Dare (16 page)

“The book is whatever. I'm talking about Mr. Fallbrook. Weird-o.” She drew out the
O
in her high-pitched, singsongy voice. “I mean, who steps up to take the place of a teacher who was murdered?”

“I thought it was the Spanish teacher who was killed.”

“It was, but the only other person who spoke Spanish was—is—Señora Hill, who used to teach this class. So she moved, and Norman Bates over there”—she jutted her chin in Mr. Fallbrook's direction—“stepped up to cover for Señor Muerto.”

“I don't care. I'd let him stab me any day.”

Brynna looked up to see Darcy strolling through the doorway before she nudged up against Lauren's desk.

“You're so morbidly horny,” Lauren said, stacking her books on her binder.

“I can't help it.” Darcy's eyes cut to Mr. Fallbrook as he looked down, talking to a student. “He's so hot. Those eyes! They're, like, wicked blue. Like they can see right through you.” She shimmied, a perfectly pressed pout on her lips, one eyebrow cocked so she looked seductive.

Lauren glared at Darcy. “Stop that. You're going to freak out the new girl.” She petted Brynna, and Brynna shrank back.

“It's been over two months. When do I stop being the new girl?”

Lauren grinned. “When there's a newer girl.”

The trio walked down the hall, Lauren and Darcy nattering on about homecoming and strapless bras while Brynna's mind ticked on about the P.E. class they were on their way to.

The day before, the class had been subjected to a mind-numbing game of dodgeball that devolved into fifteen girls half-heartedly bouncing giant red balls in the general direction of the other fifteen girls who pretended to dodge out of the way but in super-slow motion.

Brynna preferred that.

She even made an actual attempt at aiming the ball once or twice, but the second Mrs. Markie began announcing that they would start practicing for the end-of-the-year swim test, Brynna's hands went clammy, and the red bouncy ball flopped to the floor and dribbled away from her.

This morning, she had dutifully packed a bathing suit that her mother had bought for her and resolved to at least attempt to enter the pool. If the swim test was the only way to get out of Hawthorne High, Brynna was going to do it.

“This is my chance to be normal,” she muttered to herself.

“Did you say something, Bryn?” Darcy turned to look at her, her crystal eyes wide, and Brynna shifted her weight. Darcy had never been anything but nice to her, but there was something there, something Brynna couldn't put her finger on, that bothered her about the girl.

“No, just that I'm not totally looking forward to getting into the pool.”

“Ugh, ditto that,” the other girl said, yanking open the locker room door.

“Don't worry,” Lauren joined. “The first day is the intro to water class. ‘This is a pool. This is water. Water is wet.' Pretty basic stuff. I doubt we'll even get a toe wet.”

A cool wash of relief poured over Brynna.
Intro
to
water,
she mused.
I
can
do
that. I can save normal for another day…

Brynna slid into her swimsuit, immediately pulling her oversized towel over her shoulders and holding it tight to her chest. Lauren looked at her and chuckled. “What's your problem, Chase? Afraid we're going to catch a glimpse of your hot bod and fall in love?”

“Just…cold,” Brynna managed.

Lauren was in her Hawthorne-green swim team suit; Brynna had a half-dozen of the exact same suit, only hers were Lincoln High purple and gold. She shivered and switched her gaze to Darcy, who was adjusting the straps of her suit. It was a delicate pink with even paler pink polka dots and contrasting striped piping. With its frilly little skirted bottom, it would have made anyone else look like a freakishly tall six-year-old, but on Darcy, with her white-blond hair, sex kitten lips, and chest that made Brynna shrug into her towel, she looked like walking sex. Sweat pricked out all over Brynna, and she thought about Teddy, about what her sweet boyfriend could see in her when he'd spent nearly a year with Darcy and all her candy striper/centerfold glory. But the thought was fleeting as the girls began walking toward the outdoor pool.

Lauren held the door open, and Brynna worked to control her breathing, trying to grab on to something that Dr. Rother told her about facing challenges. She couldn't think of it, and her frustration was overtaking her dread.

When all the girls were suited up in their Hawthorne High regulated bathing suits—no bikinis, no monokinis, no tankinis, or “inis” of any kind—Mrs. Markie lined them up against the far wall of the outdoor pool. Brynna was secretly relieved that the P.E. teacher had chosen to teach the class at this pool rather than the indoor one; the indoor one, Brynna thought, felt far too much like a coffin.

Mrs. Markie strolled in front of them, her tanned, freckled skin loose where the industrial-sized straps of her army-green bathing suit cut across her shoulders. She was wearing the suit with a pair of knee-length khaki shorts and her ever-present whistle. Her toes bled over the top of a pair of blue-and-white strappy foam sandals, “Hawaii” scrawled over the white part in a funky brush script. The ensemble gave her the look of a geriatric camp counselor. Brynna was so busy taking in Mrs. Markie that she failed to hear the teacher directing her students to the edge of the pool.

The shrill sound of the whistle shook Brynna out of her reverie. “In line, Chase!” Mrs. Markie barked.

Brynna didn't move, watching while the girls filed into four rows at the edge of the pool. One girl, who wasn't suited up, came out of the locker room and sat on a bench with a notebook.

“How come she doesn't have to swim?” Brynna asked Mrs. Markie.

Mrs. Markie dropped the silver whistle from her lips and looked disgustedly at the girl on the bench. “She can't swim. Can you swim, Chase?”

Brynna nodded blankly. “Does she still have to take the test?”

The teacher answered Brynna with a quick burst from the whistle. “Mind your own business and get in line.”

Brynna slowly made her way to the lines of girls, stopping to suck in her breath when the four girls at the head of each line simultaneously jumped into the water and swam the short way across the pool.

“What happened to ‘Intro to water day'?” she breathed as her heart rate started to ratchet up.

She watched, stunned, as the girls cut through the water and climbed out of the pool on the other side just as the next four jumped.

“What is this supposed to teach us, exactly?” Brynna asked Lauren, who was standing in front of her.

Lauren shrugged. “That if you fall in the pool, you can climb out, I guess. I know the trainer came over and made our dog do the same thing.” She turned all the way around to face Brynna. “Scared?”

“No.” Brynna forced a chuckle. “Why would you say that? I mean, I can swim.”

“Good,” she said, turning back around. “Because if you can't, they make you take the beginning class with the middle schoolers.”

Brynna looked toward the girl on the bleachers, mercifully clothed. Her stomach lurched, a fist of anxiety tightening in her gut. She raised her hand.

“Um, Mrs. Markie, I'm not feeling so well.”

Mrs. Markie took her time coming around the pool, using her whistle every five feet before stopping to yell at someone in the water, someone getting out of the water, or someone on the way into the water, before she approached Brynna.

“What's that now?”

Brynna pressed her palm against her stomach. “I don't think I should swim today. I feel like I'm going to throw up.”

Mrs. Markie pressed the back of her hand against Brynna's forehead. “You don't feel hot.”

“Maybe it was something I ate.”

She knew exactly what it was but wasn't about to announce that she was afraid. According to Brynna's mother, Mrs. Markie should have known about her fear. She had, after all, granted Brynna permission to “practice” in the indoor pool, but now her slate-gray eyes looked hard, her lips pressed into a thin line, edges pulling downward.

Brynna glanced away from Mrs. Markie and her interrogating eyes and instead looked down, seeing the droplets of water that splashed up after the girls jumped. It speckled the concrete underneath her, and rivulets of water rushed toward her, pooling around her bare feet. “I don't think I should go in.”

Brynna could hear her classmates' arms pounding through the water. The sound of the water frothing with their kicks, with their wriggling bodies, made her think of Erica, and her stomach really did sour, bile itching at the back of her neck.

“You're not trying to get out of class, are you, Chase?”

Brynna shook her head, and Lauren leaned into her. “You were fine five minutes ago,” she murmured.

Darcy hit the water next, and fire shot up the back of Brynna's neck as she watched the blond girl suspended in midair before her pointed toes cracked the undulating surface of the water. She was transfixed, horrified as the water swallowed Darcy up—her strong, tanned legs first, then over her belly, her arms, her shoulders, and finally, her blond head engulfed, disappearing under.

“Erica!” The blood-curdling scream ripped through the concrete enclosure, and Brynna looked around, stunned. There was water on her face and she was moving, her thighs burning as she propelled herself forward. She felt her fingertips break the water, and then her face was under. Her eyes sprang open and she heard the repeated thud of limbs slapping water, and then, there was Erica.

Brynna could see Erica's painted toes barely scraping the bottom of the pool. She could see her elegant arms pawing at the water as she struggled to stay afloat. She was more compact than Brynna remembered, but it was easier to toss an arm around her, push Erica to her back, and then swim with her toward the shallow end.

She had rescued her. Erica would survive.

“What are you doing? What are you doing?”

Brynna could barely hear the gurgled words for the sound of the waves and the odd chirping sound cutting through the night. She opened her eyes and the sunlight blinded her, stopping her for a beat while Erica struggled against her, finally breaking her hold and getting away.

“Chase! What the heck was that?” Mrs. Markie barked.

Brynna blinked, her feet settling on the smooth bottom of the pool.

Then her heart started to go. A single beat, and then a single beat more. Faster, faster. Brynna was standing in water up to her elbows, and there were people all around her, lining the square edges of the pool, eyes wide, mouths opened. Her stomach started to churn, and the panic shot through her, chilling her body even though the water temperature was warm.

“Get out, Chase.”

Brynna barely heard the words, but her feet were rooted in place. Her body was a thousand pounds and solid steel. She tried to force something to work, something to move, but nothing did.

She was terrified.

All around her, the water waved and slapped.

Erica?

Her vision started to blur.

“Brynna!”

She vaguely recognized that voice.
Erica? Ella?

Somewhere, there was a sucking sound as a body entered the water.

Brynna's teeth started to chatter, and the clouds, thick and gray, snaked across the sun. The pool was enveloped with a sinister gray.

“Brynna?” That voice was close to her now, at her left ear, and Brynna wanted to acknowledge it—but not as much as she wanted to sink back into the water. She felt the lap of the water go over her arms, then over her shoulders. It would be so easy, so comfortable. Then she could be with Erica. She could apologize. She could say it was her fault. She could sleep…

The water engulfed her like soft, enveloping arms. She felt it on her lips, on her nose. Her lungs burned at first, but it was so peaceful under the water that she didn't struggle. All sound was muffled as the water plugged her ears, and the world above her wobbled outside of the water and was moving so far away, so fast.

“Come on, Brynna!”

Lauren's arms darted out instinctively to cradle Brynna, and Brynna lay still, stiff in the water, unable to move. She watched the clouds in the sky as she slid out from underneath them, Lauren's legs kicking gracefully beneath her. By the time they reached the edge of the pool, there were people to help scoop Brynna from the water as they commanded her to move, but she couldn't, not even an eyelash, not even a single inch. Nothing worked, and once again, she had lost Erica.

At some point, Brynna slipped back into her clothes and someone called her mother. She remembered everyone being silent, everyone watching as she hiked up her shoulder bag. In the locker room, Lauren linked arms with Brynna, ready to steer her toward the hall. Her lips felt numb.

“I just freaked out.”

She felt Lauren squeeze her arm. “It's okay. Do you want to talk about it? Talk about what—”

Brynna wagged her head, the stink of chlorine in her hair making her nauseous. “Do you think Darcy hates me?”

“I don't hate you, B,” came a voice from the back of the locker room. “You can tell us what's going on.”

Brynna looked at the faces of her new friends, both drawn, both concerned. She wanted to talk—but what could she say?
My
best
friend
is
dead, really dead, because of me. I thought she was alive, was after me, but it was all in my head. I saw her in the pool today, but it was all in my head…

She pressed her palms to her ears as if she could quiet the chatter that kept going, the constant stream that told her she was crazy, crazy, crazy, and broken, that she would never be fixed, that she would always pay. Her own mind was her enemy, splashing up pictures of Erica, bringing up that moment, that night, the dare.

“I don't know,” she said thinly. “I just—I thought Darcy was someone else.” It felt like a betrayal to Erica, but it was all Brynna could say to keep herself afloat.

Her mother arrived with that same pinched look that Brynna knew from before—the one that was constantly worried, constantly blaming herself for the things her crazy daughter did. Brynna wanted to reach out and pat her shoulder, to tell her mother that none of it was her fault, but she couldn't. Her limbs felt stiff and immobile and she rested her head against the cool glass of the passenger window as her mother drove her home in silence.

When they reached the house, Brynna made a direct line for the door and from there toward the stairs, but her mother stopped her, her hand tight on Brynna's.

“Honey, was this about Erica?”

A maniacal giggle gurgled up and Brynna fought it back. “Of course it was about Erica,” she wanted to scream. “Everything is always going to be about Erica.” But instead she stayed silent.

Her mother rubbed her hand. “That's over now, Bryn. Erica is going to be laid to rest. She's at peace.”

She smiled as though she actually believed it, and Brynna nodded then shook her hand free and headed up the stairs. She washed the chlorine stink out of her hair then slipped into her bed, pulling the comforter up over her head. She wanted the darkness. She wanted to sleep. She wanted to be wherever Erica was if only so that Erica would stop coming after her, would stop making her feel so goddamn crazy.

Even if that meant she had to die.

Brynna kicked off the covers and went to her bathroom, yanking open the medicine cabinet. She pawed through everything in there—some old makeup, a few boxes of Bioré pore strips, and some hair gel—but there was nothing there that would soothe her. She stepped into the hallway, hearing her mother popping off plastic take-out lids. Brynna crossed the threshold into her parents' room and went directly to their medicine cabinets.

Her mother's was stripped clean other than a box of hair dye and some Tums; her father's had even less.

“There's got to be…” she muttered under her breath while pain pounded a steady drumbeat against her skull. Brynna went through the bathroom drawers and found exactly two aspirin in a tiny pillbox. She popped them in her mouth and chewed, liking the bitter taste of the chalky things as they splintered under her molars. She dug in the same drawer and came out with a bottle of Nyquil, the safety seam already broken. The warning on the bottle said everything Brynna wanted: extreme drowsiness.

She could sleep.

If she could sleep, she couldn't feel Erica. She couldn't feel crazy. She couldn't feel anything at all. She twisted open the cap, tilted her head back, and drank every last bit.

•••

“Brynna! Brynna! B!”

A boy was saying her name. He was touching her too, his fingers pressing hot spots onto her bare shoulders. She smiled at him and tried to speak, but her tongue was stuck up against the roof of her mouth and it was so heavy, too heavy. She didn't need to speak though, because he saw her and she could see him too. Sandy hair, bright eyes, fuzzy all around the edges.

“Brynna, can you hear me?”

There was a shriek, like seagulls, and the sun was too warm, making Brynna break out into a damp, cool sweat, but she nodded her head because she could hear him. Her head felt heavy too. Heavy and oversized and nodding, it took monumental effort and shot another round of heat, another round of beaded sweat at her hairline and above her upper lip. She wondered who the boy was.

She told him she was going to close her eyes. She heard her own voice even though she couldn't feel her lips move, and she knew, somehow, that the boy agreed with her and would keep her safe. She told him her stomach hurt. He told her it would be okay.