Lie for a Lie - Hardcover

Maccready, Robin Merrow

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0805091092 ISBN 13: 9780805091090

Verlag: St. Martins Press-3PL, 2017

Inhaltsangabe

People say that when you have a life-altering experience, your brain takes a picture, and that snapshot stays forever in your memory to retrieve again. And again, and again.

Kendra Sullivan loves taking pictures. But when a photograph reveals something unexpected, she sets out to investigate the situation. Before long, Kendra is torn between destroying her family as she's known it and keeping a very dark secret that might ultimately destroy her. This emotionally charged young adult mystery pushes the boundaries between truth and deception and explores the consequences of uncovering life-changing information.

A Christy Ottaviano Book

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Robin MacCready is the author of Buried, recipient of the Edgar Award for Best YA novel. She teaches reading and writing to middle school students, and lives in Maine with her family.

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A Lie for a Lie

By Robin Merrow MacCready

Henry Holt and Company

Copyright © 2017 Robin MacCready
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-8050-9109-0

CHAPTER 1

People say that when you have a life-altering experience, your brain takes a picture, and that memory stays with you to retrieve again, and again, and again. Like an old snapshot, it's sometimes out of focus.

When I was seven I almost drowned in a boat accident. If that memory is triggered, I replay it like scenes from an old movie, over and over, upside down, blackness and then light.

Today was going to be another snapshot day.

My friend Jenn and I were at the Old Port Festival. The waterfront in Portland, Maine, had closed down to traffic and opened up to musicians, artists, shopkeepers, and cooks. It was the perfect place to mark the beginning of summer and the end of my junior year.

"Kendra!" Jenn said in a low voice. "That's your dad, isn't it?"

"My dad?" I took a sip of lemonade. "No, can't be. He's in Boston." We moved closer to the stage, where the headline group was coming back for the second half of the show. I shooed a couple of quarreling seagulls out of our way and stood behind a French fry stand.

"Look at the guy next to the amplifier."

A tall man in a Hawaiian shirt was getting beer from a vendor. He was also wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses.

"That's your father," she said, turning her back to him.

"No, it's not. I'll prove it." I pulled out my phone and called him. "Watch."

Behind the beer stand, the man handed a cup to a woman in a matching cap and looked at his phone. Then he put it to his ear.

"Hi, Kennie," he said. "What's up?"

I looked at Jenn. "Where are you, Dad?"

"Hi to you, too. Still in Boston. I'll be home for dinner. I had that conference, remember?"

"Dad?" I gripped my cup hard, and lemonade drizzled over the sides.

"Hang on, honey, I can't hear you." He covered his other ear and took a few steps away from the crowd, leaving the woman holding the two beers.

"What are you doing?" My stomach clenched and my heart began its familiar panicking rise. I swallowed, determined to keep myself from having an anxiety attack. It had been a few weeks since my last one, and I was feeling good. I handed Jenn my drink and felt for my camera around my neck. I lifted it to my eye and pointed the zoom lens at the man in the Hawaiian shirt and cap. My dad.

"I'm about to give a lecture," he said.

I opened my mouth to speak, but all that came out was a weak "Oh." I squinted through the viewfinder and clicked. Still watching, I said it again. "Oh." I must have looked funny, cell phone to my ear, camera to my eye.

The band members took their places, and the guitarist strummed a chord and yelled, "Let's go!"

The crowd cheered. Dad whirled around, looked at his phone in surprise, and backed away. "Look, honey, I've got to go. I'll see you tonight."

"Dad?"

"Gotta go. We'll talk later," he said, and hung up.

"Jenn, did you see that? He heard the guitar. He knows I'm here."

She nodded. "So what. He doesn't know you saw him." She got closer. "And besides, Kendra, he's the one who should be worried."

"Right," I said. I watched as Dad and the woman made a beeline for the street. Now I could see it clearly: his long-legged walk, the way his head bobbed above the crowd, the sandy hair peeking out from the hat. "So, let's follow him."

We stayed behind a safe distance, letting a crowd build between us. At the lights, they crossed the street, got into his Saab, and turned up the side road.

Jenn's car was parked farther down Commercial Street, so we broke into a run, my steps now matching my racing heart.

"What's he doing here?" I asked.

Unable to keep up, Jenn slowed to a jog. "We might as well take our time. We'll never find them now, and besides, I hate running."

I repeated my question. "What's he doing here? I don't get it. He's supposed to be at a conference."

She grabbed my arm, bringing us to a stop. "You're kidding, right?"

"Well," I said, "he told us he was giving a talk in Boston. Why would he lie?"

"Kendra, I hate to break it to you, but your dad may not be perfect."

I went back to walking, slowly this time, and let her keep pace with me. When we reached the car, my breath was as rapid as my heartbeat. The anxiety attacks I'd had since the boat accident were fewer, but when I had them, it was Dad who talked me down. It was our thing.

Jenn unlocked my door. "Hey, you have your freaking-out face on. I thought your panic was under control."

"It was. I mean, I haven't had an anxiety attack since the car thing," I said, remembering how Dad helped me through the fender bender I'd had three weeks ago. He acted as if dealing with cops and insurance companies was as easy as deciding what to have for breakfast.

I shook the memory from my mind and put on my seat belt. Dad couldn't help me with this one, because he had brought it on.

We drove around to find the side road they'd taken, but it only led us to more small streets. Finally, the neighborhood duplexes and mom-and-pop stores gave way to brownstones and specialty shops. From the bottom of Post Road, a street separated by a lush parklike median, we saw Dad's car midway up the street. We drove past and turned down the other side of the grassy median, parking in a tiny alley across from his car. As if on cue, Dad and the woman came out the door of a brownstone and walked down the front steps, and now he had a suit on. I reclined my seat and crawled to the rear window, positioning my camera against the glass.

"Look," Jenn said, "they're hugging."

I watched, hypnotized, and snapped a photo just as Dad gave the woman a kiss.

* * *

All the way back to Kingsport, I wheezed through an anxiety attack while Jenn assured me that affairs were common and that my family was in the minority because we hadn't already gone through a marriage crisis.

The speedometer crept to seventy miles per hour.

"Speed," I said as she merged onto 295 south.

"Got it," she said, maneuvering her Volvo in front of an oil truck. "Your dad's been the good guy his whole life. He made a mistake, but he'll fix it."

Sure he would. He was good-looking, rich, smart, sophisticated. And cool. Everyone thought so. A car horn blared and I jumped in my seat.

"My bad," Jenn said, swerving back to her lane.

"Watch it," I said, trying to get my breath.

"Think of it this way: Things that look too good to be true usually are."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I lowered the window, letting my hair whip around my face. "God, Jenn, are you trying to make me feel worse? Just because your parents got divorced doesn't mean mine will."

"I just don't want you to be surprised by the truth."

"I've never noticed anything bad between my parents." But I had noticed her parents fighting. It was hard not to.

"Exactly. Too good to be true."

The image of Dad and the woman hugging and kissing in front of the brownstone flashed in my mind. "I can't believe it."

Click. Today was a snapshot day.

CHAPTER 2

I lingered at the top of the stairs and listened as Dad greeted Mom in the usual way: a kiss on the cheek, a clink as his keys dropped onto the counter, and the shuffle of mail. Mom answered with her normal chatter about the house, garden, dinner, all the while fixing Dad's rum and Coke. I was both relieved and angry at the comforting routine.

I wanted to ream him out right in front of Mom. I wanted to preserve her honor or whatever, but there she was...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: St. Martins Press-3PL
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2017
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0805091092
• ISBN 13: 9780805091090
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Anzahl der Seiten: 208
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: gpsr@libri.de; gpsr@libri.de; ; Europaallee 1; Bad Hersfeld; 36244; Deutschland