Dare (15 page)

She had an inbox full of emails from Evan and Teddy and Lauren—there was even one or two from Darcy asking why she wasn't in school on Friday or why she wasn't answering their calls. It wasn't until a tweet from Evan popped up that Brynna realized what was eluding her: “Erica” had left her alone for three whole days.

Since the day Brynna had learned that Erica really was dead.

White-hot heat shot down Brynna's spine. Erica was dead, it was confirmed, and suddenly, the harassment stopped. Had she been alive just three days ago?

“No,” Brynna muttered to herself, sweat making her T-shirt stick to her back. Her father said that Erica had been found—and here the sick roiled in her stomach again—in pieces. They didn't find Erica, they didn't find her body—they found her
bones
. Brynna's heart beat in her throat.

“Dad, Dad!” She sprinted down the stairs, breathing heavily when she threw open the door to his office. He froze, standing with his hand wrapped around a cut-glass highball glass, an inch of brown liquor at the bottom. Brynna's eyes went directly to it. His eyes followed hers. Her whole body clenched and thirsted. The glass, the bottle, could make all of this so much less real. The knife-sharp edges of memory, or reality, could be blurred out or forgotten completely. Maybe not forever, but even a few minutes would do.

Then she remembered why she was there.

“Dad, how did they know it was Erica that they found?”

He set the glass down, pushing it behind a framed picture, so it would be out of her line of sight, she guessed. “I told you, Bryn, they did something with forensics, I guess. They were able to match her.”

“You guess? Are you sure? Or did they just assume the body was Erica's? Did it look like a teenage girl, so they figured it must be?” Brynna could feel the flush in her cheeks.

“No, honey. They wouldn't do that to the Shaws. They must be sure it's her.” He sat down behind his desk. “Where is all this coming from?”

“She was alive, Dad, I know she was. She was here in Crescent City just a couple days ago—”

He shook his head. “She had been dead for months. There was no doubt about that.”

Her father spoke with the kind of certainty that blanketed her entire body in a heavy, dark cloud. Because if Erica truly had been dead for months, then someone else was sending her those notes.

Brynna bristled. Now that Erica was gone, would her stalker go too?

Brynna yawned as her mother turned the car into Dr. Rother's parking lot that Monday morning. She glared at the numbers on the dashboard clock—7:12 a.m.—and groaned.

“Couldn't we have done this after school?”

“Dr. Rother didn't have any openings after school, and your father and I both thought it was important for you and her to talk after…” Her voice dropped off. “Either way, we didn't think it was appropriate for you to miss any more school. Dr. Rother is really doing us a favor taking you before class.”

Brynna hated the way her parents were suddenly presenting a united front, as though as long as she stayed screwed up, they'd hold together their screwed-up relationship so everyone could be nuts together. It wasn't exactly the picture of familial perfection she wanted. But the one thing she wanted less was to sit in Dr. Rother's office for the next fifty minutes and talk about Erica.

As her mother slammed the car door, Brynna's gaze wandered over to the coffeehouse where she had seen Erica slip in. It was as bright today as it had been that day, and the colors of the house and its patrons seemed to throb in the sunlight. It
had
been Erica. She hadn't made her up. Her stomach roiled.
Had
she?

“You coming, hon?”

Dr. Rother met them in the foyer where the right-out-of-high-school-looking receptionist usually greeted Brynna and her mother. Brynna never made eye contact with the girl, certain that when she disappeared behind Dr. Rother's door, the girl would press her ear against it, listening, thanking god she wasn't as messed up as Brynna was.

“I'm the first one here today,” Dr. Rother said by way of apology, “so if you'll give me just a sec, we can begin.” She fiddled around the stark-looking room—which could have been the waiting room of a dentist, an accountant, a lawyer, or a shrink, so generic were the beige paint, pressboard furniture, and itchy couches—while Brynna wedged herself against the arm of the couch and picked up an ancient-looking copy of
Seventeen
magazine. She didn't open the magazine, instead watching while Dr. Rother flipped on the coffee maker and her mother made benign conversation with the doctor, as though her daughter weren't suffering from paranoid delusions, severe depression, and/or a possible stalker.

“Okay, Bryn,” Dr. Rother said with far too much cheeriness. “I'm ready for you.”

Brynna and the doctor took their usual places across from each other, and Dr. Rother pulled out a new sheet of paper while Brynna went around studying every nuance in the room, just as she did during every session.

“Your parents are quite concerned about you.”

Brynna shrugged, averting her gaze.

“They told me that Erica's body has been found.”

Dr. Rother's words needled a tiny, cold opening in the blackness of Brynna's mind that she refused to acknowledge.

“How did that make you feel, Brynna?”

She wanted to laugh at the stereotypical psychiatrist question, how it made it sound like Brynna and the doctor were in some poorly written play that would have three acts, a dark moment (this one), and an ending where the crowd would applaud. There didn't seem to be an ending to what Brynna was going through.

“What do you want me to say?”

Dr. Rother straightened in her chair. “I want you to tell me how you're feeling. Have your feelings changed significantly now that we know Erica is deceased?”

Brynna pressed her fingernail into the wood grain of her chair. “You told me I had to accept that she was dead a long time ago.”

“But you never did.”

She refused to react.

“So now that the proof is irrefutable—”

“Irrefutable? They found remains. It wasn't even a body. It wasn't even Erica's body.” She pressed her fingernail harder, relishing the sting of pain as the nail bent. She focused hard on the pain, on the chalky white mark that spread across her peachy nail.

“They've tested it, Brynna. It is Erica. Your mother told me there is going to be a memorial.”

Brynna's chest tightened. All at once, the cloying smell of those lilies hit her nostrils and turned her stomach, and she could feel the stifling heat of the mortuary. “We already had a memorial for Erica.”

“I guess at this one they're planning to inter her remains. Your mother said you were thinking of going.”

Truthfully, Brynna had walked into the kitchen while her mother sat at the counter, her cell phone pressed to her ear. She was sitting stark silent and still, which was odd for the woman who routinely multitasked, and Brynna had paused in the near darkness of the hallway.

“I'm so sorry, Melanie,” her mother had said. “I know this can't be easy for you.”

Brynna felt the burn in her cheeks when she heard the name Melanie—Melanie Shaw was Erica's mother's name.

“Of course we'll be there.”

There was a beat of silence and Brynna watched as her mother pulled a pencil and a piece of paper from the junk drawer and very carefully, very precisely wrote something down.

“I know Brynna will want to say a proper good-bye to Erica.”

Brynna turned to leave as her mother hung up the phone. “Bryn? Is that you?”

She turned slowly as her mother slid off the barstool and came toward her. “That was Mrs. Shaw.” She looked at her daughter as though she didn't know whether to smile or cry. “There's going to be a memorial for Erica. Small, graveside. Just family and close friends.” She brushed a hand through Brynna's hair. “I told Melanie that we would be there. It'll be nice for you to say good-bye.”

The memory flitted through Brynna's head, and she shifted in the chair she was sitting in, pressing her shoes against the gray industrial carpet in Dr. Rother's office.

They were quiet for a long while. Brynna stared down at her finger on the chair arm, studied the way the wood grain ran. She could feel Dr. Rother's eyes intent on her, a silent challenge.

Finally, “It should have been me that died.”

Dr. Rother looked at her over the top of her legal pad and calmly set down her pen. Brynna absently wondered if the doctor had learned that in shrink school: when a patient says they should have died, set down your pen and look interested—even if you agree with them.

“Did finding Erica's body make you think that?”

Brynna wagged her head. “I've always thought that.”

“And why do you think that, Brynna?”

Brynna hated the breathy way Dr. Rother's voice sounded.

“It just would have been better. Erica—Erica was better at—at everything. She was the better student, the better swimmer. She probably wouldn't have gotten fucked up.” Brynna looked up from her jeans, feeling the creep of pink on her cheeks. “Sorry. Erica probably wouldn't have gotten messed up on drugs if I died.”

“First of all, let's not go assuming what Erica would have done if the situation were reversed.” Now the doctor put her notebook down too and leaned back in her chair, giving Brynna her “we're about to make a breakthrough” stare. “And second of all, about Erica being better than you at everything. Do you see what you're doing there?”

Brynna hated this part—the part where she was supposed to stumble on some brilliant realization and break down in tears or skip out of here, cured.

“No,” she said with a slight grumble.

“You're idolizing her.”

“So?”

“So, was Erica really better than you were scholastically? Didn't you say that you used to help her study?”

“Yeah, but—”

“And you were both on the swim team, were you not?”

Brynna raised an eyebrow, unwilling to speak.

“Was she really better than you, or did she simply have different strengths?”

Brynna looked over Dr. Rother's shoulder, staring out at the perfectly suburban scene beyond: a parked SUV, one of the thousands out there, gleaming in the sun; a woman dressed in head-to-toe Lululemon, pushing a jogging stroller; a random leaf rolling by as if on cue.

“It's perfectly natural, Brynna. No one wants to speak ill of the dead—have you heard that expression before? ‘I don't want to speak ill of the dead'?”

Brynna rolled her eyes and wished the clock would move faster. “Yes, I've heard it.”

“Well, people tend to go overboard in the opposite direction. Someone who died, especially if he died tragically or suddenly, becomes a great humanitarian. He'll be eulogized as a loving husband and father, even if he was a cheat and a jerk.”

Brynna crossed her arms in front of her chest. “So what does this have to do with me and Erica?”

“Don't you see? You're doing the same thing with Erica.”

White-hot anger split through Brynna. “Erica
was
a great person. She was awesome.”

“I'm not saying that she wasn't. All I'm saying is that even in her passing, you have to see her for who she was. She wasn't better than you. Even if she got better grades or really was a better swimmer, it doesn't mean that you deserved to die.”

“Neither did she!” Brynna was crying now, her hands fisted so tightly that she could feel her nails digging little half moons into her palms. “Erica didn't deserve to die. She shouldn't have died!”

“No, Brynna, she shouldn't have. But it's okay for you to wish that Erica was still alive without wishing that you were dead.”

Sure,
Brynna thought,
but
what
do
you
do
if
someone
wants
you
dead?

•••

“B. B? B! Brynna Marie!”

Brynna's head snapped up so quickly she flicked ketchup onto her shirt.

Evan grinned and Lauren and Darcy looked away, lightly snickering. Teddy handed her a napkin.

“How'd you know my middle name was Marie?”

Evan shrugged. “Every girl's middle name is Marie.”

Darcy and Lauren nodded their agreement. “Lauren Marie,” Darcy said, thumbing Lauren. “Darcy ANN Marie.”

“Teddy?” Evan asked.

“Actually, mine's Andrew.”

“Anyway, welcome back from planet wherever-the-hell-you've-been. We're making homecoming arrangements. You two in for a limo?”

Teddy said something to Evan while Brynna's eyes wandered to the graying light outside the cafeteria windows. It was as if the moment Erica had been found, the dark and cold crept in and was holding on. The sky was spitting thick raindrops when she left Dr. Rother's office that morning, and although it had cleared since then, the vile-looking clouds remained. Brynna shivered.

“Wow. She's so excited about homecoming, she shivers.”

Brynna blinked, just in time to catch the hurt look in Teddy's eyes. “Oh, no, I'm sorry. I am really excited about homecoming. Seriously.” She looked at the skeptical faces of her friends and let herself flit into the fantasy of dancing with Teddy under twinkle lights—even if they were going to be strung up from the basketball hoops in the gym. She pressed her palm into his and squeezed. “I am.”

He grinned, his blue eyes sparkling, sparking a sweet warmth low in Brynna's belly. He brushed a kiss over her lips, light and feathery, and her heart skipped a beat that sent a delicious tremble throughout her. For the first time since she could remember, her body was reacting to something other than terror.

“This has all been lovely, but it's time for class,” Lauren said, loudly piling her books on top of each other. She cut her eyes to Brynna, cool but not mean. “You coming?”

Brynna nodded quickly and pecked another kiss at Teddy then gathered her own books. Evan's hand on her arm stopped her before she turned.

“Don't tell the enemy anything,” he hissed with a serious look in his eyes.

Brynna glanced around the cafeteria, surprised. “Who's the enemy,” she hissed back, “and what am I not supposed to say?”

Evan scooched forward. “It's killing Lauren that she doesn't know who I'm taking to the dance. I looooove torturing her. It's killing her even more that you know and she doesn't.”

Brynna's mind raced.
Did
Evan
tell
me
he
had
a
date?
“But I don't know who you're taking, do I?”

“No. I haven't asked anyone yet. But don't tell Lauren that. Pretend like you know.” He released her hand and gave her the shove symbol, and Brynna rolled her eyes, jogging to catch up to Darcy and Lauren just before they slid into Mr. Fallbrook's class. He was lecturing about the book they were reading—
Lord
of
the
Flies
, one of Brynna's favorites—but with each tick of the clock, her heartbeat was growing more and more erratic. P.E. was her next class, and it was the first day of the swimming unit.

It should have been easier for Brynna, now that she knew Erica was dead, but everything inside her still seized up when she thought about stepping back into that water. It wouldn't be dark this time, and she wouldn't be alone—
and
Erica
really
was
gone
. She knew all of these things intellectually, but that didn't stop her heart from slamming against her rib cage every time the clock ticked past another minute. It didn't stop the clamminess on her hands or prickling sense of something not right that walked down her spine.

Lauren slapped her book shut when the bell rang, leaning into Brynna and rolling her eyes. “Is it me or was that, like, absolute torture?”

Brynna started then quickly gathered her composure. “I read
Lord
of
the
Flies
at my old school. I actually kind of liked it.”