edge of the cavern parking lot, over Tyler’s shoulder, through the trees. What is it? he’d said. Nothing, I’d said. Just Jackson and Corinne. Ignore them. They can’t see us.
I saw Corinne throw open the door and yell something at Jackson. Heard Jackson’s muffled voice yelling something back, then him pulling away, the tires kicking up dirt. Through the woods, that’s the way she’d go to my place. But she disappeared around the curve, walking down the road.
“Should we go after her?” asked Tyler, twisted around in his seat, watching the same scene.
But I was full of her words, telling me to jump, and seeing her with my brother, which seemed like the ultimate betrayal after he’d just hit me. She went to comfort him, not me. She knew, and she leaned against his side. Ignore her, I’d said to Tyler, turning his head to face me, and Tyler had been all too happy to oblige.
We left for home not long after. I eased the truck out onto the road, high beams on in the dark, Tyler’s ring on my finger. We took the first curve, and there, thumb out, skirt blowing with the breeze, stood Corinne Prescott.
She stood at the edge of the road with nothing. She’d left her bag at my house earlier, a common Corinne maneuver to see who would pay for her. Whether she could talk the vendors into covering the cost, whether she could convince one of us. I’d paid for her Ferris wheel ticket. I’d paid for everything. Because on the tip of Corinne’s tongue was a truth I wasn’t ready to share. A trump card. Emotional blackmail. A dare.
Bailey had sneaked in a few miniature vials of whiskey from her dad’s collection. She pulled one out at the top of the Ferris wheel, took a gulp, passed it to Corinne, and Corinne handed it to me, her eyebrows raised. I took it from her outstretched hand, held it to my mouth, felt the burn of the liquor on my tongue, on the back of my throat. I was starting to make a decision right at that moment, as I let it slide back into the bottle instead.
She’d grinned at me. “Tyler’s here,” she said, pointing him out in the crowd.
I leaned over the edge with her. “Tyler!” I called.
She took another swig, then followed it up with a piece of spearmint gum. “Truth or dare, Nic,” she said, slowly rocking the cart back and forth as Bailey giggled.
“Dare,” I said too fast. There were too many truths, too close to the surface.
“I dare you to climb on the outside of the cart. I dare you to ride it like that. On the outside.”
And then later, with her thumb sticking out, her eyes meeting mine through the windshield: I dare you to drive on by. I dare you to pretend you don’t see me here. I dare you.
Annaleise didn’t know—I always took the dare.
* * *
I STILL KNEW TYLER’S number by heart. He answered his phone, and I could tell from the low hum of noise in the background that he was at the bar. “Hey, Nic, what’s up?”
The kitchen light shone off the glossy surface of the pictures, and I squeezed my eyes shut. “Did you know your girlfriend blackmailed my dad?”
“What?” he asked.
“Oh yeah,” I said. “Want to know how I know? Because she just came to my house, trying to blackmail me.”
“Calm down. Hold on. What?”
“Your girlfriend! Your fucking girlfriend! She has pictures, Tyler.” I saw them again on the table, and I sucked in a sob with my breath. “Pictures of a girl. A dead girl. A dead fucking—”
“Oh, God,” he said. “I’m coming.”
I stared at the pictures for so long, they turned blurry. Trying to talk my way out of what they were. What they meant. Everything was grainy and indecipherable. But it was my porch. And that was a girl, wrapped in a blanket.
That was enough.
* * *
I WAS WAITING ON the front steps in the dead of night when Tyler’s truck pulled in, and I led him straight back to the kitchen. “Look,” I said.
He picked up a picture, held it to his face, twisted it back and forth. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Annaleise gave you these?”
“She’s had them for the last five years!”
“Is that—”
“What do you think, Tyler? Of course it is.” I choked on a sob. “What the hell is she doing on my porch?”