Authors: Jacqueline Green
Tags: #Mystery, #Thriller, #Contemporary, #Juvenile Fiction / Girls - Women, #Juvenile Fiction / Social Issues / General, #Juvenile Fiction / Mysteries & Detective Stories, #Young Adult, #Suspense
Truth or Dare (45 page)
Suddenly it hit her.
His sister.
He’d been through this all before: the loss, the pain, the Lost Girl myths. With the media coverage this week, he must have been reliving it all over again. The thought made her ache more than ever, and she quickly averted her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said hastily. “This must be, um, really hard for you, too.”
Up front, someone rang a bell—a priest, Tenley realized—and people began taking their seats. “Over here, Tenley,” Sydney said, nodding toward several empty seats in the row next to them. She gave Calum and the clone-woman a quick wave good-bye before sitting down. “The Thomases saved those seats for us.”
As Tenley sat down next to Sydney, she couldn’t help but look at
the very first row, where Caitlin’s family was sitting. Mr. and Mrs. Thomas were there, being comforted by Caitlin’s aunt and her cousin Theresa. Several seats over in the second row, Tenley caught sight of Emerson and Marta, who was crying openly, sitting with Tim Holland. Tenley took a deep breath, adjusting the French braid she’d spent an hour on that morning. She was almost glad she’d gotten there too late to give the Thomases her condolences. The less human contact she had to have today, the better. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than Hunter suddenly appeared, pushing his way into the empty seat on the other side of Tenley.
“Thought you could use a shoulder to cry on,” he whispered to Tenley as the priest began talking about Caitlin at the front of the crowd.
She gave him a weak smile, somehow managing to eke out a “Thanks.” Time seemed to creep by as the priest droned on and on, and Tenley had to use every ounce of energy she had to fight back her tears. When he opened up the floor for people to talk about Caitlin, Tenley almost screamed. She already knew the million and one things she was going to miss about Caitlin. She didn’t need other people adding to the list. But she had no choice but to sit there, listening as person after person cried over the loss of her best friend. Finally she gave in to her own tears, letting them stream silently down her face.
She’d only been to one other funeral service before—her dad’s. And as she sat there, listening to people mourn Caitlin, she couldn’t stop the memories of that day from flooding back to her. The way the sun had reflected off the casket, making it seem to glow. How her mom had wiped her tears away with the sleeve of her black dress.
She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the memories away. But instead, they just came faster. The priest’s squeaky, cartoon-character voice. The
way even the birds stopped twittering during the moment of silence. How loud she’d screamed as her dad’s casket was lowered into the ground. A strangled noise suddenly rang out in her ears. But it wasn’t until she wrenched open her eyes that she realized it had come from her.
In the next seat over, Hunter was watching her with a worried expression. “Hey,” he said, putting a hand on her back. “You okay?”
Tenley stared at him in disbelief. Her dad was dead. Her best friend was dead. She had no one left who mattered. “What do you think?” she whispered fiercely. But as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she imagined the disapproving look Cait would have given her. Tears filled Tenley’s eyes once again and she dropped her head, focusing on the blades of grass sprouting up beneath the lines of chairs. “Sorry, I’m just…” She trailed off, unable to finish.
Hunter rubbed her back soothingly. “I know,” he said softly. “It’s hard.” His touch felt good as he traced his palm up and down her spine, and she allowed herself to lean into him, just a little. “Everyone’s going to miss her,” he added. But as he said it, he rubbed a little too hard, his knuckles digging into her skin. Tenley flinched as she looked up. Hunter’s lips were pinched together. It hit her suddenly that maybe he’d felt more than friendship for Caitlin. Was it possible that it was Caitlin he’d wanted all along, and not her? The thought made several more tears slide down her cheeks.
When, a few minutes later, Emerson stood up and talked about how Caitlin was the kind of friend you were lucky to find once in a lifetime, Tenley’s tears turned to sobs and finally she broke down, letting them rip through her as she crumpled in her chair. Someone put a hand on her back, maybe Sydney, maybe Hunter; she was crying too hard to tell.
It wasn’t until the speeches started to wrap up that her sobs slowed
down. She hadn’t planned to say anything—she was just glad it was finally over—but as silence fell over the crowd, she suddenly found herself rising from her chair. As she cleared her throat, she could feel hundreds of heads turning in her direction, but she kept her gaze on the ocean, watching it lap softly in the distance. It looked so peaceful today, so serene, nothing like the dark, writhing waves that had swallowed Caitlin up.
“I’m Tenley,” she began, and then the words were just pouring out of her, all on their own. “There really isn’t anyone else out there like Cait. She was my best friend since first grade, but it was really when I moved away to Nevada that I realized that about her. She’s someone you can’t replace, and you can’t forget.” She kept her eyes trained on the ocean, willing herself not to break down in tears again. “And that’s not going to change now. No matter where we all go from here, I know we’ll be thinking of her—
I’ll
be thinking of her—always.”
“Thank you,” the priest said as Tenley sat back down. “I think that was the perfect speech to end on.” As the priest went on to explain that everyone was free to come up to the gravesite to pay respects, Tenley leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes. She wasn’t sure she could do it, go see Caitlin’s final resting place. Just the thought made her feel suffocated.
So as people began making their way up to the grave, she slipped quietly away, walking down to the water. Emerson had apparently had the same thought, because when Tenley got there, she saw her sitting at the water’s edge, dipping her bare feet into the foamy waves.
Emerson looked up at the sound of Tenley’s footsteps. Her skin, usually so flawless, was red and splotchy, stained with tears. “That was a nice speech you made,” she said quietly.
“You too.” Tenley took off her shoes, sinking down in the sand.
Right now it didn’t matter that she’d never really liked Emerson. It was just nice to be with someone who wasn’t going to fake smile or fake hug or fake try to understand.
“I keep wanting to call her,” Emerson murmured. “I’ll catch myself halfway through dialing her number, and then I’ll have to remember it all over again.”
“I know.” Tenley wiggled her toes beneath the wet sand. “Mornings are the worst for me. Lying in bed, having to remember that she’s gone.”
They were quiet for a while. Tenley watched the waves rising and crashing the way they always did, as if nothing had changed in the world. Several more tears rolled down her cheeks, but she didn’t have the energy to wipe them away.
“Tenley?” Sydney’s voice caught her by surprise, and Tenley started a little as she turned around.
“You left your purse at your seat,” Sydney said, holding it out to her.
“Thanks,” Tenley said. She swiped her cheeks roughly with a hand before taking the bag from her.
Sydney nodded, and Tenley couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t glance at Emerson even once. Until you got to know Sydney better, she really was rough around the edges.
“I’m glad you brought it,” Tenley said. “I packed a whole drugstore’s worth of tissues.” She opened up her purse, rooting around in it. “I’ve been trying to keep some with me all week….”
She trailed off as her fingers brushed up against a smooth, stiff piece of paper. Automatically, her pulse began to race. She let out a frustrated sigh. How long would it be before she stopped imagining notes everywhere? But as Tenley glanced into her bag, her pulse sped
up even more. Because wedged underneath her wallet was a white note card—and she wasn’t imagining that it hadn’t been there before.
She was barely breathing as she shoved her wallet aside. When she saw what was written on the note card, she went limp, as if all the air had been sucked out of her. “Sydney, was my bag alone at all?” she asked slowly, unable to keep the tremble out of her voice.
“Just for a couple of minutes while I was talking to my mom,” Sydney said. She raised her eyebrows. “Why?”
Tenley couldn’t answer, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even blink. Slowly, she pulled the note card out of her purse. But before she could show it to Sydney, her phone vibrated with a text. She reached for it as if in a dream.
There, on her phone, was a photograph sent from a blocked number. Her heart pounded wildly as she stared down at it. Then, before Sydney or Emerson could see it, she quickly hit delete.
Her hands were shaking violently as she looked from her phone to the note card she was clutching. On it was a message, typed in an old-fashioned typewriter font.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTSGame’s not over yet, Perfect Ten. That was just round one.
I’m grateful to so many people for helping bring this book to life:
Lexa Hillyer, Lauren Oliver, and Stephen Barbara, for believing in me and giving me this chance. I couldn’t have asked for better guides down this wild and crazy path.
Lynn Weingarten and Rhoda Belleza, for being not just (amazing) editors, but counselors and teachers and cheerleaders, too. I’ve learned so much from you both—and enjoyed it every step of the way.
Elizabeth Bewley, Cindy Eagan, and the whole team at Little, Brown Books for Young Readers, for your support, insight, and enthusiasm. Thank you for helping shape this book into what it’s become.
Josh Adams and Adams Literary, for being agents who care as much about the writer as about the book.
Sarah Weeks and Tor Seidler, who taught me so much about writing, and whose belief in me gave me faith when I needed it.
Monica and Eric Allon, for sharing your beach—and so much more—with me.
Lauren Lower and Rebecca Crawford, who have gone through it all with me. Thank you both for always being on my side—and always knowing just what to say.
I’m so lucky to have childhood friends who became lifelong friends. Lucy, Theresa, Meryl, Caren, Ali, Steph, and Rachel: Thank you for your support, your friendship, and for always being up for a visit to New York!
Rachel Wachtel, who read my writing when it was just essays for school, and never failed to lift my spirits with her enthusiasm. Thank
you for sending me text updates as you read and making me feel like I already have one true fan.
Sean Groman, Randy (and Tyler and Cole!) Wachtel, and Sid and Minna Resnick, who felt like family long before becoming my family.
Meryl Lozano, who’s always been the peanut butter to my jelly. Thank you for giving me the kind of friendship that’s worth writing about (and for letting me turn you into a Lost Girl).
Lauren Nicole Greenberg, the kind of sister who lets you read out loud to her when you’re struggling to find a voice, who listens to seven thousand plot ideas without complaint, and who has actual dreams about your characters. What would I do without you?? I WILL find a way to work your name into everything I write!
My parents: my mom, Susan, who filled my life with books and taught me to dream—and then always, always believed in me when I did; and my dad, Fred, whose enthusiasm is infectious, and who has always known what’s best for me before I knew it myself. Mom and Dad, your unflagging faith, support, and friendship have gotten me here. I owe so much of this book to you both.
And, of course, my husband, Nathan, who told me I could do this so many times that I finally began to believe it. Thank you for braving the ups and downs with me so I never felt alone, and for reading everything I write, no matter how pink and girly the cover may be.
Copyright
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2013 by Paper Lantern Lit
Copyright © 2012 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected].
Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
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First ebook edition: May 2013
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ISBN 978-0-316-22037-8
