Theo.

“I need to go,” I tell Marc before ending the call. As his image cuts out, I get a one-second glimpse of his face, which is stony with concern. It’s the opposite of Theo’s expression. When I finally turn around to face him, his face is a placid surface, unreadable.

“Are you ready to go?” he says, his voice as blank as his features. “Or do you need more time?”

“Nope,” I reply. “All done.”

I gather my things, leaving the book where it is. Its contents are stamped on my memory.

On our way out of the library, I pull the sunglasses over my eyes, shielding them not only from the midafternoon glare but from Theo’s inquisitive gaze. The expression on his face hasn’t wavered once since he caught me talking to Marc. The least I can do is match him in opaqueness.

“Nice sunglasses,” he says once we’re in the truck.

“Thanks,” I reply, even though it didn’t sound like a compliment.

Then we’re off, heading back to camp in a fresh cocoon of silence. I’m not sure what it means. Nothing good, I assume. Gregariousness is second nature to Theo. Or I could simply be projecting, letting Vivian’s diary entries seep into my psyche and make me paranoid. Then again, considering what happened to her, Natalie, and Allison, maybe a little paranoia isn’t such a bad thing.

It’s only when the camp’s gate slides into view that Theo says, “I need to ask you something. About that summer.”

I already know he’s going to bring up my false accusation against him. It’s like barbed wire that’s been stretched between us—invisible yet keenly felt whenever one of us nudges against it. Rather than respond, I roll down the window and turn my face toward the breeze, letting it tangle my hair just like Vivian’s.

“It’s about that day we drove into town,” he continues.

I exhale into the rush of warm air hitting my face, relieved to not have to talk about why I had accused him. At least for now.

“What about it?”

“Well, we had lunch at that diner and—”

“I kissed you.”

Theo chuckles at the memory. I don’t. It’s hard to laugh at one of the most humiliating moments of your adolescence.

“Yes, that. Were you lying then? About it being a joke?”

Rather than continue the lie, dragging it into a second decade, I say, “Why?”

“Because, at the time, I didn’t think it was.” Theo pauses, rubbing the salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin until he can summon the right words. “But I was flattered. And I want you to know that, had you been older, I probably would have kissed you back.”

The same boldness I had felt in that diner returns out of nowhere. I think it might be the sunglasses. I feel different with them on. More direct. Less afraid.

I feel, I realize, like Vivian.

“And now?” I say.

Theo steers the truck to its spot behind the arts and crafts building. As it shudders to a stop, he says, “What about now?”

“I’m older. If I kissed you now, would you kiss me back?”

A grin spreads across Theo’s face, and for a split second it’s like we’ve been shuttled back in time, all those intervening years yet to be experienced. He’s nineteen and the most handsome man I’d ever seen in my life. I’m thirteen and smitten, and every glimpse of him makes my heart explode into a flock of butterflies.

“You’ll have to try it again sometime and see for yourself,” he says.

I want to. Especially when he glances my way, a flirty glint in his eyes, that grin spreading wider until his lips part, practically begging to be kissed. It’s enough to make me lean across the pickup’s bench seat and do just that. Instead, I step out of the car and say, “That’s probably not the best idea.”

Theo—and the prospect of kissing him—is a distraction. And now that I’m inching closer to learning what Vivian was looking for, I can’t be distracted.

Not by Theo.

Not by what I did to him.

And especially not by the lies both of us have told but aren’t yet brave enough to admit.

22

That evening, the girls and I eat dinner at a picnic table outside the mess hall. The whole camp is still buzzing about the paint on the door. Liargate is what they’re calling it, giving the incident the proper ring of scandal. I assume Casey, Becca, and the other instructors are also talking about it, which is why I’m fine with dining outdoors. I’m in no mood for their gossip.

“Where did you go this afternoon?” Sasha asks me.

“Into town.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think?” Miranda snaps. “She did it to get away from this place.”

Sasha swats at a fly buzzing around her tray of gray meat loaf and lumpy mashed potatoes. “Do you think one of the campers did it?”

“It sure wasn’t one of the counselors,” Krystal says.

“Some of the girls are saying you did it,” Sasha tells me.

“Well, they’re wrong,” I say.

Across the picnic table, Miranda’s face hardens. For a second, I think she’s going to storm into the mess hall and punch the offending campers. She certainly looks ready for a fight.

“Why would Emma paint liar across our door?”