Nerve (7 page)

This is not how I foresaw spending closing night. After all the costume coordination, hours applying makeup, afternoons rehearsing lines with Sydney until I knew her role as well as she did, and the three desserts I baked for the party? The one who deserves long lip-locks with Matthew tonight is me.

I slump onto a step that feels like ice through my silk skirt, turn on my phone, and change my ThisIsMe status from
promising
to
open for ideas
. I also post:
Karma does not apply to me
.

I should just leave now. Forget about the stupid party and my first night of not being grounded. My so-called best friend couldn’t bear for someone else to take part of her spotlight, could she? It’s not like my dares made Syd shine any less brightly. No one else received two bouquets of flowers. Were they from Matthew? Does she feel the same way about him? I mean, that embrace. There’s acting and then there’s the real thing. My mind spins. Could they be a secret couple? It
hardly seems possible that the friend who sprained her wrist defending me in fifth grade from a bully who teased me about my real name would deceive me this way. But that kiss.

The door opens. Is it Sydney coming to apologize?

Tommy blinks rapidly. “What are you doing out here?” He sits on the step above me, smelling like pine trees.

I glance up at him. “Needed some air.”

He smiles. “Yeah, air is good.”

“Don’t you need to be supervising the set crew?”

“Nah, strike-down isn’t until tomorrow.”

“I should send out another reminder for everyone to get their costumes dry-cleaned. No one better return anything smelly.”

“Or what?”

I rest my chin on my hand. “Maybe I’ll hang the grimy clothes from their lockers along with a gas mask or something.” Yes, the play included gas masks.

His eyes crinkle. “Not what I’d expect from a sweet girl like you.”

“Sweet is highly overrated.” So is responsible, loyal, and every other adjective you’d find scrawled in my yearbook.

He gives me a quizzical glance.

Through the partially open door, bits of laugher float outside as the cast makes its way to the dressing rooms. I’ve set out jars of cold cream and tissues so they can clean their faces, but I’d bet a week’s pay from my job at Vintage Love
that most of them keep their makeup on through the party because they like the dramatic cast of their eyes and the chiseled cheekbones I gave them.

I shiver in the April cold and feel a headache coming on. Watching my best friend publicly throw herself on my guy-of-interest has blown my emotional circuits, leaving me in a numb state.

Or maybe just a stupid one, since the next words out of my mouth are, “So what do all you guys see in Sydney anyway?” Actually, this question qualifies as beyond stupid, not only because it makes me look like an insecure loser, but because the answer is obvious: her ability to make anyone feel important in ten seconds flat, her blond-bombshell hair, and a body she shows off to its fullest with clingy knits and low-rise jeans. Not to mention the corset she wore for the last act of the play, which she’ll keep wearing until someone pries it from her, ribbon by ribbon.

He squints. “Uh, not all guys go for her type. Some of us prefer girls a little less, uh, obvious.” He blushes.

Does he think petite girls with a fondness for retro clothing are non-obvious or invisible? It’s not as though I don’t try to add an edge.

The door behind us bangs open hard enough to shake the stairs. My heart does a handspring.

Matthew’s face is flushed and he’s already rubbed off half of his makeup. Or someone’s rubbed it off for him.
“Hey, little Vee. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Really?” My voice comes out squeaky.

He laughs. “Reeeeeallly.”

Tommy’s eyes go into orbit.

I get up and brush at the back of my skirt. “What’s up?”

“I was wondering if we could go someplace a little more private.”

My heart threatens to stop. “Uh, sure.” I resist the urge to pump my fist.

Matthew takes my hand and pulls me inside.

“See you later, Tommy,” I say as the door clanks shut behind me.

We wade through clusters of cast members posing with family and friends who’ve come to shower congratulations. The air is thick with the scent of cologne. For a second, I think I see Dad, but quickly lose sight of the gray buzz cut. Must be someone else’s father. Why would Dad come backstage anyway? To say, “Hey sweetheart, great costume coordination”? I mean, this is my night to be free. Surely they’ll cut me some slack.

Matthew leads me over to a small closet at the end of the corridor that doubles as a dressing room in a pinch. It’s empty. Before I realize what he’s doing, he picks me up by the waist and spins me around like a sugarplum fairy.

I laugh, feeling all floaty.

He sets me down and taps my nose. Suddenly, we’re back
in our delicious zone, where we’ve been dancing for the past few weeks. I didn’t imagine it. Maybe I misjudged the stage kiss between him and Sydney. They were in character, after all.

My heart thumps rapidly. “You did a great job tonight.”

“Thanks to you and the rest of the crew.” His arm slides around my shoulders and he leads me to the mirror. “You were like a little angel, flitting around, helping us get into costume. And the food you brought looks amazing.”

I sit on the counter as he sinks into the chair. Will he pull me into his lap? The thought makes me tremble.

He takes my hands. “Could I ask for one more little favor?”

“Sure.” Wish I’d put on fresh lip gloss.

He points to his cheek. “I accidentally messed up my makeup. Could you redo it? Syd says it makes me look rugged, and I think it’ll be cool for the party.”

My shoulders droop. He wants a touch-up? To stay in character because Sydney thinks it ups his macho factor? I sit there staring at him.

He points to my makeup box, which he must have brought in here before he found me. Since when has he ever been so prepared? He taps my knees like bongo drums. “Just the basics, you don’t need to go into a lot of detail.”

I take a breath and stand, trying to calm the rising flush of disappointment. “Sure.”

I whip open the box, grab a pencil and some contouring powder. As soon as I start, he takes his hands away from my
legs. I sharpen his jawline and nose, and then get to work with the eyeliner. It isn’t until I’m halfway done with his eyes that I let the hard questions seep into my brain. Has Matthew ever really liked me? The way I like him? Or am I just a way to get closer to Sydney?

I dig my pencil into his eyebrow, which makes him flinch.

“Sorry,” I say. The slash mark gives me an idea. I’m tempted to give his new makeup a subtle shift. There’s a fine line between looking ruggedly intense and psychotic. I can make it so the other girls at the cast party feel a shade of anxiety when they gaze into his face. My hand begins to draw the brows a little closer together. But something holds me back. The same thing that never lets me create a scene or get into a confrontation. Holding back tears, I give Matthew the glowering, sexy eyes he wants.

I toss the cotton swabs in the trash. “All done.” Is there any possibility we’ll return to the flirty magic? I take a seat in front of him, noticing a smudge on his collar that could be lipstick or rouge.

He slides his chair around me so he can examine himself in the mirror. “Great job, Vee! You’re the best.”

I feel anything but the best as I watch him admire himself. When he gets up, he gives me a playful poke on the shoulder. No thank-you kiss. No fairy lift.

As he heads out of the room, I call out, “Did you send Syd the flowers?”

He stops short with a satisfied expression. “Her ThisIsMe page says roses and peonies are her favorite. They still are, right?”

“Well, if it’s on her page, it must be true.” I slam the makeup box shut.

“Great. See you at the party.” He rushes off.

The last thing I want to do is party. This evening officially sucks. The sooner I get out of here, the better.

I hurry to the props area, where I left my purse. A thick crowd swarms between me and the door to the auditorium, so I decide to head out via the fire escape. As I pass the girls’ dressing room, Sydney laughs, a star in the midst of her many admirers and all those stinking peonies. I don’t have the energy to push through the crowd or deal with the scene she’s sure to cause if I tell her I’m not hanging around for the cast party. Sooner or later she’ll figure out that I’ve left. Probably later.

I rush outside in a race against the flood of tears that threaten to spill over. When I’m on the fire escape, I take a big, hiccupy breath. How could I let Matthew lead me around like a love-sick puppy?

The door creaks open. Aw gee, did he smear off his makeup again?

Tommy peeks out. “I’m not stalking you, promise. But you didn’t look so good in there.”

I run a finger under my eye. “I’m okay.”

He comes outside again. “You want some water or something?” Maybe he thinks we non-obvious girls are fragile.

I force myself to think of Comedy Central shows to keep the tears in check. “I’m fine.” As a way to avoid eye contact, I pull out my phone, even though I just checked it a few minutes ago.

My knees go weak when I see my latest text. NERVE is doing a live round in Seattle.

And they want me.

With trembling shoulders, I read the rest of the message. “Oh my God.”

“What is it?”

“NERVE chose me! They’re doing a live round here.”

“That’s crazy!”

“I know. I’ve got ten minutes to give them my answer.”

He shakes his head. “You saw how they terrorized the players in the last game. Ever hear of PTSD? My cousin has had it since he got back from Afghanistan. No prizes are worth that.”

I rub my hand along my hip. “I agree. But you know a lot of the scary stuff has to be faked, like the special effects in the play. I mean, do you think that guy who played last time was really trapped in a dark elevator with a rat? I’ll bet they would’ve let him out if he wanted. And that rat was someone’s pet, guaranteed.” I bite my thumbnail. Why did I immediately go into defending NERVE?

“His fear looked real to me.”

“It’s supposed to. But it’s not like they can ask you to do anything overtly dangerous or illegal. They’d get sued.”

Tommy groans as if I’m a moron. “If they’ll never ask players to do anything shady, why are the owners totally anonymous?”

“They’re probably based in the Cayman Islands, for taxes or something.”

His voice takes on an urgency. “I don’t think you realize what you’re up against. It’s not like you have to be the girl with the dragon tattoo to dig up personal data on people. They’ll use it against you.”

“I have nothing to hide.” Well, if you don’t count my little hospital stay. But even NERVE can’t access confidential health records. Besides, I’m tired of being ashamed of something I shouldn’t have been ashamed of in the first place.

He nods toward the door. “C’mon, let’s just go to the party. You can sing your version of the school song.”

I pretend to throw my phone at him. He ducks. From beyond the partially open door, the voices of the cast float out, reciting highlights from the play and laughing. Sydney’s and Matthew’s voices carry louder than the others, of course. I move past Tommy to kick the door shut.

His voice goes soft. “I know that maybe your feelings got hurt tonight. But that’s no reason to turn into some femme fatale.”

If only. “It just would be fun to do something totally unexpected.”

“You already have. Twice. And look how upset you got when things went wrong the first time.”

“But last night wasn’t so bad. I won stuff.”

“Those dares were preliminary. In the live rounds, thousands of folks pay to watch from all over the world. You think they’ll be satisfied with you getting your shirt wet?”

“Well, let me see what they’re offering, at least.” I check my phone. Sure enough, NERVE has dangled the first prize. Whoa, it’s a full-day makeover at Salon Dev, including a massage, waxing, makeup consult, the works. Best of all, I’d get a haircut from the owner, who’s impossible to see if you aren’t a local celeb. As if that weren’t enough to have me drooling, NERVE sends an image of me in that cute sundress I checked out on the Custom Clothz site the other night. My image has the correct body proportions this time, and it’s not bad, even in an almost-B cup.

Goose bumps rise on my arms and legs, partly because of the amazing prizes, partly because of Tommy’s words. This much loot will come with hefty expectations.

I move to the creaky handrail to consider my options. In the alley below, two crows hop onto a nearby Dumpster. Why does Seattle have so many crows? Don’t birds like warm weather? The wind picks up, sending the birds on their way and leaving the air around us hushed.

Tonight is my first night of not being grounded since I pulled into my garage last November and fell asleep listening to my favorite song list. Since then, Mom and Dad have seen me as a frail being who tried to do something unthinkable, no matter how many times I’ve tried to tell them otherwise.

At least Syd believed me. Or so I thought. The story everyone else got was that I’d had a serious case of the flu that sent me to the hospital. For a while, there were rumors going around, but by the time I got back to school, everyone had moved on to the love triangle taking place on the football team.

All anyone cares about is the latest drama. Tonight I have the opportunity to replace my old drama with something new. If only I knew whether that meant something better or worse.

I stare at my phone. “You’re a smart guy, Tommy. Probably the smartest one I know. I appreciate your advice.”

“So you’re turning them down?”

“No way. Game on.”

Two minutes after I send my acceptance, NERVE responds with a description of the first live dare. As I read the message, my breathing quickens. Instinctively, I shift the phone away from Tommy.