“Did your sister have any friends? Anyone she might have called?”
“No,” she says without hesitation, and I remember what she said before about her sister being bullied so badly she had to be homeschooled. “Well, she did have one good friend, but she ditched her when things got hard.”
I frown. Finally, finally, someone opens up, reveals her dark secret, and it doesn’t get us any closer to finding out who is behind the Society.
We reach the old warehouse with ten minutes to spare. Farrah’s BMW is parked out front, but when we go inside, she’s nowhere to be found.
“Farrah?” I call, moving deeper into the dusty room. My voice echoes on the high ceilings.
Lyla sits down on an upturned crate. “Maybe she had to pee.”
I sit too. The jar is here, sitting in the center of the floor like an offering. I’m tempted to take whatever dare is hidden inside and burn it. But who am I kidding? I’m not that brave.
Two more minutes pass, and no Farrah. It’s so unlike her to go off on her own in the dark, and I start to worry. “Don’t you think we should just make sure she’s okay?” I ask.
Lyla shrugs. “She wouldn’t do it for us, but I guess, if you want.”
“Just a quick sweep,” I say.
Lyla pushes up and heads toward the stairwell at the back of the room. I start to follow, but a noise from a darkened corridor catches my attention. Lyla’s footsteps clomp above my head. I pull out my cell and open the flashlight app, holding it out against the lurking shadows as I creep forward. Something clatters in a room to my left, and I leap away from the door, heart racing.
Someone is in there.
I hesitate, then reach for the handle and whip the door open.
It takes me a moment to process what I’m seeing. Which is Hartley. And Farrah. Making out.
Hartley presses Farrah into the wall of a small storage closet. Farrah’s skirt is bunched up her thighs, which are wrapped around Hartley’s waist, and she’s got her fingers tangled into Hartley’s spiky hair.
They break apart when they see me, and Farrah quickly readjusts her skirt and wipes her lips.
“What are you doing here?” she demands, when I should be the one asking her that. But I’m too stunned to do anything. Farrah and Hartley? I start to wonder if I hit my head really hard, if this is all just a dream and I’m asleep at home.
Footsteps echo down the hallway. Farrah leaps out of the closet, and Hartley follows, smiling smugly. There’s lipstick smeared around her mouth. Farrah sees it.
“Wipe your mouth!” she hisses.
“Now you’re shy?” Hartley teases. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so pleased.
The footsteps draw nearer.
“Hurry!”
“Yes, princess,” Hartley mutters, wiping a hand over the evidence.
Lyla jogs up, panting for breath. “Oh, good. You found her. Hey, Hartley. I didn’t know you were here too. What were you guys doing?”
“Looking for the Society,” Farrah pipes up brightly. “No sign.” She levels a warning look at me before pushing past us toward the meeting room. Everyone else follows. Hartley lags behind, grinding her lighter so hard it’s a wonder it doesn’t shatter in her grip.
I replay every antagonistic conversation I’ve ever heard between Farrah and Hartley and realize the startling truth: Farrah doesn’t hate Hartley. She loves her, and she doesn’t want anyone to know.
It’s her big secret. What the Society is using against her.
When we reach the main room, Farrah unceremoniously pulls our next dare from the jar. We circle around as she reads aloud:
“Go to the Rheem Manufacturing plant. Further instructions await you.” She drops her hand.
“I guess I’m driving again?” Lyla says, breaking the tense silence.
Everyone nods. Everyone except Hartley, who has abandoned her lighter and is now tapping away at an ancient cell with a worn skull-and-crossbones case and a giant crack down the screen. Leave it to Hartley to make texting look badass.
“Hartley?” Farrah says tersely.
She slowly drags her eyes up, an eyebrow cocked high. “Yes, princess?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, are we bothering you? We were just discussing getting to the plant. But by all means, finish texting.” Farrah crosses her arms. “Who are you even talking to, anyway?”
“Jealous?” Hartley asks.
Farrah’s cheeks flush. “No! God!”
I look at the floor. It’s weird watching them argue, now that I know they’re some sort of secret couple.
“That’s what I thought.” Hartley shoots out the door, and Lyla trails behind her. I start to follow, but Farrah grabs my arm.
“About what you saw—”
“It’s okay,” I interrupt.
“Not, it’s not,” she says through her teeth, then flicks her eyes at the door. “If anyone found out, I’d be ruined.”