to him,” I repeat.

“Yes,” she says.

I stand up. I can’t think or see straight. I feel dizzy and sick and dirty. I use the duct tape along the floor in Renee’s room to guide me toward the door.

“Good luck,” she says. “I’ll wait up for you.”

But, of course, I don’t listen to Renee. Instead, I convince myself that things can’t get any worse; unplanned teenage pregnancy trumps breaking and entering any day.

Once the clock hits eleven that night, I sneak out of the dorm as quietly as possible. I’m wearing a heavy coat over my pj’s. It’s almost Thanksgiving, and the warm spell is long over. Outside there’s a light snow beginning to fall, covering the campus in a pretty blanket of white. I love Stonybrook Academy because it’s my home, but I’ll always love Connecticut for its weather, its refusal to be meek.

Del meets me on the patio outside my dorm.

“I told you to dress in black,” he says. He’s wearing a black sweat suit and black ski mask. He’s obviously more experienced at things like this than I am; beneath my gray coat, my pajamas are pink.

We’ve been planning this for weeks. Over the weekend, I intentionally left my copy of
For Whom the Bell Tolls
in my bedroom at home. During study hall, when my dad was making rounds at the dorms, I went back to get it. But I also got something else: the key to the filing cabinets in his home office. I gave it to Del, who snuck off campus right away to have a copy made. Then, before study hall was over, I went back to my parents’ house and returned the original.

Without speaking, we sneak across campus, avoiding Digger’s usual routes. We let ourselves into my parents’ house using my key. The whole process feels surreal. Aside from the nausea, I can hardly feel my body. Every time I look at Del, he seems different somehow. Maybe Renee was right. Maybe it was wrong of him to involve me in something like this. I don’t care, though. Things can’t possibly get any worse.

Once we’re inside, we slip off our shoes and carry them in our hands. The house is over two hundred years old, all creaky woodwork and tiny crevasses. Normally, this is why I love it, but tonight I can feel my heart beating hard in my chest, terrified that our steps might make a sound.

But the house is dark, all the lights out. Once we’re in my dad’s office, Del peels off his mask, and we take a few moments to rest in the space beneath my father’s desk, catching our breath.

“We made it,” he whispers, grinning at me.

I nod. “It should only take a second. Then we can go, right?”

“Right.” I’m amazed by how nervous he
isn’t
. It seems like this is just any old thing to him; does he even realize how much trouble we could get into? Stonybrook is loose when it comes to its rules, but breaking into the headmaster’s house is different. I’m not sure how that wouldn’t justify immediate expulsion for anyone but me.

I wait under my dad’s desk while Del, key in hand, goes to the filing cabinets at the opposite side of the room. I listen as he works, finding the right drawer almost immediately, slipping in the key, and—holding a penlight between his teeth—searching calmly through the files until he finds what we’re looking for. Then I hear him shut the drawer, relock it, and move to another cabinet.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

“Taking some other files,” he hisses. “If it’s just Madeline’s, your dad is going to know right away who was responsible.” He pauses. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

The thought almost makes me laugh. Almost.

I listen as he rifles through some more files. Is he looking for something in particular? It seems to take forever. Finally, he slips back beneath the desk. His breath is calm and even. He gives me a big, satisfied smile.

“I got it,” he whispers. “It’s thick—there’s gotta be something in here—”

“Shhh!” I hold a finger to my lips.

There’s someone on the stairs.

“What time is it?” I whisper.

“It has to be close to midnight,” he whispers back. “Didn’t you tell me your parents are in bed before ten?”

Taking the files from him without a glance, my whole body shaking, I slip the folders up my shirt, securing them beneath my bra. We’re going to get caught. I’m pregnant, and we’re going to get caught, and Del is going to get kicked out. Renee was right. I should have backed out of this.

I can tell from the footsteps that it’s my mother, which is a relief, even though I have no idea what she’s doing up at this hour. Maybe she’s getting a glass of water. At least it’s not my dad. Oh God. I can’t imagine how my father would react if he found us here. There would be yelling, that’s for sure.

“What’s she—”

“Shh.” I cock my head, listening. I hear my mother bundling up in the hallway. I picture her putting on her coat and boots, her suede hat with the earflaps and sheepskin lining that she’s had since I was a kid. Then she patters into the kitchen, rustles around for a few moments, until we hear the sliding glass door open. It leads to a stone porch that wraps all the way around the back of the house.

Is it really possible? It can’t be. But then we see her outside, standing all by herself in the still night. She’s smoking again, secretly. She probably waited until my dad was fast asleep, and she’s probably so bundled up that he’ll never smell it on her in the morning. I can’t believe my mother is hiding something so huge from me—from
everyone
.

I whisper all of this to Del, explaining how bizarre it is for my mother to be behaving this way, expecting him to be just as shocked as I am. Instead, he gets on his hands and knees, crawls slightly out from beneath the desk, and cranes his neck to get a better look out my father’s sliding glass doors, which lead to the same porch.

“You’re right,” he says. “She
is
smoking. God, she must be freezing out there.”

“I can’t believe this. How does somebody keep a secret like that for so long? She must have been doing this for years, don’t you think? People don’t just start smoking when they’re middle-aged.”

Del only shrugs. “Everyone has secrets, Emily. So your mom smokes. Big deal.”

I don’t say anything. I feel overwhelmed by everything that’s going on.

He blinks at me, his eyes flashing in the darkness. “Emily? You look upset.”

I’m pregnant. I’m sure of it. I took a test
.
We’ve been stupid.

You’re pregnant?

Yes.

Okay. I’ll take care of you. There’s nothing to worry about.

I start to cry, trying not to make too much noise. From the kitchen, I hear the sliding glass door open, my mother hurrying to put her things back. I’m not worried that she’ll sense something’s amiss in the house and come in here; she’s got her own secret to take care of right now.

“Emily. What’s the matter?”

I shake my head. “We have to get out of here.”

“Well, yeah.” He pauses. “Are you sure there isn’t something else? Hey, calm down.”

He puts his arms around me. I could tell him right now. I could tell him the truth, and he would understand, and he would help me. Why don’t I? Why can’t I?

“Emily, you’re shaking. We’re leaving now, all right? Everything will be okay.”

I shake my head. “Don’t say that.”

He frowns. “Why not?”

“Because it’s not okay. Nothing is going to be okay. Let’s go, all right? Let’s get out of here.”

He nods slowly. “All right. Sure.” And with his arms still around me, he reaches down to squeeze my hand. “Hey—don’t cry. Nobody saw us. Everything will be all right.” He gives me another big grin. “We did it.”

“We sure did,” I whisper.

When we get back to my dorm, we stand outside and I pull the files out from beneath my bra. The top one is Madeline’s. I don’t even look at the others.

I’m still shaking like crazy. “Do something with these,” I say, shoving the others at him. “Destroy them or something, okay?”

He nods, taking them from me without question. Before he leaves, he turns around to ask, “Emily? You’re acting weird. Is there something you want to talk about?”

“No,” I say. “I’m fine. I’m good.” I pause. “Good night, Del.”

Once I’m back inside, Renee and I sit in the hallway together and stare at the closed file.

“I can’t believe we did it,” I whisper. “We
broke and entered
. We stole from my
father
.”

“I can’t believe anything about tonight,” she murmurs, putting her arm around me as I rest my head against her body. “I can’t believe you went with him. I told you not to go! Did you tell him?”

“No.”

She is quiet. Finally, with doubt in her voice, she says, “Everything will work out.”

No, it won’t.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

“So.” I swallow. “Should we open it?”

Renee licks her lips. It’s almost as though the anticipation is more exciting than what might be inside, even though I know we’re both dying to find out.

“Tomorrow,” she says. “Let’s wait until then.”

“Are you kidding?”

“No. I’ll keep it with me so you can’t get in any more trouble. I’ll keep it hidden really well. Don’t worry. Your dad won’t even notice it’s gone.”

“Okay.” I hand her the folder. “For your safekeeping until tomorrow.”

“Study hall? Fifth period?”

“All right. Meet me in the library. You won’t look at it before then?”

“No. Of course I won’t.” There’s no way I’d trust anyone else with something this big, but somehow I know Renee won’t touch it. We’ve been through so much together already. I know she’ll wait for me.

We both stand up and give each other a long hug. She holds the folder close to her chest. The tab on it reads, “Moon-Park, Madeline.”

“See you tomorrow,” she whispers.

“See you tomorrow.”

“Sleep tight.”

But we both know there isn’t going to be much sleep tonight. Not for Renee, and not for me. How can I possibly sleep when everything is about to change, and I have no idea what’s going to happen? There is no control anymore. There’s another life here in the hall with us, one that only she and I know about. I know we will both lie awake all night, thinking about it, about the files Del and I have stolen, about how it will be so much colder soon, and there’s nothing we can do to take back any of it.

chapter ten

As it turns out, there isn’t anything interesting in Madeline’s file. The entire process of breaking into my parents’ house was for nothing.

“We’ll keep trying,” Renee tells me, as we’re sitting in the back of the library together, both of us staring in disappointment at the open folder. All it contains is a simple demographic sheet, a copy of Madeline’s transcripts, and a receipt showing that her tuition was paid in full for the previous year. Considering the risk we took by breaking into my parents’ house, the payoff is awfully disappointing. If anything, some more information about what happened to her would have been a welcome distraction from the misery of reality.

The night before everyone leaves for winter break, there’s a big holiday party at my parents’ house. It happens every year. We’re all supposed to get dressed up, and we sing Christmas carols, and everyone eats appetizers and finger sandwiches from trays the cafeteria staff and the Diggers carry around throughout the evening. It’s a very idyllic, Christmas-in-Connecticut kind of thing, and I used to love it.

But not this year. This year, the dynamic is awkward at best. I have known that I’m pregnant for almost a month. Aside from Renee, nobody else knows. I’m still getting used to the idea myself, waking up from my nightmares every morning to the brief possibility that it has all been part of a bad dream. But it hasn’t; instead, my entire
life
has become a bad dream.

It’s my last night to see Del before he leaves for break, and even though I know he’s at the party, I can’t talk to him because my father always seems to be around, watching me, keeping an eye out to make sure Del isn’t bothering me. If he only knew.

So while everyone else is mingling, I head upstairs to my bedroom to get away from things. It’s my house, after all; I should be able to go wherever I want.

I haven’t been in my room more than thirty seconds when there’s a light tap on the door. I hold completely still, willing whoever it is to go away.
Anyone
, I think to myself
, but Stephanie … or Del … or my parents.
But then the door opens and Renee walks in, and I feel a strange sense of relief that it’s her. Renee is the only person I feel truly comfortable around right now.

“Did you follow me up here?” I ask, lying down on my bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Wow,” she says, ignoring the question, “this is like stepping into a time warp.”

She’s right. My bedroom hasn’t changed since I was a little girl. The carpet is a light pink shag whose color matches the billowy curtains that are held back with ornate hooks, revealing the snowstorm outside. We’re supposed to have at least six inches on the ground by morning.

On one wall of my room, there’s a desk and dresser with hutches that still hold all of my favorite childhood books: the Boxcar Children series, the American Girl books, and even some old Nancy Drews. The walls of my room are decorated with shelves holding my old doll collections; above my bed, there are hand-painted letters on the wall (courtesy of my mother) that spell out
EMILY
.

And then there’s my bed itself. It’s a twin mattress, complete with a pink-and-purple-striped bed skirt, a thick pink comforter, and a canopy. At sixteen, I almost don’t fit in it anymore.

It’s funny—my parents’ whole house has been given the once-over by a personal decorator. Every other room has the latest furniture and accessories, to the point where the place looks like something out of a magazine. Every room, that is, except mine. Mine looks like it belongs to a ten-year-old. And I’ve never heard my parents discussing any plans to change it, almost like they still think I’m a little girl. It’s not like I’ve ever asked them, though. Since seventh grade, I’ve always felt that my
real
room was my dorm room. But now that I’m thinking about it, the whole setup seems a little bit creepy.

Renee seems to feel the same way. She takes a long look around, shudders, but doesn’t say anything more. She sits down beside me on the bed. She’s wearing a red velvet Christmas dress that looks like it came from the Goodwill. Her hair is messy—it almost doesn’t look
brushed
—and I notice that her fingernails are bare and raw looking, like she’s been chewing on her cuticles.

Somehow she still looks beautiful. “These parties are great, Emily,” she says. “They’re so innocent, you know? I love eating those little Christmas cookies and singing ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ and pretending that we’re all just kids with no problems.” She pauses. “Just for one night. Everyone deserves that, don’t they?” Before I can answer, she nudges me and says, “
You
deserve it. Besides, everyone wants to hear you sing.”

Since I was a kid, way before I was even a student at Stonybrook, I’ve been expected to sing a song at the Christmas party. It’s always something light and easy, like “Here Comes Santa Claus” or “Jingle Bells.” Even though I’m shy about singing in public, singing at the party has always felt comfortable and intimate, like I’m singing for my family. This year, though, it’s the last thing I want to do. It’s impossible for me to pretend that everything is normal. All I want is to hide.

“I don’t want to sing,” I tell her. “I want this night to be over. I want everyone to go home.”

“People are wondering where you are.” Renee pulls a hand through her hair, tugging at a knot. “It will look weird if you stay up here.”

I pretend not to hear her. I don’t want to go anywhere. “You’re leaving for New York tomorrow?” I ask.

“Uh-huh.” She continues to tug.

“Will you see your mom?”

“Probably not. But it’s okay.”

There is a long silence. I realize that I’m trying not to cry. It’s not that I feel sorry for Renee—she certainly doesn’t seem upset by her situation—or even sorry for myself. It’s that everything is changing so quickly, and there’s nothing I can do about it. If someone had told me at the beginning of the school year, just four months ago, that I’d be sitting in my bedroom with Renee the night before winter break, trying to escape the holiday party, I wouldn’t have believed it for a second. Four months ago, life was so manageable and easy, so
predictable
. Then everything changed so suddenly. I am going to have a baby. I can’t even say the words out loud.

“Things are not okay,” I tell her. “My life is falling apart. I don’t know who my friends are anymore, I don’t know who I can trust. I don’t know how Del is going to react when I tell him. And I can’t stand Stephanie half the time.”

Renee giggles. “That’s shocking. She’s so likable.”

I can’t help but smile. “She has good qualities.”

“Like what?” Renee seems genuinely curious.

“She’s beautiful.”

“That’s not a personality trait.”

“We’ve been best friends since seventh grade.”

“Things change. People grow apart.”

“I know that. But I don’t
want
everything to change.”

Renee studies me. “I’m sorry,” she says.

“You don’t need to be sorry. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know. I’m still sorry.” She pauses. “I just came up to get you, you know. We have to go back downstairs. Your presence is being demanded.”

I close my eyes, feeling sick to my stomach. “I don’t want to go.”

“Too bad,” she says. She takes me by the hand and gently tugs me off the bed. “Come on, sweetie. You don’t have a choice.”

When I reach the foot of the stairs, I practically run into Ethan. He’s wearing a pair of plush reindeer antlers on his head, and a big grin.

“Emily!” he says, a shade too enthusiastic. “There you are!”

“Here I am,” I say, forcing myself to smile.

He looks around the room, his eyes wide and glassy. “Isn’t this a freaking
fantastic
party?”

I catch a whiff of something on his breath. It smells like liquor.

“Ethan?” I squint at him. “Is something wrong?”

“What could possibly be wrong?” he asks. “Tomorrow morning I’m leaving for Colorado, where I will officially spend my first Christmas as a child of divorce. Just me, my mom, and Stephanie. My father isn’t even going to see his kids. He’s got a
new
family.” His cheeks are flushed. “Hey,” he says brightly, “you never gave me an answer about our band. Are you going to sing for us?” Before I can answer, he continues. “Because we’ve been practicing without you. Kelly Reulens has been singing for us.”

“She has?” I get an achy sense of jealousy. Kelly Reulens is a soprano. She’s a senior. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He hiccups. “Because I’m not supposed to talk to you.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I’m not allowed. Del told me to stay away from you.” He pauses. “Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this.” He brings his voice to a loud whisper. “Let’s keep that information between the two of us, okay?” And he gives me an exaggerated wink. His eyelashes are long and thick. His face gleams with sweat.
He is
, I think,
the sweetest person I know.

And even though it’s obvious that he’s really drunk, Ethan is still boyish and kind of adorable and absolutely exuding charm. He’ll probably be incredibly embarrassed later on, but there’s really no need.

He nods his head, grinning at the sound of the bells jingling on his antlers. A stray piece of hair slips across his forehead and into his eyes. Without thinking about it, I reach to brush it away.

Ethan flinches as my hand touches his face. I pull quickly away. What am I
doing
? Del, I realize, could be
anywhere
. He’s probably watching me right now.

I look past Ethan to see Stephanie—who’s wearing an identical set of reindeer antlers—staring us down. Her pouty lips are pursed in agitation. She’s practically glaring at me, and I’m not sure why. Lately, it seems as if she’s much happier being miserable.

“Ethan,” I say, trying to keep my tone light, even as I’m feeling nauseous and sweaty, “I’m sorry I can’t be in your band. You can talk to me, though. Don’t listen to Del.” I lower my voice. “What’s the matter with you, anyway? Why are you so drunk? You hardly ever drink like this.”

“Why shouldn’t I drink?” he asks. “Everybody else does it.”

I don’t have an answer for him, but Ethan’s never been the type to bend to peer pressure before. And I’d certainly prefer it if he were sober right now. What is going on? Why is the entire world crumbling? Things are definitely going askew if Ethan Prince is drunk at the headmaster’s house.

“Why won’t you be in my band?” he demands, his voice a shade too loud. “You think I’m boring, don’t you?”

“Ethan, no, it isn’t that.” I feel like I have to get him out of here, and
fast
, before someone else—someone like my father—notices him.

“Why isn’t it enough for someone to be a nice guy?” he asks. He gives me a curious look. “Why doesn’t that get me anywhere?”

His antlers have slipped from his head a little bit, and are resting at an awkward angle. He looks sad.

The whole room seems to slip away as I take in what he’s saying, the way he’s looking at me. My body goes a little numb as I really look at him, into his big eyes, as he stares at me.
Oh, Ethan.

“I really am sorry I can’t be in your band,” I tell him. “But it’s impossible right now.” I pause. “Everything is very complicated.”

He lifts a hand to scratch his head. The antlers slip a little farther. He looks disheveled, defeated, much more like a little kid than I’ve ever noticed before. I want to hug him, but I know I shouldn’t.

“I want you to know,” he says, “that I’m not as boring as you think.”

“I know that,” I say, breaking out in a cold sweat as I look around the room. “I know you aren’t.” From the corner of my eye, I can see Stephanie approaching. “You need to get out of here,” I tell him.

“Why?” He frowns.

Before I can answer, Steph is standing beside us. “What’s going on?” she asks.

I step away from Ethan. “He’s drunk,” I whisper. “You should take him back to Winchester.”

She nods. Her antlers, which also have tiny bells attached to their ends, jingle in agreement. “Okay.” She takes him by the arm. “Come on.”