Truth or Dare

From the World Book Day 2022 author Sophie McKenzie

Sophie McKenzie

• Publisher: Simon & Schuster Children's UK
• Year: 2022
• Print ISBN: 9781471199134
• eBook ISBN: 9781471199141

When lies are everywhere, how far will you go for the truth? A tense eco-drama with an explosive twist from the million-copy selling author of Girl, Missing.

Fourteen-year-old Maya cannot believe she has to spend the summer with her grandmother, helping out at the family cosmetics firm. But things get much more exciting when she meets a community of activists who are campaigning against the dumping of chemical waste. Getting closer to one boy in particular, Bear, Maya is dared into joining one of their protest missions, but doesn't know that her grandmother's business is the target.  Someone has been lying about their environmentally-friendly products, and as danger threatens, Maya must uncover the truth or betray her family forever.

In this edge-of-your-seat drama exploring the line between truth and lies, join millions of readers in discovering bestselling teen thrillers from Sophie McKenzie.

'Sophie’s thrillers are in a league of their own – nobody does it better' Phil Earle, author of When the Sky Falls 

ONE

The train slows to a stop somewhere between stations. On one side of the track, trees sway gently in the breeze, sunlight dancing through their bright green branches. On the other, an expanse of fields, bounded by hedges, is spread out as far as the eye can see. Each field is utterly empty: no people, no houses. Not even a cow.

This is the countryside. Where literally nothing is happening. And I’m going to be stuck here for the next six weeks.

It’s my worst nightmare.

My brother Leo is sitting in the seat opposite mine. His pale, earnest face is turned, as usual, towards his phone. Leo is nine, five years younger than me, but he’s not like most kids his age. He knows some things in depth, like stuff about engines and volcanoes and electricity, that your average uni professor wouldn’t have a clue about. Then there’s other things, like talking to people in real life, where he often acts like a tiny kid.

Mum ruffles his hair, then tucks her own behind her ears. She hasn’t taken her eyes off her laptop this whole journey except to dole out sandwiches for lunch an hour or so ago.

‘How many more stops?’ I ask, as the train starts moving again.

Mum looks up, frowning. She’s always frowning these days. Mainly because she’s always working. ‘I’m not sure,’ she says.

‘I thought you grew up round here,’ I persist.

The crease between her eyes deepens. ‘What was the last station?’ she asks.

I shrug.

‘Polborne,’ says Leo. I have no idea how he knows. I swear he didn’t even look up when we were in the station.

Mum’s eyes spark with alarm. ‘Next stop then,’ she says, grabbing the papers which litter our table and shoving them in her tote. ‘Maya, fetch our bags, please.’

I heave a sigh and get up.

‘Is that when you’re leaving us, Mum?’ Leo asks, a note of anxiety creeping into his voice.

‘That’s where Gran is picking you up,’ Mum counters brightly.

I glance at Leo. His solemn eyes meet mine and I force a smile. I want to reassure him, but I’m as miserable as he is at the prospect of spending the entire summer in Cornwall with our grandparents. Right now, back in London, my friends will be in the park – chatting and playing music and talking about the parties planned for this weekend.

And I’m missing all of it.

Leo’s lower lip wobbles. I wrack my brains for something I can say to cheer him up. It’s not like either of us know our grandparents that well. It’s been years since we were here and we only do video calls every now and then. I fall back on something Mum mentioned last week.

‘Gran and Grandad’s place is near the sea,’ I say. ‘You’ll be able to do science experiments in the rock pools or whatever.’

Leo raises his eyebrows. ‘But I didn’t bring my microscope,’ he points out.

‘I’m sure there’ll be an app for that,’ Mum says vaguely, now trying to ram her laptop on top of the papers in her tote. ‘Maya, please. The bags.’

‘I’m doing it.’

I haul Leo’s bag and my suitcase down from the overhead rack. The train slows, the brakes screeching loudly as it pulls into a tiny station. Leo puts his hands over his ears; he hates loud noises.

I look out of the window. Could it be more deserted? There are weeds growing through half the cracks in the platform. I lug Leo’s bag and my suitcase along the aisle. Nobody else is getting off.

‘Come on, Leo,’ Mum urges, her voice rising behind me. ‘The noise has stopped now. Make sure you’ve got your phone with you, and don’t forget your rucksack.’

I press the door release button and step onto the platform. After the chill of the air-conditioned carriage, the sun is fierce on my face. My suitcase is heavy, the handle digging into my palm. I set it down on the platform as Mum and Leo emerge from the train.

Leo squints up and down. ‘I don’t see Gran,’ he says.

‘She’ll be out in the car park.’ Mum dives into her cluttered shoulder bag and pulls out her phone. She checks the screen, an anxious expression on her face. ‘Right, I’ve got ten minutes before my train. Mustn’t miss my connection to Plymouth.’

Feeling sullen, I follow the two of them along the platform, dragging my suitcase and Leo’s holdall behind me. The sun beats down on my face and back. I’m too hot in my long-sleeved crop top. It’s burnt orange with a scoop neck and black detail along the hem, and it goes perfectly with my black joggers with the orange stripe. A stray thread has frayed and dangles off the sleeve. I tug it off. I get an allowance from Mum, which I spend mostly online at Bonropa. The clothes there are cheap and tend to fade or twist out of shape very quickly, but they look great for the first few wears. Just because I’m going to be away from civilization for six weeks, it doesn’t mean I have to let standards slip.

Mum leads us through a gate to the car park. A woman with a silvery bob steps out from behind the shiniest, sleekest car.

‘There she is,’ Mum says, sounding relieved.

Gran strides towards us. She’s dressed in crisp navy trousers, kitten heels and a silk blouse. She might be old but she knows how to style herself. Unlike Mum, in her shapeless dress and with damp strands of hair plastered over her forehead, Gran looks smart and elegant. Even her nails are perfect: painted a pearly pink that picks out the exact shade of her lipstick.

‘Hi.’ Mum sounds wary as Gran approaches.

‘Hello, love.’ Gran leans in to peck Mum on the cheek, then pats Leo on the shoulder and nods at me. The sun glints off the delicate gold chain around her neck. ‘It’s wonderful to see you all.’ I’d forgotten how brisk she is, every movement precise. ‘Good journey?’

‘Fine,’ Mum says, shifting her bulging bag higher up her shoulder. ‘Thanks so much for this. I’ve been so worried about leaving them.’ Her gaze drifts to Leo.

‘No need for thanks,’ says Gran, bristling. ‘We’re family.’

‘Of course. Er, I have to go, I’m afraid,’ Mum says. ‘Make my connection. Evening drinks on the first night of a conference – the biggest networking opportunity of the weekend.’

A disapproving gleam creeps into Gran’s eyes. ‘Well, I hope you’re going to put on something a little more formal before you start mingling,’ she says, sharply. ‘And, darling, I’m only saying this because I love you, but you really need to do something about that hair.’

My jaw drops. Way to go with the direct approach, Gran.

There’s an awkward silence.

‘Right,’ mutters Mum. She looks like she wants to say more, but stops herself. Instead, she turns to Leo and pulls him into her arms. Leo submits, even though he’s never been a big fan of hugging. ‘Be good for Gran and Grandad.’ Mum turns to me. ‘Don’t spend all your time on your phone, Maya. Get outside… where it’s safe, obviously.’

‘Bye, Mum,’ I say, though what I’m thinking is that Leo spends way more time on his phone than I do.

Leo’s bottom lip trembles again.

‘Well, no point in long, drawn-out goodbyes,’ Gran says.

Mum gives Leo a final kiss, wraps her arms around me for a short, fierce hug, then turns quickly away. One of the laces on her trainers trails in the dust as she disappears back onto the platform. Leo stares after her, clearly trying hard not to cry.

I feel numb as the reality of this nightmare summer in the middle of nowhere settles like a stone in my guts.

‘Come along,’ Gran says crisply. ‘I need to pop into work.’

Leo and I hurry after her. ‘Work?’ I ask. ‘Aren’t we going to your house?’

‘As soon as I’ve checked one thing at the factory.’ Gran opens the boot of her shiny car and we dump our luggage inside. ‘Leo, you sit in the back. Seat belt on, please. Maya, up front with me.’ There’s a way she has of speaking which doesn’t allow for disagreement. Leo obediently scrambles into the back seat. I hesitate, my hand on the car door.

‘In you get, Maya,’ Gran urges, sliding elegantly into the driver’s seat. ‘I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear that we’ve introduced lots of new green measures at the factory since you were last here.’

‘Oh.’ I shrug. I barely remember anything about the factory, but the last thing I want is to encourage Gran to talk about it.

‘Yes, Peyton Soaps is much more environmentally friendly than it used to be,’ Gran says as we head out of the car park. ‘I’ve changed lots of our production methods and made sure all our waste water is properly treated and all our rubbish is taken to reputable recycling facilities.’ She pats the steering wheel. ‘I know how important environmental issues are to you young people.’

How patronizing.

‘Great,’ I say.

‘How do you treat waste water?’ Leo asks.

‘Ah, well,’ Gran says, ‘there’s an interesting process known as flocculation, which…’

I stop listening and stare out of the window, feeling more and more depressed. The glass is tinted, which makes the hedges and fields we’re speeding past look dull and grey. Ten minutes pass and we don’t see so much as another car, let alone a building. Gran is now talking about the history of Peyton Soaps, telling Leo the story I already know: how it was set up as a family business sixty years ago by Gran’s father and why it is now one of the biggest employers in the region.

We take the turning for Penwillick. The road narrows as we approach a low bridge.

‘We’re almost at the factory,’ Gran says.

I gaze out, over a glistening stream. It stretches away from the road, towards an expanse of woodland beyond it. A group of five or six people are chatting by the trees. Most of them are in shadow, but one boy about my age, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, is standing in a pool of light, his blond hair glinting like a halo. A little girl in a pinafore dress runs over, and starts jumping up and down in front of him.

As we draw closer, the boy looks up. He scowls at the car.

Even though I know he can’t see me through the tinted window, I shrink back. Why is he glowering like that?

Gran gives a tut as we drive away, over the bridge.

‘I see the eco nutters are out in force today,’ she says, a particularly sharp edge to her voice now.

‘Eco nutters?’ I ask.

‘Bunch of hippies who live in Penwillick Wood,’ Gran explains. ‘Despite my best efforts, they got council permission to build a small community there a few years ago.’

‘Why did you object?’ I ask, feeling confused. Didn’t Gran just say how environmentally friendly her company was?

‘I don’t want a group of smug, grubby activists camped in my neighbourhood,’ she says. ‘Who knows what they get up to!’ She sighs. ‘I lodged a fresh appeal against their community a couple of months ago, but I don’t hold out much hope. These days, anything remotely green-sounding gets a pass, no matter how much it costs everyone else.’

‘I thought Peyton Soaps was all about being green?’ I ask.

‘That’s completely different,’ Gran retorts with a sniff. ‘I’m making those changes for the good of the company. Those squatters are extremists. Prepared to go to any lengths to get what they want.’

I turn and look out through the back window of the car. The boy is still glaring at us.

A shiver snakes down my spine.

Once over the bridge, the car picks up speed. We pass a telephone box – which is basically the only object that isn’t a tree I’ve seen since we left the station – then Gran takes the next turning on the right.

‘Here we are,’ she says. A long road leads up to an industrial estate. Gran drives through some gates into a car park then stops by the first building: modern and red-brick, with the sign PEYTON SOAPS in large letters over the door. ‘You can both come in with me,’ Gran says, stepping out of the car. ‘It won’t take long.’

Leo scrambles out of the back. I follow more slowly.

‘While we’re inside,’ Gran goes on, ‘I expect you’d like to see our state-of-the-art cold saponification vessel.’

‘What’s that?’ Leo asks eagerly.

I roll my eyes.

‘It’s a cold process soap-making machine,’ Gran explains. ‘It doesn’t use heat, which is much more environmentally friendly than the old methods, thou...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Dedication
• Chapter One
• Chapter Two
• Chapter Three
• Chapter Four
• Chapter Five
• Chapter Six
• Chapter Seven
• Chapter Eight
• Chapter Nine
• Chapter Ten
• Chapter Eleven
• Chapter Twelve
• Chapter Thirteen
• Chapter Fourteen
• Chapter Fifteen
• Chapter Sixteen
• Chapter Seventeen
• Chapter Eighteen
• Chapter Nineteen
• Chapter Twenty
• Chapter Twenty-One
• Chapter Twenty-Two
• Chapter Twenty-Three
• Chapter Twenty-Four
• Chapter Twenty-Five
• Chapter Twenty-Six
• Chapter Twenty-Seven
• Chapter Twenty-Eight
• Chapter Twenty-Nine
• Chapter Thirty
• Chapter Thirty-One
• Chapter Thirty-Two
• Chapter Thirty-Three
• Chapter Thirty-Four
• Chapter Thirty-Five
• Chapter Thirty-Six
• Chapter Thirty-Seven
• Chapter Thirty-Eight
• Acknowledgments
• ‘Hide and Secrets’ Teaser
• About the Author
• Copyright