Truth or Dare (23 page)

Ms. Howard raised a hand in the air. “But since you’re such an active member of the student body, and a suspension would disqualify you from the presidential race, I’m going to choose to believe that you truly needed some aspirin and just give you a detention. And,” she added, picking up the large bottle of aspirin and pouring two pills out, “these.”

“Thank you,” Caitlin whispered. As she took the aspirin, all she could think was: The darer had planned this. The darer had wanted this. Who hated her that much?

“Detention is in room one thirty-three,” Ms. Howard said. “I suggest you hurry over there.”

“Today?” Caitlin squeaked.

“That’s how detention works, Caitlin,” Ms. Howard said gently.

Caitlin swallowed hard. Not only did she have detention, but she was going to have to miss her first cheerleading practice, too. Emerson was going to kill her.

“I’m going to call Mr. Sims to let him know you’re coming, okay?”
Ms. Howard put a hand on Caitlin’s shoulder, looking concerned. “Why don’t you head over there now?”

Caitlin thought about the pill bottle she’d just jammed into her backpack. After all of this, she
had
to know what the darer had put inside it. “Can I stop at the bathroom on the way?” she asked shakily. “It’s, uh, that time of the month.” It was the excuse Emerson always used. No one was ever brave enough to question it, she claimed. And apparently she was onto something, because Ms. Howard nodded.

“Okay. Just be quick.”

Caitlin headed toward the door. She could feel the aspirin growing sticky in her palm from being squeezed too tightly. “And Caitlin?” Caitlin paused in the doorway, looking back at Ms. Howard. “If you ever need to talk about anything,” the principal said, “my door is always open.”

Caitlin forced a smile onto her face. “Thanks,” she said, “but everything’s fine. Really.” Then she hurried out, before Ms. Howard could read the lie on her face.

As soon as Caitlin was safely inside the bathroom, she dug the pill bottle out of her backpack. Just as she’d suspected, there was a note tucked inside.

Guilt is in the eye of the beholder--or is it the neck of the noose? If you don’t want your guilty secret just
hanging
around in the open, then I suggest you take the next dare.

For several long seconds, Caitlin stared at the note.
The neck of the noose.
She slumped against the wall, sliding down to the floor. When
the police found Jack Hudson, he was hanging from a rafter in his house, a noose tied around his neck. A note lay on the floor, underneath his dangling feet.
I can’t be this man
, it said. The police believed it was an admission of guilt, but Caitlin had never been sure. As her kidnapping nightmares continued to grow worse, she couldn’t help but wonder. What if it hadn’t been an admission… but a plea?

If her kidnapper wasn’t Jack Hudson, a man was dead because of her. And a monster was roaming free.

Caitlin had never told her parents about that fear, or any of her friends. Not even Tenley. So how had the darer known?

It was as if whoever was sending her these notes was
inside
her—in her mind, in her nightmares, haunting her. In the stillness of the empty bathroom, Caitlin felt a chill run through her. She’d never believed in ghosts before, but right now she didn’t know what to believe.

Caitlin forced herself to stand up. If she didn’t get to detention soon, she’d probably end up with another one tomorrow. She walked over to the mirror, expecting to be faced with a complete wreck after the afternoon she’d just had. But her blond hair hung smooth and silky over her shoulders, her green eyes looked as bright as ever, and only the slightest splotch of color shone on her cheeks.

The hallway was empty as she headed to detention. Everyone was off at their various extracurriculars. That was one of the things Winslow Academy was known for: an extremely active student body. That and its Ivy League acceptance rate. Caitlin glanced at a poster sponsored by Winslow’s Purity Club.
THIS FALL FESTIVAL, STAY OUT OF THE WATER
, it said above a picture of Great Harbor beach.
ECHO BAY DOESN’T NEED ANOTHER LOST GIRL!
Caitlin quickly looked away. She didn’t need to think about the Lost Girls right now on top of everything else.

She was almost at the detention room when a sudden noise behind
her made her jump. Caitlin stopped short, her heart in her throat. Was someone following her?

She whirled around. But it was just Tricia, wearing her cheerleading uniform. She was crouching on the floor, scooping up a pair of fallen pom-poms. “Oh,” she said in relief as Tricia stood back up. “Hey, Tricia.”

“You okay, Caitlin?” Tricia asked with a laugh. “You look like you just saw a ghost or something.”

Caitlin tried not to cringe at Tricia’s choice of words. “I’m fine, I just…” She trailed off, unable to bring herself to tell Tricia she had detention. “I’m not feeling well,” she finished. “I think I have to go home and sleep it off.” She looked down, avoiding Tricia’s eyes. She’d never been a very good liar. “Would you tell Em for me?”

“Of course.” Tricia gave Caitlin a sympathetic smile. “Just get better in time for the first game, okay?”

“I’ll do my best.” When Tricia was gone, Caitlin squared her shoulders and marched the rest of the way to detention. This wasn’t a big deal, she told herself. But she could feel her cheeks burning red as she stepped into the classroom.

There were already a bunch of students there, which surprised her. How many people got detention on the second day of school? Most of them were sitting toward the back, but there was one student sitting up front, in the very first row. He looked up, and Caitlin’s eyes widened.

Tim Holland. His blond hair was as shaggy as ever, and the hemp necklace he always wore hung over a bright orange T-shirt. “Hey,” he said, patting the seat next to him. “Take a load off.”

With a reluctant nod, she sat down, busying herself with pulling her Spanish homework out of her bag. At the front of the room, Mr. Sims looked up from the book he was reading. Mr. Sims was Winslow’s shop
teacher–slash–detention monitor, known just as much for his perpetual glower as for his missing middle finger. “Caitlin Thomas,” he said dully. “About time. The rules are on the board. You’re expected to do your homework.” He went back to his book without even a glimmer of a smile.

A few seconds later, a piece of paper landed on top of her Spanish textbook.
Guess someone’s not happy playing prison guard
, Tim had written.

She looked over at Tim. He had a playful smile on his face, but she could only manage a halfhearted smile back before returning to her homework. She just wasn’t in the mood to joke around right now. She kept thinking about her latest note.
The neck of the noose
…

A soft scratching sound made Caitlin look back up. Tim had slid another piece of paper onto her desk.

So, prez, what do you think the odds are of you actually excusing surfers from first period?

Caitlin stared at the note. For a second she had the crazy thought that maybe Tim was the darer. She
had
been running into him a lot lately. And now here he was, passing her notes… No. That was almost laughable. There were only three things guys like Tim concerned themselves with, and they were waves, waves, and more waves. She blew out a breath. These notes were making her nuts. Next she was going to accuse Sailor of writing them.

Picking up her pen, she quickly scribbled out an answer to Tim.
Probably the same as the odds of Mr. Sims ever smiling
.

Tim choked back a laugh as he read her reply.
You really think?
he mouthed at her.

Sure
, she mouthed back. She made a point of returning to her Spanish homework, hoping he would get the message. The headache she’d lied about earlier was very quickly becoming a reality. With a sigh
she massaged her temples, wishing she’d taken those two aspirins earlier instead of throwing them out in the bathroom.

Out of the corner of her eye, Caitlin noticed Tim waving his arm through the air. “Mr. Sims?” he called out.

Grudgingly, Mr. Sims lifted his head. “Yes, Tim?”

“I forgot I have a message for you from Ms. Howard.” At the sound of the principal’s name, Mr. Sims straightened up, his book slipping out of his hand.

“Yes?” he said, his tone almost eager. Caitlin looked up, unable to stop herself from watching.

“She said to tell you that she really loves your tie today,” Tim said.

Mr. Sims’s hand flew to his hideous yellow tie, which had hammers and screwdrivers printed all over it. For a brief second, the smallest of smiles flickered across his face. Then he cleared his throat, picking his book back up. “Very good,” he said. “Now back to your homework.”

“So,” Tim whispered as Mr. Sims returned to his book, “what do my odds look like now?”

“How did you do that?” Caitlin whispered back. She’d had shop class with Mr. Sims for an entire quarter, and she’d never seen him smile once.

“I’m in detention a lot. Which brings us back to that whole first-period issue….”

At the front of the room, Mr. Sims looked up sharply. “Did someone say something?” he barked, any last trace of a smile erased from his face.

“Sorry, Mr. Sims,” Tim called out cheerfully. “Sometimes I mumble out loud when I study.” He flashed Caitlin a sideways smirk. “Bad habit.”

“Well, keep it down,” Mr. Sims grumbled.

As Tim made a loud show of opening his books, Caitlin returned
to her own homework. Next to her, Tim was writing away in his calc book, but every once in a while she could feel him looking over at her. She tried to ignore it, but for some reason she could feel her cheeks flushing, as if the temperature in the room had suddenly spiked twenty degrees.

When detention finally ended, Tim and Caitlin walked out to the parking lot together. “So, Sims and Ms. Howard?” Caitlin asked.

“So they wish,” Tim said.

Caitlin shook her head. “Who would have thought?”

“Well, you know what they say.” Tim glanced over at her, and for a second he looked almost serious. “The heart works in mysterious ways.” He broke into a smile. “Especially when you’re a shop teacher who can’t give the middle finger.”

“Or wear five-fingered gloves,” Caitlin added solemnly.

“Or ever make a full handprint.”

“Poor Mr. Sims.” Caitlin sighed.

They headed into the parking lot, Tim’s green flip-flops making whacking sounds against the asphalt. In the distance, Caitlin could hear the soft drone of sports teams practicing. It made her glad she’d pretended to be sick when she saw Tricia earlier; she was in no mood to catch the end of cheer practice. “Hey, you want to grab some food or something?” Tim asked.

Caitlin looked up at him in surprise. “Oh, um, I should probably go home and finish my homework,” she stammered. She could feel her face flushing again, and she quickly averted her eyes. “Lots of Spanish to do and a calc problem set and a book to start reading for AP English…”

“All on the second day of school?” Tim asked, sounding amused.

“That’s what I get for signing up for five APs.” She cringed a little at
how squeaky her voice sounded. “Well, this is my car,” she said as they reached her blue VW bug. “I guess I’ll see you later?”

Tim nodded. “Looks like later it is.”

Caitlin’s heart was racing as she climbed into the car. “What is
with
me today?” she muttered out loud. It was just Tim Holland. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t asked her out before. She took a deep breath. “It’s just Tim,” she repeated as she pulled out of the lot. “Just Tim.” But for some reason, her heart wouldn’t slow down for the whole ride home.

Wednesday, 5:53
PM

SYDNEY MOVED QUIETLY THROUGH THE DARKROOM, letting the stillness envelop her. She’d been locked away in there ever since school let out, her fingers flying from bin to bin as if on autopilot. All day long, thoughts of her cheat of a father and the darer who knew so much about her past had been tailing her, making her feel suffocated. She’d come to the darkroom hoping for a respite. But the same thoughts kept resurfacing, clouding up the darkness she usually found so peaceful.

When she’d checked her phone after lunch today, she’d found seven missed calls from her dad. She hadn’t called him back yet, and she didn’t plan to. There was nothing he could say to explain himself. He was a complete cliché: Once a cheater, always a cheater. What she hadn’t decided was whether she should tell her mom. Her mom tried so hard to be tough for Sydney’s sake, but sometimes Sydney would catch her staring at the family photo she still kept on the mantel, looking as if she wanted to reach into it and pluck all three of them out, make the past real again.

Sydney went over to the enlarger, her hands working automatically. To make matters worse, Tenley had cornered her during a game of volleyball in gym class this afternoon and started asking her all these strange questions—like if she ever spent time on Dune Way and if she knew anything about typewriters. She’d told Sydney it was because her stepdad was looking to hire a few high school students to help out at his cosmetics company, and she knew Sydney of all people could use the extra money.

At the time, Sydney had been furious. Tenley really was the same insensitive spoiled brat she’d always been. But the more she’d thought about it, the more unsettled she’d become. Why had Tenley been asking about a
typewriter
? No businesses used
typewriters
anymore. It almost made it seem as if she knew something about the dares. But it wasn’t like Tenley could be the darer… right? Sydney paused, fiddling with a negative. She had been at the Yacht Club that night. But still, it was doubtful. And besides, Tenley had made it pretty clear that night that Sydney wasn’t worth even a second of her time.

“Ow!” Sydney let out a yelp as she looked down at the line of blood sprouting on her thumb. She’d been so distracted that she’d sliced it on a negative. She let out a frustrated grumble as a drop of red dripped onto the negative. There went that image. And now she needed a Band-Aid. Tossing the negative into the garbage, she jogged out to the girls’ locker room, where Mr. Stark, the gym teacher, kept a first-aid kit.