Dare (11 page)

Brynna straightened up. “My mom's picking me up. I'm sure we can give you a ride home. I've…got a few things to do after school lets out, but it beats sitting on someone's handlebars.” She forced a smile, willing to suffer whatever consequences—even letting Darcy know she was “practicing” in the pool—to keep Darcy away from Teddy.

Darcy's eyes cut to Brynna's, a glint of hardness in them. “Really, Brynna? You're sure your mama won't mind?”

“Lay off, Darcy,” Evan said, leveling her with a stare. “Not everyone's father's a Pulitzer Prize-winning photographer.”

“Nominee,” Teddy coughed into his hand.

Brynna could see the fire redden Darcy's cheeks, going all the way up to her scalp, making her pale blond hair look like wispy flames. She snatched up her bag and turned on her heel, stomping out of the cafeteria in a puff of couture perfume and haughtiness.

“You guys are a couple of asses, you know that?” Lauren said, giving the boys a halfhearted glare. She gathered her things too, threw out her trash, and went out after Darcy, but with far less angst and storm.

“Well that was fun. What's next?” Evan asked, grinning.

Teddy planted a chaste kiss on Brynna's cheek and grabbed his tray. “I've got an English test to make up, so I'll see you two later.” He wound through the room, going the opposite way the girls went.

Evan gave Brynna a soft elbow to the ribs as she stared into the remnants of her lunch. “Don't worry about Darcy. She can be a real bitch. It's no big deal not to have a car.”

“A car would be useless for me,” she mumbled.

“Wait. Do you not even have your license?”

Brynna spun back to that night, almost a year after Erica's death.

Her
father
was
gone—as usual—off to close a deal or open up some airport bottles, and Brynna was stuck at the Gallery on Main, a pompous shop full of blond wood and thick glass where her mother's paintings hung under gooseneck lamps. There was soft music playing, something just slightly jazzier than you'd hear in an elevator, and people milled about in dark suits and cocktail dresses, eating petit fours, drinking wine, and talking in muffled voices about the paintings. Brynna was in her own formal wear, a black shift that her mother set out for her that used to hug her curves but now hung shapelessly, her arms and legs sticking out like thin, pasty twigs. She had given up trying to be pretty a long time ago, and so her dirty blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail and her lips were only red because of the wine she kept swilling. Her mother was busy being
The
Artist, so she didn't notice when Brynna swiped the first glass, and from her perch halfway behind the registration desk, no one watched her swipe the second and third. When the bottle was gone, Brynna's stomach was grumbling, so she took the keys from her mother's purse, went to the parking lot, and slid behind the wheel. She was six hours into Driver's Training, so she knew what to do, guiding the big car out of the lot and into the street. It was dark but lights were flashing everywhere—headlights, traffic lights, streetlights—and they all blended together in one bright, blinding mess. She meant to park the car right along the sidewalk—she could walk the rest of the way to Burger Town, but the car lurched and someone screamed, and then even when she hit the gas, it wouldn't move. She could hear the engine run, she remembered hearing it rev until blood dripped into her eyes, turning everything outside the windshield a thick, deep red. She remembered the sound the scissors made as the paramedic sliced through her seat belt—weird and sawing—and she thought it would be faster. She was being jostled and moved, and her head hurt and the red wine had made her lips dry. She just wanted something to eat. She wanted the flashes of light to stop.

“She's going to be okay, Ms. Chase. She's going to be just fine.”

The
masculine
voice
floated
down
to
Brynna, and she opened an eye. Her blood-tinged gaze found her mother standing at the side of the car, one arm across her chest, one hand pressed against her open mouth. There were tears in her eyes.

Then
Brynna
heard
the
clink
of
the
handcuffs, the metal tightening around her wrists.

“No, I don't have my license.”

“Why not? Were you prairie people where you were from? No, wait. You lived by the beach. Boat people?”

He grinned, and Brynna sucked in a breath. “Because I got arrested for drunk driving when I was fifteen.”

She waited for Evan to gape, but he didn't. He just threaded his arms in front of his chest and nodded appraisingly. “Well, aren't we the bad girl?”

“It was stupid and I can't believe I did it, and now I can't get my license until I'm twenty-one.” She felt the sting of humiliation on her cheeks. “Promise me you won't tell anyone?”

Evan leaned into her. “Your criminal past is safe with me, Queen B. Any more secrets you want to lay on me while I've still got half a Coke?” He shook his half-empty can.

“Not that I can think of. But maybe you can tell me why Darcy seems to hate me on cue?”

“Teddy. They kind of used to date.”

Brynna blinked. “What? He never told me that.”

“Well, honestly, he wasn't so much dating her as she was dating him.”

“That makes absolutely no sense.”

Evan nodded. “It made sense to Darcy. She was constantly glued to him, and so they were sort of dating by proxy. Or by proximity.”

“Group dating? Like, Teddy and Darcy and you and Lauren?”

“I just threw up a little in my mouth. That's my sister, B. But don't even worry about Darcy. She's totally harmless, and you've got the guy.” He gave her a slick smile, tilted his head back, and finished his soda in one swig.

When the final bell rang, Brynna tried to be ready for it, but every second afterward seemed to race too quickly as she retrieved the swimsuit bag from her locker. She avoided all of her friends, unwilling to face any additional questions, and slipped into the nearest girls' room she could find. She had no intention of going back into the locker room, even knowing that this close to school's end, the place would be packed. She tried not to remember what was scrawled on the mirror in there, but lately her head was so filled with the things she didn't want to think about, the few things she did—homecoming with Teddy, shopping with Evan—had no room.

Everything she did made a horrible racket, metal and concrete reverberating a thousand times over while her heart pounded out a drumbeat that trumped everything else. Her swimsuit pinched at her skin; the slick material once like a second skin was now foreign and cold and deeply uncomfortable. She grabbed her swim cap and goggles and had a brief flashback of the hundreds of other times she had done the exact same motion: swiping both from her swim bag, dangling the goggles between her two fingers as she waited for Erica to finishing sucking in her stomach and glaring at herself in the four-by-four-inch mirror stuck to her locker door.

“If I could lose three more pounds, I would be unstoppable,” Erica said, brushing a palm over her already flat stomach.

“If you lost three pounds, you'd go straight down the drain in the showers.”

Erica
clamped
her
hands
together
and
batted
her
eyelashes. “But you would rescue me, wouldn't you, my shining prince?”

“Sure,” Brynna said, her front teeth clamping over a snag on her thumbnail and biting down hard. “I'll get right on that—becoming a prince, growing a penis and all.”

“Ew!” Erica beaned Brynna with a wadded-up towel. “Who says ‘penis'?”

Brynna could still hear her and Erica's fading laughter, and for a brief second, she almost felt soothed by the memory, comforted by the fact that right after that exchange, they both snapped on swim caps and goggles and took to their lanes, slicing through the water, their bodies taking over. But she didn't feel that way anymore.

She slid her jeans and sweatshirt back on over her suit, concentrating especially hard on the techniques that Dr. Rother had taught her. She couldn't help thinking how proud her shrink and her parole officer would be, knowing that she was not only learning but “applying” techniques for “relaxation and reengaging.” The thought made her stumble. It wasn't that long ago that she would go running into any body of water within a twenty-mile radius. It wasn't that long ago that she only wondered whether her parents were proud of her—not a shrink or a parole officer.

“Things change,” Brynna muttered under her breath.

The halls were still peppered with slow-moving students and teachers straightening their rooms, so Brynna was surprised that when she pushed through the heavy double doors to the poolroom, it was empty.

The overhead lights were on full force, the bright yellow light reflecting off the water. She waited for the panic to overcome her, for the choking grief to storm in, but to her absolute shock, Brynna remained calm. She slid out of her jeans and sweatshirt and turned back to the pool. Her blood pressure ratcheted up a notch with each step she took toward the glassy water, but it didn't cripple her.

Brynna stared at the pool and worked hard—using every technique Dr. Rother had ever taught her—to see exactly what was there: a pool. A pool with a flat, glasslike surface and a clear, white bottom, illuminated by a blue-tinged light. No darkness. No waves. No riptides. Just a swimming pool.

Brynna took the first step, the water making a sucking sound as she dipped her foot in. She glanced down, relieved to see her foot underneath the water's surface, her red toenail polish as bright and cheery as it had been above water.

“Nothing hiding under the surface,” she said aloud.

She was waist deep, and her anxiety level was staid. The pool water was only disturbed by her movements, and even then, it was only tiny, two-inch ripples that cascaded over the water. She could see her limbs, she could see the bottom, she could see out in front of her.

“I can do this.”

Brynna snapped on her swim cap and goggles and dipped lower, the water swirling around her elbows, then her chest. She stood there, waiting to feel the enveloping comfort that the pool had always given her. She hoped it would flood back but knew it would be a long shot, since her heart was still keeping an ultra-quick, steady beat as she stood there.

She remembered wading in side-by-side with Erica, just before they took their lanes. They would make faces at each other and snap the other's goggles, jumping and slicing through the water. There was nothing left of that lightness.

She forced herself to walk in deeper until the lukewarm water batted over her collarbone and then her chin. She let her foot leave the bottom and started to gently tread water. Her limbs were blooming with warmth, and her natural ability took over as she drifted a few inches farther toward the middle of the pool. The sound of the water, of her body moving through it, reverberated through the tiled poolroom and bounced back at her. So did the heavy sound of the double doors clicking shut. Brynna snapped her head toward the sound, and then everything went dark.

The overhead lights snapped off, and she was blinded by the sudden darkness, by the little explosion of hot, white light that bloomed in front of her from the sudden change of glaring bright to pitch blackness.

“Hello?” she called out, her meek voice floating back to her. “Hello? Someone's in here. Can you please turn the lights on again? Please?”

She started to kick harder as the panic rose in her chest. She could feel the adrenaline oozing into her blood stream. The same adrenaline that used to shoot her across the pool weighed her down now, and the side of the pool—the steps—seemed to get farther and farther away as Brynna kicked.

And then there were the fingers.

Hundreds of them, clawing at her skin. Dead, clenched hands, marble cold, ripping at her throat. Tearing at her hair. Slicing across her swimsuit.

There's nothing here in the pool with you, Brynna. You're imagining this. You're panicking.

She worked to breathe, to let herself see that she was alone in the water, while her mind spun on, conjuring up corpses in the water pulling her under. Her panic threw her off balance.

She felt the slick step disappear, and she was tumbling, the water pressing against her chest pushing her down, pulling her under. The water dripped in between her clenched teeth. It snaked into her nostrils, and she struggled to breathe. She sucked up the water, and it doused the burn in her lungs and then made it worse. Her hair swirled and snarled in front of her eyes as the sound of water, the pound, the rush, whooshed through her ears. She was screaming and coughing and clawing, trying to keep her head above water, trying to figure out which end was up.

Find
your
footing, find your footing, find your footing
. Her inner voice was screaming, desperately trying to be heard over the whoosh of water. She tried to work over the panic. And then her hand hit something solid.

She felt the sting of the concrete slapping her palm first, then gripped at the cement, feeling her fingernails catch. She winced as they broke but still she struggled to pull herself toward the cement ledge of the pool. She kicked and clawed, and then there was a hand on hers.

A
savior.

Brynna's head broke the surface—or she thought it did. When she opened her eyes, everything was black. She launched herself toward the ledge, toward the hand holding hers, but it was like there was a wall. She pressed, and the wall pressed back. Her eyes began to adjust and she knew where she was—inside the pool, inside the school.

But
why
was
it
so
dark?

There was a figure at the edge. Crouching, examining Brynna with a cocked head and one hand out, gripping hers.

Erica?

Brynna blinked, the water, like tears, running over her cheeks.

“Erica?”

The water seemed to still, and Brynna's voice echoed back to her. “Erica” raised her head, but her face was still shadowed, her dark hair tumbling over her cheeks and chin. She leaned down closer to Brynna rather than pulling Brynna toward her and pulled her hand from Brynna's.

Then Brynna felt the palm on her head.

“Erica?” she asked again.

She felt the pressure first. Erica's fingers were splayed over Brynna's skewed swim cap as her palm pressed down on her head, pushing Brynna lower, lower. Brynna thrashed at the water as it once again invaded her nostrils, her mouth. She felt it rushing down her throat, and she wrenched her eyes open, staring up through the water to see Erica, both arms outstretched now as she held Brynna under the water. Brynna writhed. Her lungs stung. She tried to kick out of Erica's reach, but Erica's grip only tightened, strands of Brynna's hair breaking in her fist.

Suddenly, breathing didn't seem so hard anymore. The water that pushed and pulled against her was a smooth, cool cradle, and Brynna was getting tired, so, so tired.

No.

Her eyes flew open, and she made one more pitch away from Erica. She heard each individual strand of hair breaking, felt the cool water rush over the fresh bald spots on her scalp.

She was free.

Brynna didn't think. Her body took over, and she was slicing through the water with a speed and ease she had never known. She gripped at the side of the pool and launched herself out, gasping, crying, coughing—
desperate.

Even in the pitch darkness, Brynna knew that Erica was just a hairsbreadth away. She turned, ready to dart for the door, but the arms clamped around her first, pinning her own at her sides.

“Brynna!”

Brynna opened her mouth to scream, but just like the dream, nothing came out but a tortured gasp and a vile dribble of ingested pool water. She willed her arms to move, her hands to claw, her legs to kick, but someone was shaking her, moving her.

“Don't do this, Erica!”

Brynna's voice echoed, a crisp, clear sound bouncing off the tiles.

And all at once, the viselike grip released and the whole room came alive in too-bright, blazing lights. Brynna was on her butt on the tile floor, huddled in a wet mess, and someone was rushing toward her. Fear welled up once again but was immediately doused when Brynna heard Teddy's voice.

“Bryn, Bryn, calm down, it's just me.” Teddy dropped to his knees and Brynna watched, dumbfounded, as the knees of his jeans darkened from the puddles of water he leaned in. He snatched her towel from the bleachers and wrapped it around her trembling shoulders, pulling her close. Instinctively, her arms were out, palms pressing against his chest.

“No, don't.” Brynna launched to her feet and whirled around. “Where is she? Where is she? Did you see her when you came in?”

Teddy stood up, wringing the towel that slid off Brynna's shoulders. “See who? What are you talking about, Bryn?”

“Erica.” The name was out before Brynna could think about it, could weigh whether or not she was ready to call out Erica or call out her ghost.

Teddy's blue eyes clouded. “There was no one else here.”

“No. She was here. She was here!” Brynna's hand went to her head as her eyes filled with tears. Her hand closed on the tender strands, and she tugged one lightly, feeling a tuft of wet hair coming off in her palm.

Teddy's mouth dropped open. “Brynna, don't.” His voice was soft and his fingertips brushing over her raw scalp were softer.

“She was here.”

Teddy spun, looking. “Stay right here.” He jogged toward the bleachers and bent, scanning underneath. “Did you see where she went?” He came at her, grabbing her by the arm. “We have to get you to the police or the principal. Did you see her? What did she look like?”

“It wasn't—I didn't…” Brynna looked at the hair in her palm, and her stomach churned, bile itching the back of her throat. “She was here. She tried to—she tried to kill me. Erica did.”

“We have to call the police.”

“No.” Brynna stopped Teddy, her hand on his arm. “We can't—we…” She paused, for a moment wishing that Teddy would understand her without her having to explain. “We can't call the police.”

Teddy swallowed slowly, his Adam's apple bobbing as he did. “You said her name was Erica. Who is she?” He put his arm across Brynna's shoulders and guided her to the bleachers, pulling her down beside him. “Is she from a different grade or something?” His eyes caught Brynna's and flashed; he stared down at his palms. “Is there something you're not telling me?”

Brynna's lips felt numb. “No, no. She was here.” It was barely more than a whisper, but the statement seemed to hang in the air between them as Teddy's eyes scanned the concrete around the pool. There was nothing there. No wet footprints, no water droplets. There was nothing except for the square of wet concrete where Brynna pulled herself out of the water.

She blinked up at Teddy. “You didn't see—”

He shook his head, something like sadness or apology in his eyes. “I didn't see anyone else in here, Bryn.”

Tension stiffened Brynna's spine. “Then why did you come in here? Were you—”

The apology in Teddy's eyes immediately vanished. His cheeks pinkened in the dim light. “I wasn't stalking you or anything. I was just coming back from football”—he pointed to the discarded sporting goods at the door as if for proof—“and I heard screaming.”