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I shudder, horrified, my skin crawling. If the girls weren’t here, I’d let out a scream, just because it might make me feel better. Instead, I slide out of bed and head to the door.
“Where are you going?” Sasha whispers.
“Latrine.”
Another lie. Tossed off to keep Sasha calm. Unlike me with my still-furious pulse and continuing shudder as I bolt outside to see if I can spot whoever was at the window. But already dozens of girls are spilling out of their cabins, roused by reveille and groggily starting the day. All of them stop when they see me. They also stare, some with their heads tilted in curiosity, others with outright surprise. A few more campers join the fray, doing the same thing. As does Casey when she passes by with two fingers pressed to her lips, already craving that first cigarette.
That’s when it dawns on me. They’re not staring at me. Their gazes are fixed on the cabin behind me.
I turn around slowly, not sure if I want to see what the others do. Their expressions—a little fearful, a little stunned—tell me it’snothing good. But curiosity keeps me spinning until I’m facing the front of Dogwood.
The door has been smeared with paint. Red. Still wet. Sliding down the wood in rivulets that resemble streaks of blood.
The paint forms a word spelled out in all caps, the letters large and bold and as piercing as a knife to the ribs.
LIAR
—
Franny again stands before a mess hall filled with campers, although this time it’s to give a different kind of speech.
“To say I’m disappointed is an understatement,” she says. “I’m devastated. Vandalism of any sort will not be tolerated at Camp Nightingale. Under normal circumstances, the culprit would be asked to leave immediately. But since you all have only been here a few days and may not yet understand the rules, whoever painted on the door of Dogwood will be allowed to stay if you come forward now. If you don’t and are later caught, you’ll be banned from this place for life. So, please, if any of you are responsible, speak up now, apologize, and we’ll put the entire incident behind us.”
Silence follows, broken by a few coughs and the occasional squeak of a cafeteria chair. No girls stand to confess. Not that I was expecting it. Most teenage girls would rather die than admit they did something wrong.
I should know.
I survey the crowd from my spot by the door. Most of the girls have their heads bowed in collective shame. The few who don’t stare ahead with wide-eyed innocence, including Krystal and Sasha. Miranda is the only girl from Dogwood who seems pissed off by the incident. She sneaks glances at the girls around her, trying to find the guilty culprit.
Standing along the wall are Lottie, Theo, Chet, and Mindy.Mindy catches me looking and gives me a scowl. I have officially ruined her goal of things running smoothly.
“Well then,” Franny says after a suitably unbearable length of time. “My disappointment only grows. After breakfast, all of you will return to your cabins. Morning classes are canceled while we sort everything out.”
She makes her way out of the mess hall with the rest of the Lodge denizens in tow. When they pass, Lottie taps my shoulder and says, “Emma, please come with us.”
I follow them to the arts and crafts building next door. Once everyone’s inside, Lottie closes the door. I stand next to it, my body coiled, resisting the urge to sprint. Not just from the room but from the camp itself. My left hand started trembling the moment I saw the paint on the door, and it hasn’t stopped since. The birds around my wrist rattle.
“Well, this is a fine mess,” Franny says. “Emma, do you have any idea who could have done this?”
The obvious answer would be someone in this room. A major clue lies in the painted word currently being scrubbed off Dogwood’s door. Other than Mindy, I’ve lied to all of them in the past. About Theo. About what I accused him of doing. And while none of them have called me a liar to my face, I wouldn’t be surprised if they all felt that way in private. I wouldn’t blame them, either.
Yet my gut tells me none of them are responsible. They’re the ones who invited me back here, after all. And petty vandalism seems beneath a member of the Harris-White clan. If they wanted to be rid of me, they’d just say so.
“I don’t know.” I debate telling them about the person I saw at the window. Call it paranoia from Vivian’s diary rubbing off on me, but I’m not sure I can trust anyone with the truth. Not until I get a better grasp on what’s going on. There’s a chance that, considering my history, no one will believe it’s happening at all unless I have more proof. “I only knew about it once I left the cabin.”
Franny turns to her younger son. “Chet, did you check the camera?”
“Yeah,” he says while swiping the hair from over his eyes. “There’s nothing. Which is a big red flag. The slightest motion triggers that camera.”
“But someone had to be outside that cabin,” I say. “That door didn’t paint itself.”
“Is the camera working now?” Franny asks, keeping her tone calm to counter my growing shrillness.
“Yes,” Chet says. “Which means it either malfunctioned overnight or someone tampered with it. I imagine it wouldn’t be too hard to climb up there on a ladder and put tape over the sensor.”
“Wouldn’t there be video of that?” Theo says.
Chet answers with a shake of his head. “Not necessarily. The camera is programmed to automatically turn on at nine p.m. and turn off at six in the morning. Someone could have tampered with it before nine and removed the tape right at six.”