Truth or Dare by Jacqueline Green Page A

mom’s Botox-smooth face was perfectly made up, and she was wearing a red dress that looked more New Year’s Eve than Sunday afternoon. “When I first got the twins, I couldn’t stop staring at them either.” She let out a tinkling laugh. “Just look at you,” she continued wistfully. “All grown up and a real, live girl. Feels good, doesn’t it, Ten Ten?”
    “Don’t call me that,” Tenley said through clenched teeth. She hated the nickname; it made her sound like a yapping, bow-wearing Pomeranian. And she hated her mom’s digs at her body even more. She’d always been tiny and slim, more tomboy than temptress. She used to love that about herself. But what had once been perfect for gymnastics made her feel ugly and immature in the pageant circuit. And her mom never let her forget it.
    Her mom had never understood the gymnastics thing in the first place. It was her dad who had gotten it, who had come to every meet and driven her to inhumanely early practices and called her “my littler Tenner”—his term for a perfect score. When she won her first meet, her dad had hung her gold ribbon on their front door, for all of Echo Bay to see.
    Her mom, on the other hand, had gotten excited about gymnastics one time and one time only: when she realized it gave Tenley a viable talent for pageants. It had taken some convincing, but her mom had finally roped Tenley into joining the pageant circuit. When, many wins later, Tenley had told her she wanted implants, her mom had shrieked so loudly you would have thought she’d won an Oscar.
    Tenley blindly grabbed a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a tank top out of her dresser. “Uh-uh, no way,” her mom said, eyeing the combo in disdain. She bustled into Tenley’s walk-in closet, selecting a Marc Jacobs sundress off a hanger. “No daughter of Lanson Reed’s is dressing like a truck driver.” She tossed the dress to Tenley and gave her a quick air kiss. “Don’t forget, we’re going to dinner at Chez Celine tonight,” she called over her shoulder as she floated out of the room, a train of red chiffon trailing behind. “Lanson wants to show off his new daughter!”
    Tenley watched her mom disappear down the long hallway, leaving only the sickly sweet smell of her perfume behind. “
Step
daughter,” she said out loud to the empty room. With a sigh, she flopped down on her bed. She couldn’t stop thinking about that note—and whoever had left it. Just how long had they stood there before knocking on the door? Long enough to see her with Guinness? Long enough to witness her mishap with the hose? She thought about how tightly her wet dress had clung to her. It would have left little to the imagination.
    The whole thing gave her the eeriest feeling—as if she was being watched.
    Watched.
Suddenly she remembered something her mom had said to her when they moved into Lanson’s house, after Tenley had made a wisecrack about the size of their new home.
    “My friends could be living here with me and you wouldn’t even know,” she’d joked.
    “Not so fast, Ten Ten,” her mom had replied, wagging a freshly manicured finger at her. “Lanson has this place wired top to bottom. You remember that the next time you’re up to no good, okay? Even when you’re out of sight, I could still be watching you.” At the time Tenley had blown off the comment—as if her mom would ever care enough to check security footage of her—but suddenly she realized what it meant.
    Tenley threw on the dress and raced downstairs. The security room was in the very back of the house, which meant she had to jog through about ten rooms to get there. But when she finally reached it, she was forced to stop short. Because the maid, Sahara, was mopping in front of it.
    “Can I help you, Miss Tenley?” Sahara asked in a voice that made it clear she’d like to do anything but.
    “I need to get into the security room,” Tenley announced in her most commanding voice. She fixed Sahara with a pointed