Dare Me (22 page)

John fires.

Ricky screams, a sound like someone getting beat upside the head, but the lights don’t come on. John looks horrified, as if he wants to let go, but he doesn’t. He’s either waiting for the lights or is too scared to think. I can’t see what’s happening to Ricky, but it sounds awful. I step forward to end this, or to get a better view—I don’t know which—and the lights pop on.

Ricky is on his knees, head jarring like some bobble-headed Santa Claus, arm outstretched like it’s caught on a wire fence. The lights are so bright against the night that we all stare at them. They’re the same giant bulbs we used on our home, which aren’t on the condo this year.

Ricky lets out another snarl and Trevor yells, “Enough!”

John flings the gun to the ground and a second later the lights die away. We all click on our headlamps and charge to Ricky. He’s on his side and his eyes are rolling in his head. Spit’s oozing from his mouth, and he twitches a few more times. Trevor hands off the camera to John and madly pulls at the electrodes embedded in Ricky’s chest.

Ricky twitches and shakes for another second and then stills. He blinks and looks up. “Did I die?”

Trevor shakes his head. “No. Maybe? But you’re here now.”

Ricky smiles back at him. “I’ll take that.”

I’m moved by the scene, and it’s about the last emotion I expect to feel. Chantel and I don’t even have this kind of closeness. Alexia and I used to. And there’s something horribly wrong in that. Not in Ricky and Trevor, but with me. It’s time for me to be done with my fear and figure out what I want. Who I want.

—

The lights worked every time,
and John and I ended up in pretty much the same position as Ricky. Except we had to shoot John twice. He’s so damn big. Fortunately, I was recovered and jumped in to help Ricky. John didn’t shit, but pissed his pants.

Normally we would have busted his balls. But we couldn’t do much of anything. I don’t know because I’ve never been tasered before, but I think I’m still messed up from it. We’re at the mall, John and me, and I keep walking into the railing on the second floor. I can’t seem to move in a straight line. I hold on to the rail and ignore the pissed-off shoppers. Christmas is a week out, and they are all power-shopping and do not want to be interrupted by some strung-out kid.

“Is the store up here?” I turn to John who looks happy to be taking a break. He leans over the rail next to me.

“Yeah, up ahead. Hey, am I walking as messed up as you?”

“Can’t tell, I’m focusing on staying upright. You know?”

“Yeah. Ricky get the video up?”

I check my phone, and there’s still no text from him. I don’t blame him, though. Just trying to function in normal life has been rough. “Nope. By tonight, I bet.”

John grunts and hoists himself up. “Come on.”

We trudge on and find the perfume kiosk. It’s the only gift I could think of. What I lack in originality, I intend to make up for in expense.

John and I lean over the counter, side by side, peering into the glass and trying to make sense of all the options.

“You need some help?” The woman behind the counter asks.

I look up too fast and fall into John. The woman frowns. “It’s a medical thing,” I lie. “My ear.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

I wave off her comment. “What’s the hottest fragrance this year?”

“Who are you shopping for? Your mother? Someone special?”

Even in my muddled state I find it sad that she didn’t expect me to have someone in my life besides my mother. Then again, I’m no model, and I just told her I have an ear disorder. “Girlfriend,” I say.

John laughs. The woman ducks to grab a bottle. “What are you laughing at?”

“Chantel, your
girlfriend
?”

“What else should I call her?”

John shrugs. “It’s your relationship, but I don’t think you’re that exclusive.”

The woman’s back, holding a bottle, but I ignore her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“See for yourself.” He turns my head and directs it toward the pretzel shop.

Standing before it, nibbling on a chocolate-dipped churro, is Chantel. The churro is being held above her mouth by some guy, who’s not close to seventeen, but not old enough to be her dad. He smiles as she reaches with her teeth. He teases it away, but then relents and gives her another bite. She presses her lips with a napkin. I feel as if I might hurl.

The perfume saleswoman coughs and I turn. “This is one of our most popular.” She models the squat yellow bottle and sprays the air. I sniff. I don’t know why. I guess it’s automatic after having seen my mother and sister do the same countless times. Because what I really want to do is grab the bottle and throw it at the goateed guy’s head.

“How much?” I mumble and don’t hear the response. Not that it matters. I made $4,500 for the “Thanksgiving Massacre.” That’s what Ricky titled it for more hits. Who knows what we’ll get for “Christmas Electroshock Therapy”?

“Sounds good.” I hand the bottle back.

“Would you like it gift wrapped?”

“Please,” I say and turn to John.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, Ben. That doesn’t look good. Sorry.”

I’m angry, but I’m also disappointed. Not because Chantel and I aren’t exclusive. I don’t know if I ever felt we were. No, I’m upset that so much got in the way of that happening. Or I let it? Or she led me on? I don’t know the root, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to figure it out now. But I’m also relieved, because this is exactly what I was hoping for during our last dare.

I pay for my whatever’s gift and point toward the exit.

As we shuffle on, I look back. He strokes her cheek and she giggles. The weight of the perfume pulls on my arm, and up ahead John bumps into a railing.

CHAPTER 23

“T
hose guys at your school
are goddamn crazy!” Chuck greets me as I walk into the shop.

“What?” Playing dumb today is easier than usual.

He waves me toward his “office,” this closet of a room. “Come, see.” Chuck got a computer after Thanksgiving’s rush and has finally figured out how to use it.

I follow him in, and, indeed, our YouTube channel is up. Trevor scored the opening credits with “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree,” and the video plays out with each of us and the corresponding tree lighting. What I didn’t expect are the close-ups. I have no recollection of Trevor doing that. He must have gotten down on one knee to get the angle. It was worth it, though, because all of our twitching is a stark contrast to the multicolored glow behind us.

Each of us has a Christmas song clip accompaniment, too. Mine is “Deck the Halls.” I like the idea of kids all around town hearing that as they decorate their own trees or sit around boring family get-togethers, cracking up.

“Unbelievable, right?”

I shake my head. “I told you they were nuts.”

“Yeah, but there are levels of insanity. This,” he points at the screen, “this is deranged.”

I agree, but really can’t say much. It may not take a professor to see what is obvious. I shuffle out of the office and Alexia’s at the counter. Seeing her knots up my stomach. We’re taking care of Jesse tomorrow night.

“Hey, Alexia.”

“Oh, hey, Ben.” She jumps a little, but more startled than scared.

I don’t know what to say since we haven’t really spoken after I dropped by her house.

“You okay? Seem like something’s up.” She turns to me and everything about her is so genuinely nice. I’d like more of her in my life. There is no question of that after what I’ve seen. But knowing and doing are two completely different ideas.

“It’s nothing. Have you and Chantel been hanging out much?”

Alexia sighs. “She hasn’t really had much time for me. She was like my Siamese twin when Jesse was, you know, but now, I thought she was off with you all the time.”

That hurts. If she’s been gone that much, I have an idea who she’s been with. “Right. I thought so. How is Jesse?” I don’t even know why I’m asking this. Must be the taser.

She turns away. “Fine, good really.”

I feel like pulling up her sleeves to make sure, but I say, “That’s cool.”

Alexia shoots me a look like she used to when I first started here. Like some slug she found in her salad. Or some one-time friend she wanted to remain that way. “Guess so.” She moves away and counts empty boxes.

I slump back against the counter and can’t help feeling like an ass. I hum “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” but it doesn’t help.

—

Of course Ginny’s car
is in the driveway. Why wouldn’t it be? She’s home for break and will want to grill me about my suicidal tendencies. I just want to go to bed.

I walk in and the house is dead quiet. The fire’s burning, but none of my family is around. “Hello?”

The fire pops in response. I walk upstairs. The fire’s going up here as well and I’m momentarily happy. But where is everybody? My parents’ room is dark, but Ginny’s light is on. I knock. Nothing. I knock again. “Ginny?” Still nothing. “I’m opening the door.”

She’s on her bed, earbuds in her head, iPod at her side, laptop in front of her. I flick the lights and she jumps. “Jesus Christ, Ben! The fuck are you doing?”

“Saying hey. Where are Mom and Dad?”

She powers off her music and settles back on the bed. “Out to dinner. Didn’t you hear?”

I search my useless brain and come up empty. “Hear what?”

Ginny tilts her head. “You kind of look like shit.”

I sit on the chair near her door. “You see our video?”

She nods.

“It doesn’t wear off right away.”

Ginny shakes her head and pierces me with her look. “Benny, come on. Enough’s enough.”

“Yeah, yeah. What’s the deal? What didn’t I hear?”

She grimaces, obviously ready to lecture me, but she stops herself. “Dad got the job.”

“What? Really?” I’m not sure if I’m excited or doubtful.

“Yeah. He starts next week. They went out to LongHorn’s to celebrate.”

This is fantastic. “Do you think he could buy back our house?” I startle myself with this one, even put a hand over my mouth.

Ginny looks confused. “Man, your brain is messed up. What?”

“No one lives there. I stopped by and it was empty.”

She moves to the corner of the bed, into her “chatting” pose. “That may be, but people do renovations to homes before they move in all the time. And Dad’s only had his job for a little while, so it’s not as if he won the lottery or anything. I don’t think they’re financially prepared to do anything but put us through school.” She takes a deep breath. “Speaking of which, did you tell them about your SAT scores? Show them your report card?”

I process her point about the house and have to admit it makes sense, so I answer her questions. “No. To both.”

“Good. But have you been studying?”

“Yeah,” I lie. She opens her mouth to say something, but I interrupt. “You finish your shopping?”

“Yeah, Christmas is in a week.”

“I know, but it was hard this year, right? I didn’t know what to get Mom and Dad.”

“I hear you.” She pauses. “What about me?”

“Oh, that was easy,” I say, and Ginny perks up. “A guest appearance in our next dare.”

She frowns. “Get Out There, that’s your sponsor, right?”

Butterflies erupt in my belly. “Yeah, why?”

Ginny grabs her computer. “I think you should be concerned.”

“What do you mean?”

She clicks the mouse a few times and turns the computer to me. Get Out There Adventure’s website is on the screen. Nothing looks out of place, but the butterflies all die and my stomach drops.

“What’s going on?”

She takes a deep breath. “Here’s the deal. I went to the site to buy you a Christmas gift. I was thinking one of those ultrawarm sleeping bags because you’ve been complaining about how cold it is at night. Figured it would be ironic that it came from your sponsor’s store.”

I’m following her, knowing full well there’s going to be a significant BUT coming in this story.

“I started searching the site. What did you say the name of your guy is?”

“O. P. Why?”

“So I
was
right. I couldn’t find anyone listed on the site by that name. Same when I Googled.”

My brain’s processing and I’m trying to formulate a conclusion to all this, but it’s not coming together.

“So I emailed. They said that they don’t have anyone with that name on staff.”

I take in what she’s said, but it’s like trying to cram clothes into an already full hamper. The thoughts spill onto the floor like so many dirty socks. “So? What’s your point? Maybe he isn’t using his real name with us?” I know that sounds stupid, even for me.

“My point is that if you really are being sponsored by someone from this company, you should know who he is.”

“What do you mean,
if
we really are? We’re getting paid.” I say this, but I’m pulled back to our last argument with Ricky. I want to talk to O. P. now more than ever.

“Benny, that doesn’t mean anything. Have you seen the checks?”

I stare at the floor because I don’t know what else to do. In Ginny’s face are too many accusations. I haven’t seen the checks; Ricky gives us our cut. So if what she says is right, which is still an
if
, but still—who did we sign a contract with? And why is he paying us? I grab my head and squeeze because it feels like I’m getting tasered again. Except I know this time there’s no one there to flip the switch and shut this thing off.

CHAPTER 24

R
u avoiding me?

R u mad?

Why won’t u return my texts?

Why didn’t u pick up? I just called.

Come over later?

I ignore all of Chantel’s messages because I don’t know what to do with her right now. I want to confront her about the guy from the mall, but I’m not prepared for the answer she’ll give me. I’ll either come out looking like some stalker, asshole boyfriend—if I even have that status—or she’ll let me know it’s some other guy she’s with. Either way, I lose. And right now, I’ve got to keep my head straight.

“Is that Chantel blowing you up?” John asks.

I tuck my phone away. “Yeah. Unfortunately.” I look at John and he gives me a knowing nod. “What time does the lot close?” I know the answer. We’ve been through this a dozen times. I just need help focusing.