Where the Truth Lies Read Free Page A

those fiery, feisty personalities, but I don’t; most people would probably describe me as quiet and somewhat shy. Standing across from Renee, I feel impossibly strange looking. Not exotic strange, like she is, just weird strange.
    “Do you have to ask what’s up?” I say, trying my best to sound imposing.
    She blinks. There’s no sarcasm in her voice; it’s just matter-of-fact. “I just did.”
    “Franny,” I tell her. “I found her practically unconscious against the screen on our windowsill. She could have fallen out. I could be staring at her dead body right now.”
    Renee shakes her head. “Don’t be so dramatic, Emily. That seems unlikely. She was fine when I left her.”
    I look around; we shouldn’t be talking about this in the hallway. “Can I come in?”
    Renee’s roommate, Hillary Swisher, is gone; there’s no doubt in my mind she’s over at her boyfriend’s dorm, making out on the common-room sofa. Instead, there are a few other girls in the room. They all look younger, and I don’t recognize any of them, which means they’re probably—
    “Seventh graders,” Renee explains, nodding at them with a sincere smile.
    Right.
    Of the three, it’s obvious two of them have been crying. They sit cross-legged on Renee’s bed, legs and elbows touching, kind of holding on to each other. They look lost. The first few weeks at any new school are tough, but I can’t imagine going away to boarding school at age twelve. I mean—I did go to boarding school at twelve, but my dad was just down the hall in his office. I could walk to my parents’ house whenever I wanted. These girls are alone, parents probably hundreds of miles away. Sometimes I think it is kind of a cruel thing to do to your own child, but pretty much everyone starts at Stonybrook in seventh grade. It’s just the way things happen for some people.
    Renee gives them another demure smile. Despite their homesickness, they’re clearly in awe of her. I mean, everyone who’s been to the movies or stood in line at a supermarket browsing the tabloids knows who Renee is. She leans over her bed and puts her arms around them in a group hug. She takes a moment to kiss each of them on the forehead. I find the gesture surprisingly sweet and touching, and it takes me a little off guard. I’d always imagined that Renee was too cool to be overly sensitive or caring, but she certainly seems that way now.
    “I have to talk to Emily in private for a few minutes,” she says, “but why don’t the three of you come get me when you’re ready to go up to dinner?”
    They nod. They give me hesitant, tearful smiles on their way out. For a minute I forget all about Franny, but as soon as the door closes I remember why I’m here: because that was Franny, four years ago. And in a lot of ways, it still is.
    As I step farther into the room, Renee says in a sarcastic tone, “Be careful to stay on my side.”
    This is the first year Renee and Hillary have been roommates, and I hear they’ve already been bickering nonstop.
    Right now, a thick line of duct tape divides the room into two halves.
    “It creates kind of a problem,” Renee says as I stare at the tape, “because, as you can see, our closet is on Hillary’s side of the room, and the door is on my side.”
    “Uh-huh. And this was whose idea?”
    “Not mine.” With a wicked little grin, Renee strolls pointedly across the line to Hillary’s bed, takes her wet hair out of the towel, and tosses the towel onto her roommate’s side of the floor. Then she lies down on Hillary’s bed, her hair getting the pillowcase all wet. “God, I miss Madeline.”
    I sigh. “No kidding.” Madeline Moon-Park was Renee’s old roommate. She didn’t come back to school this year. “Where did she go?” I ask.
    Renee shrugs. “I don’t know. I can’t get ahold of her. She changed her e-mail address, and her home phone doesn’t work. All I know is that I came back expecting to room with Madeline, and she didn’t