Katie McGarry - Dare You To

“Strike Spanish.”

Damn. That could have been fun. “Seriously, Scott. Do you really want me going to school here? Have you thought this through? Your pet with a wedding ring …”

“Allison. Her name is Allison. Let’s say it together. All-i-son. See, not so hard.”

“Whatever. She loves how everybody worships you. How long is that going to last when they remember that you’re low-life trash from the trailer park a couple miles out of Groveton?”

He stops flipping through the catalog. Even though his eyes fix on the paper, I can tell he’s no longer reading. “I’m not that kid anymore. People only care about who I am now.”

“How long do you think it will take before people remember me or Mom?” I meant to say it nasty, like a threat, but it came out soft and I hate myself for it.

Scott looks at me and I loathe the sympathy in his eyes. “They’ll remember you the way I do—a beautiful girl who loved life.”

Pissed that he keeps discussing that poor pathetic girl, I break eye contact. “She died.”

“No, she didn’t.” He pauses. “As for your mom, she moved into town her sophomore year and dropped out when she was still fifteen. People won’t remember her.”

Nausea strikes and my hand drops to my abdomen. Scott wasn’t there when the police came to the trailer and he wasn’t there to dry my tears. This is a small town and everyone knows everyone else. Even though they promised to keep that night a secret, I’m sure someone told.

“What happens to both of us when someone remembers Dad?” I ask. “No one’s going to worship you then. This is a bad mistake, Scott. Send me home.”

“Mr. Risk.” The guidance counselor from Hicksville pokes his head into the office. Worry lines clutter his overly large forehead and his fingers white-knuckle a fax. I told him I majored in detention while at Eastwick. “Can I have a moment?”

I tilt my head, knowing the words to say to make Mr. Dwyer uncomfortable. “What was that class you wanted to put me in? Hmm.” I tap my finger to my chin. “Honors English?”

“Sit down, Elisabeth.” Scott’s getting really good at demanding things in a low voice. “Okay, Mr. Dwyer, let’s discuss Beth’s schedule.”

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,bow your heads and give an amen. Scott Risk’s niece is attending Bullitt County High and the dare is back in play. I weave through the crowded hallway with an extra spring in my step. Defeat is a nasty word. A word I no longer have to accept.

My mood crashes when I spot Chris backing Lacy against a locker. His head angles down as hers inches up. Not a good position to be in with the assistant principal exiting his office. Last year, he lectured the junior class on our hormones, carnal impulses, and the consequences for those who break the body boundary barrier. In plain English: if you’re caught standing close to a person of the opposite sex, then you’ll spend a day in detention. Back-to-back state championships require practice, not detention.

“Backseats of cars work.” I ease to the other side of Chris and Lacy to block the oncoming assistant principal’s view. “Preferably off campus.”

Chris groans when Lacy places her hand on his chest and pushes him until they’re an “acceptable” distance apart. She lets out a frustrated sigh. “Morning, Ry.”

“Go away,” Chris says flatly.

“The assistant principal is on the prowl and we are not moving practice like we did last year because you’re sitting in detention.”

Chris lets out a sigh identical to Lacy’s. “You need a girlfriend.”

“Exactly!” Lacy throws her arms out. “I’ve been saying that for months. Not an evil girlfriend. We are not doing evil again. I was tired of wearing crucifixes. I considered carrying holy water, but then I would have had to sneak into a church and then—”

“Shut it down,” I tell her. There has always been bad blood between Gwen and Lace, but I dated Gwen once. I won’t tolerate anyone disrespecting her.

The first warning bell rings, and the three of us head to English. Standing by himself, oozing perpetual boredom, Logan waits for us at the line between the seniors’ lockers and the juniors’. The four of us take as many classes as we can together. For fun. For camaraderie. For Lacy and Logan to help me and Chris with homework.

Because the boy is smarter than Einstein and most of the kids in this school are dumber than dirt, Logan takes senior courses. Next year, they won’t have any classes advanced enough for him, so odds are they’ll shove him in a dark corner of the library and pretend he doesn’t exist.

I glance around the hallway, trying to spot Beth. “So, about that continuing dare from Friday.”

“You mean the bet you lost on Friday.” Chris enters English and claims our usual seats by the window. Lacy stays in the hallway to do her girl-talk thing.

“No, the bet I’m going to win.”

Chris flashes a disbelieving grin. “Logan, do you hear the smack he’s talking?”

Logan drops into his seat and slouches. “You lost, Ryan. Badly.”

“Badly?” I ask.

“The most fun I’ve had in weeks,” Chris says. “In fact, let’s relive the moment. Hi, I’m Ryan, I want your phone number.” He holds out his hand to Logan.

“Let me think,” Logan says. “She had this elegant way of talking. Oh yeah, I believe her response was ‘Fuck you.’”

“Her name is Beth.”

“Getting her name wasn’t the dare.” Determined to keep Mrs. Rowe from taking into her possession every hat he owns like last year, Chris shoves his cap into his back pocket. “You lost. Be a man. Suck it up. Or let us continue to make fun of you. Either way works.”

“I like making fun of him,” says Logan.

I lower my voice and lean into the aisle so only Logan and Chris can hear. I have a small window of opportunity and the longer people stay in the dark regarding her uncle, the better my odds of scoring her number. Scott is a god at this school, which automatically makes her a demigod. “Her real name is Elisabeth Risk and she’s Scott Risk’s niece.”

“Beth.” Books slam on my desk and the three of us flinch and look up. Black hair, nose ring, and a formfitting white shirt unbuttoned recklessly close to areas where guys stare. Well, at least where I stare. Good God almighty, the girl’s hot.

“I’m going to say this slowly and use little words in the hope you can follow along. If you call me Elisabeth again, I’ll make sure you can never father children. Tell anyone else whose niece I am and you’ll be sucking air out of a tube in your throat.”

Chris laughs and it’s the deep, throaty kind that tells me the shit we’re entering is bad. “It’s nice to meet you. Ryan just told us how badly he wanted to call you, didn’t you, Ry?”

Ding-ding, Chris rang the bell for round two and he’s in direct violation of game play by interfering. Well played, because I would have done the same damn thing. “I tried looking for you this morning, but the secretary said you were in a meeting with Mr. Dwyer.”

Her blue eyes pierce me, and an eyebrow slowly arches toward her hairline. The silence stretching between us becomes excruciating. Chris shifts in his seat and Logan slouches lower by an inch. I will her to leave, but I need her presence to win the dare. I focus on keeping my face relaxed. If I even breathe, Skater Girl will know she has the upper hand.

“Uh-huh,” she finally responds. “I’m sure you did. Suck-ups do that type of thing. Here’s the deal. I avoid you, you avoid me, and when my uncle asks if you helped me today I’ll giggle like one of those pathetic girls standing in the hallway and gush about how poor, defenseless me couldn’t make it in the big, mean school without big, strong Ryan to help me out.”