Текст книги "Dare You To"
Автор книги: Katie McGarry
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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 25 страниц)
Beth
I PUMP MY HANDS HARDER INTO HIS CHEST and ignore the world around me. My wrists hurt, but I must keep the heart going. I must.
Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine,
thirty.
“Breathe!” I yell.
Lacy tilts the head back and blows into the mouth. The chest moves up, then back down.
Lacy begins to pull away.
“No, Lacy, check the vitals.” She puts her ear near the mouth and nose. I wait. She places her fingers against the artery in the neck. I wait again. Lacy shakes her head. Nothing.
“Your turn,” I tell her. I’m frightened that I won’t be able to give the heart enough pressure if I go another round. Lacy scrambles toward his chest and I slide my body near the head.
She counts out loud with each compression.
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A long beeping noise comes from the
team next to us. “Flat line,” says Mr. Knox.
“Yes!” says Chris. “This is ours!”
Of our entire health class, it’s down to me and Lacy against the combo of Ryan and Chris.
With his hands clasped together, Ryan pumps his dummy’s chest.
“Breathe!” says Lacy.
I blow air into the mouth, check vitals, and freeze. With my fingers against the neck, I feel something. It’s faint, but there. Lacy gestures for me to pump, but I shake my head. Our
dummy—he’s alive!
The boys start compressions again and a
wretched noise blares from their machine. Mr.
Knox unplugs it. “You boys forgot to check vitals.”
Chris swears and Ryan falls onto his ass.
Suck it up, boys. Get used to losing.
Mr. Knox glances my way.
“Congratulations, Lacy and Beth. You’re the only two who kept your patient alive. Good call on the vitals, Beth.”
Good call on the vitals. Mr. Knox walks
away as if this isn’t the most amazing moment of my life. I did something. I saved a life. Well, HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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not really, but I saved the dummy. But I did something right. This unspeakable,
overwhelming sense of…I don’t know…I’ve
not experienced it before…this feeling
of…joy? Anyhow…it floods me. Every part of me.
I—Beth Risk—did something good.
Lacy points at Chris, then at Logan standing over his dead dummy. “We won.” In her sitting position she moves her shoulders in a crazy little dance. “We won. We won. We won.”
“Your girl is a sore winner.” Logan edges closer to us.
“It’s kinda hot though,” says Chris. “Now that you experienced the rush, are you going to take on more dares from us, baby?”
Lacy laughs. “I didn’t take the dare. Beth did.”
Logan and Chris nod at me in appreciation. I shrug in return. For the past week, we’ve been feeling each other out. Lacy talks to me. Ryan talks to me. Sometimes, I talk back. On
Monday, I caved to their brow-beating and began sitting with them at lunch. When Ryan’s feeling bold, he takes my hand. When I’m
feeling bolder, I hold his hand back.
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At the mention of the dare, I fish a black marker out of my pack. Ryan’s last words
before we started CPR were that Lacy and I couldn’t hold out; that we were too weak to outlast the combination of him and Chris. I write the four most beautiful letters on my palm and turn it for Ryan to see: can’t.
As he leans against the wall, that brilliant smile spreads across Ryan’s face and he shakes his head. Warm fuzzies race through my
bloodstream. I love that smile. Maybe a little too much.
“I’m not wowed,” I say to him. It’s been
four days since our agreement and Ryan’s done nothing to “wow” me.
His smile turns cocky and, I have to admit, I like that smile too. “I’ve got time.”
FROM THE OPPOSITE SIDE OF THE ISLAND,
Scott watches as I scoop another spoonful of Lucky Charms into my mouth. I talk through the crunches. “And then I felt a pulse and Lacy thought we should pump again and I shook my head no.”
“Then what happened?” asks Scott.
I feel like I’m going to burst out of my skin.
“We won. I mean, we saved the dummy and
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Mr. Knox said I did good.” I did something right. I still can’t get over it.
“That’s fantastic. Isn’t it, Allison?”
It’s eight o’clock at night. Allison sits at the opposite end of the bar and doesn’t bother glancing up from the latest toy Scott bought her last week: an e-reader. “Fantastic,” she echoes in a voice that tells me she doesn’t actually think so.
Shoving another spoonful of cereal into my mouth keeps me from muttering my exact
thoughts. I should have waited to tell Scott the story over breakfast, when it’s just the two of us, but I was too excited.
“Is that what it’s like to be a nurse?” I ask Scott. “To feel all powerful and in control.”
And to have someone tell me that I did good?
My mind races with the possibilities. Maybe I could be a nurse. Blood doesn’t bother me.
Neither does puke. Too worked up to sit still, I drum my hands on the counter—I could really do this.
“You need to excel at science to be a nurse,”
says Allison in her bored voice. “And your grades on your last progress report suggest that might be a problem for you.”
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My face reddens as if she slapped me. I
wish I could think of something wittier, but at times, the plain truth is good enough. “You really are a bitch.”
“Stop it, Elisabeth,” says Scott. “And
Allison, her grades are improving.”
Well, screw me, Scott reprimanded the
wench. Huh. Allison tears her eyes from the e-reader. I could bask in the glory of this moment, but I decided weeks ago that she’s not worth my time. I turn to Scott. Daydreaming is over. I have real problems. “I need black hair dye.”
“For what?” Scott asks.
Is he blind? I shake my hair and lower my head so he can see my roots. My roots. The blond pokes out from my jet-black hair like annoying rays of sun. I flip my hair back over my shoulder. “Will you buy me some?”
If I buy anything with the cash Isaiah gave me, Scott would be all over me like flies to crap. I’m not ready to tip my hand that I have cash. Besides, he’s always wanting to do something for me—now he can.
“No,” he says.
Um…did I misunderstand him? “No?”
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“No.”
“I’m not going to be a blonde.”
“It’s who you are. Why do you have to
change something so beautiful?”
“So only blondes are beautiful?”
Scott closes his eyes. “I never said that.”
“Then buy me the dye.”
He reopens them and studies me during one of his patented long silences. “I’ll buy you something that will match your original hair color.”
“I don’t want to be blond.”
“Give me a good reason why not.”
“I prefer black.”
“Not good enough.”
I purposefully gawk at Allison. “I hate
blondes.”
“Still not good enough.”
I cross my arms over my chest and redirect my gaze to him. I can also do long silences.
“That’s it, Elisabeth? You want to have black hair. Just because. You have no reason. You want what you want.”
“Yeah.” I don’t like his tone or the way his blue eyes look right through me.
“When did you first dye it?” he asks.
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“Eighth grade.” My instincts yell at me
to run.
“Why?”
My throat becomes tight and I glance away.
“Because.”
“Because why, Elisabeth?”
Because one of Mom’s boyfriends thought I was her in the middle of the night.
“Tell me.” Scott keeps staring right through me. “Tell me why you dyed your hair.”
Isaiah knows. I told him once when I was
too high to keep secrets. Mom’s boyfriend stumbled out of our only bedroom in the
middle of the night. He sat on the floor next to where I slept on the couch. He lifted my hand, kissed it, and called me my mother’s name. He smacked me when I screamed and he smacked me again when he realized I wasn’t my mother.
The memories rush forward and I can’t
shove them away. They need to go away. I
need someone to ground me. I need someone to erase the bad memories. I haven’t forgiven Isaiah yet for betraying me. I haven’t talked to him in weeks and I’m not sure I’m ready to.
Even if there wasn’t our recent past between us, I’m not sure that I’d want Isaiah. For some HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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reason, I crave someone else…and that
scares me, and being scared only gives power to the memories.
In my head, I can hear the bastard’s voice. I can feel the bastard’s touch. My fingers claw at my head. Get out, get out, get out! I stand so abruptly the stool wobbles, then crashes to the floor. “Fuck you, Scott. I’ll buy the dye myself.”
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Ryan
…and George looked at the girl
with new eyes. No—not with
new eyes, but maybe with eyes
he had possessed in another life.
With eyes that belonged not to
his head, but to his heart.
Her smile caressed him as if
her fingers had slid up his arm.
She constantly amazed him—a
human willingly befriending a
zombie. The opposite of him
somehow gave this horrifying
new life meaning. But what
really amazed George was that
she granted him the grace of a
second chance.
Pleased with myself, I lean back in the chair and fold my hands over my stomach. Turns out George’s life was more confusing than he
could have imagined. First he wakes up a
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zombie. Then he discovers that the other
zombies expect him to be a leader, and then he shocks himself by loving his newfound power.
And then comes the girl.
Girls always complicate things. My lips turn up as I think of Beth. Yeah they do, but in a good way.
My phone vibrates and I glance at the caller ID. It’s an unknown number so I let it go to voice mail. Seconds later the phone chimes, telling me I have a text. I grab the phone and smile: Friends, right?—Beth
Me: Yes
“Then let me in.” Beth’s sexy voice drifts from the other side of my open window.
I check the clock—eleven. Mom and Dad
would be in bed. To be safe, I lock the door to my bedroom before I raise the pane and pop the screen out. “What are you doing here?”
Beth swings one leg into my room, followed by the other, with such ease that I believe she’s done this before. “I got bored.”
“You could have called.” Popping the screen in isn’t nearly as easy as popping it out.
“I did.” Beth assesses my room. She picks up a baseball on my dresser, tosses it into the HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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air, and barely makes the catch. “You didn’t answer.”
“You called thirty seconds ago.”
She drops the ball back onto my dresser.
“But I did call.”
The reality of the moment smacks me when
she leans over and taps the lava lamp that stopped working a year ago. Her smooth skin and tattoo peek out when her top rides up. I inhale and focus on anything but touching her.
“Does your uncle know you’re here?”
“No.” Beth walks over to the computer.
“What are you working on?”
“A creative writing assignment.”
She pinches her lips as her head falls back.
“Damn. Do we have one? When is it due? Ah hell, Scott is going to rip me on this. And here I thought I was finally keeping up.”
Crap. Until now, I didn’t have to tell anyone.
“No, it’s not a class assignment. It’s
something…extra…yeah. Something Mrs.
Rowe asked me to do.”
Beth’s shoulders relax like she received a pardon from a death sentence. “Can I read it?”
Besides my teacher, no one’s asked to read my stuff before and I pause…long enough that HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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Beth raises her eyebrows. If anyone’s going to read this, I’d prefer it to be her. Something tells me she’d understand. “Sure.”
“Print it out for me.” Beth plops on my bed and curls up around the pillows.
Her blue eyes survey me as she teases me
with a slumberous look. My jeans get tight and I want to join her on the bed, badly, but I’ll show restraint even though she’s going to kill me in the process. “Plan on staying for a while?”
“Did you have other plans?”
No. “I’m going to sleep soon. We do have
school tomorrow.”
“I’ve shared a bed way smaller than this for the past two years. Trust me, I’m the queen of not touching if that’s what you’re concerned about. Go on, print it out.”
“Not touching and sharing with who?”
Beth chuckles and shakes her head at the
same time. “Jealous much? I think you were printing something out for me.”
Just go with it, Ryan. Like other predators, Beth can smell fear. Without another word, I print out the pages and she snatches them from my hand. I stare at her. She stares at me. “I’m HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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not going to read it with you watching me.
That’s weird.”
“You’re in my room, Beth. You walked a
half mile to get here. On a Wednesday. In the middle of the night. Uninvited.” I should define for her what weird is.
“Do you want me to go?”
“No.” I don’t. Somehow nothing has ever
felt more right.
That evil smile slips onto her face. “Am I the first girl to be in your bed?”
Yes. I take a deep breath and return to the computer. I’ve dated girls. Been exclusive with a few and I’ve been respectful enough to
proceed slowly to each base. There are some bases I have yet to reach. A girl in my bed being one of them. If she’s determined to be here, I’m determined to be okay with it and not let the nerves show. I guess my zombie found a girl he likes and wants to throttle at the same time.
“THIS IS GOOD, RYAN.” Beth’s distant voice snaps me out of the story and my hands stop tapping on the keyboard.
“Thanks,” I say. Beth lies on her stomach, propped up on her elbows. Her cleavage is HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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beautifully exposed. My eyes avert to the floor.
“No, really. It’s good. Like this could be in a bookstore good. I totally get this guy.”
Yeah, so do I. “I finaled in a state writing competition.” The words come out naturally, as if I normally tell the world this sort of thing.
Beth flips through the pages. “I can see why.
Whoever judged the winner must have been on meth not to choose you.”
I glance around the room, waiting for the lightning to hit. Did she pay me a compliment?
“The winner hasn’t been announced. There’s another round of competition in a couple of weeks.”
“Oh,” she says. “Then I’m sure you’ll win.”
My stomach hollows out as I turn off my
computer. Yeah, I’m writing the short story, but I still haven’t signed up for the competition.
How can I? I’ve got games that day and Dad…
My thoughts trail off. I’m bowing out of a competition—an event I could win. Would the rush of winning the writing competition be the same as winning a baseball game or a dare?
Guess I’ll never know.
When I turn back, Beth is stretched out on HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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her back with her head against the pillows.
She’s kicked her shoes off and folded her hands on her stomach. The belly button ring sparkles in the light. She stacked my story neatly on the bedside table.
We’re dating. Friends who are dating and
who will eventually kiss. Four days could be considered eventually…yeah, I’m not stupid enough to believe that.
“I’m going to bed,” I say, giving her the opportunity to leave.
“Do you normally sleep in all your clothes?”
she asks.
No. I usually take off my shirt. “This is safer.”
“Okay.”
Okay. I flip off the light and climb into bed.
Taking a cue from Beth, I stay on top of the covers. The heat from her body warms mine.
She’s right. She can lie in bed without
touching. I inhale and her sweet scent envelops me.
Last year, our science teacher dispelled the myth that sex crosses the minds of guys every seven seconds. I’m going to have to disagree with him on that. My fingers itch with the need HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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to caress Beth’s soft skin. I want my lips whispering against hers.
“So, I have this friend,” she says into the darkness. “Isaiah. You’ve met him.”
“Yeah.” My muscles tense and the images of her body moving against mine disappear. I understand that dating means I’m leaving open the possibility that she can see other guys, but I’m not fond of her discussing said guys while she’s lying in my bed.
“He betrayed me and I don’t know what to
do. In Louisville, he was the only friend I had and when I came here he bought me my phone.
We talked every night or texted or both and he still calls every day and texts me a million times. I refuse to answer him and I think our friendship is over and then I talked to Scott tonight and the conversation didn’t go as I planned and I don’t know.…”
My skin prickles. It’s more than Beth being so close to me. It’s more than the need and attraction raging in my body. Beth is on the verge of telling me something. On the verge of stepping outside her wall. I urge her on. “You don’t know what?”
“Everything was so much easier in
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Louisville,” she says softly. The sadness in her voice is hard to miss. “I miss easy.”
“After my game, I’ll drop you off.” I hate the thought of it, but I’m determined to win her over. “Then afterwards, we’ll go to dinner and then maybe a movie. What do you think?”
I hear her swallow. “I think I’d like that.”
I inhale. The clean, full intake of air feels as if it’s the first breath I’ve taken in days.
“Sometimes,” she says, then pauses. It’s a heavy pause and her struggle for words makes me want to comfort her. “Sometimes I just want…”
What does she want? I know what I want:
for her to trust me, for her to feel what I feel.
But what I really want right now is for her to be okay. I extend my arm across the bed in Beth’s direction, careful not to touch her. “I’m here if you need me.”
One heartbeat. Another. Beth stays so
perfectly still in the darkness that part of me wonders if this entire evening was a dream.
Her body scratches against the comforter as she moves. One inch in my direction. A
hesitation. Then another inch. My blood tingles with anticipation. This moment is huge—no HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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doubt. I’m asking her to lean on me and
Beth is actually considering it.
Come on, Beth, you can trust me. Finally, in a swift movement, she lays her head on my chest and curls the rest of her body around me.
Needs slams into me and if her hand shifts down three inches, she’ll know. I want to touch her, but do I dare? Her breath tickles my chest as she whispers, “I like you, Ryan.”
I close my eyes and celebrate the words. She likes me. “I like you too.” A lot.
I want her, but I refuse to let my lower body make the decisions. Slowly, purposefully, I wrap one arm around her and lay my other
hand on my stomach right next to hers. This is my best attempt at friends-who-date touching.
Parts of me want to caress the warm blush that appears on her beautiful skin when I look at her with desire. Those same parts imagine me placing a hand on her chin and tilting her head up so I can kiss her. Those parts are currently trying to talk “logic” to my brain.
Kissing could be good. I loved kissing her full lips and I loved her soft moans. I could kiss her until she forgets Isaiah. I could kiss her until I forget that I’m a virgin. My grip on her
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shoulder tightens. She’s killing me. I’m
killing myself. “Sandy Koufax was left-handed like you. He was the youngest pitcher inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame.”
“That’s possibly the most screwed-up thing I’ve ever heard you say,” she mumbles.
True, but it keeps my mind off kissing her.
“I’m not the one that talks in code.”
“You have me there.”
Beth’s body relaxes and molds into mine.
The silence stretches from seconds to minutes to longer and I wonder if she fell asleep. Part of me wishes I could sleep. Then I wouldn’t fantasize about touching her or kissing her or touching her some more. But then I also want to stay awake. I like this—holding her.
“Ryan?” she whispers.
“Yeah?” I whisper back.
“Can I stay? I set your alarm for four so I’ll be back before Scott misses me.”
I absently rub my hand up and down her
back and she shifts closer to me. “Yeah.”
Beth nuzzles her head against my chest like a cat curling into a ball for sleep. Her arm presses into me and I let myself cheat for one second when I bunch her hair in my hand and HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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kiss the top of her head. I could tell myself that friends who date do this, but it’s way too late and I’m way too tired for lying.
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Beth
THIRTY MINUTES OF observing Ryan squirm on the couch across from Scott was enough to atone for allowing Ryan to drag me to the marathon game at the ballpark. Scott finally let me go with Ryan only after he threatened to kill Ryan if he returned me with any marks on my body.
I’m not sure if I’ll ever admit it to Ryan, but this has been my best Saturday since being sentenced to hell. On the drive into Louisville, Ryan explained baseball. Most of it I knew, but Ryan somehow made it interesting. The sport came alive when he described a game that’s more than a bat and a ball and some bases. He said it involved teamwork and trust.
As I sit on the bleachers and watch the
game, I appreciate the gracefulness of his team’s movements. A network of signals and HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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glances and unsaid understandings.
What I really find amazing is Ryan. The raw intensity in the way he moves. The strength of his broad shoulders and the power that
explodes from his body when he throws the ball. Ryan is a force all his own. A force that pulls me in. An attraction that curls warmth into my body. He possesses a simple touch that’s strong enough to hold me together yet soft enough to make me shiver.
We’re friends. Just friends. I sigh. Even as a friend, he deserves better than me. He seems hell-bent on liking me. Hell-bent on dating me.
Why? What does he gain by being with a girl that everyone else has thrown away?
Chris pops a ball into left field and the other team catches it for the third out. Ryan stands in the dugout and winks at me before taking the field. My answering smile forms in spite of myself. You’re setting yourself up for a world of hurt, Beth. Like when I set myself up with Luke at fifteen. Luke called me pretty. Luke said all the right words. Then again, Luke never brought me to a place as public as this.
Maybe Scott is right. I have a clean slate.
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should enjoy the ride while it lasts. After all, I’ll be leaving with Mom soon. Each day that she remains with Trent is one day closer to her death. Today, after the game, Mom and I will work out a plan to leave, but until then, maybe I should enjoy what’s in front of me.
Ryan likes me or at least he thinks he does.
Why am I in such a rush to move on to the next guy who’ll treat me like Luke did or the way Trent treats Mom?
I can be the girl who shows Ryan a few
things. The girl who doesn’t laugh when he blushes. I can be the girl who, in the future, when he’s been married to the good girl and has three babies clinging to his leg, he can remember and smile at the memories. Then
he’ll look at his wife and be grateful I left when I did. Grateful he didn’t end up with me.
“Are you Ryan’s girlfriend?” A tall guy
plops next to me on the bleachers and watches as Ryan throws the ball. This dude is close.
Super close. Not touching close, but he has broken the unspoken barrier of how close
complete strangers should be to each other.
The skin on my arm prickles. “And you
are?”
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He turns his head and gives me a smile
that reminds me of Ryan’s. In fact, he looks a lot like Ryan, just a little older. “Mark. I’m his older brother.”
Hello. Could this be the brother Ryan was all torn up over in the barn? But curiosity gives way to nerves. I’ve never met a guy’s family and I don’t know a thing about etiquette. “Nice to meet you.” There, isn’t that what proper girls say?
“Are you sure? I’ve seen worms on hooks
happier than you.”
My lips twist up. “I’m Beth and we’re just friends.” Friends who are dating, but I don’t need to broadcast my insecurities.
“Huh,” he drawls. “Ryan doesn’t bring
friends to games. He calls people distractions.”
Not sure how to respond, I focus on the
game. Mark lowers his voice. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”
I might as well be honest. It’s not like I could pass as respectable for long. “Guys who invade my personal space generally make me uncomfortable, but I don’t blame you. Ryan has space issues too. Must be genetic.”
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that causes people to stare—even Ryan
from the mound. Ryan’s eyes flicker between his brother and me. A shadow crosses his face as he focuses on Mark. Not liking the hurt he’s wearing, I give him a halfhearted wave and he gives me his heart-stopping smile in return.
Heat creeps along the back of my neck and marks my face.
“Yeah,” says Mark. “You two are just
friends.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” I mutter.
Mark laughs again, but not as loudly. “My mother must hate you.”
I should be insulted, but I’m not. If she ever met me, she probably would. “Don’t know.”
“That’s okay. I like you.”
“You don’t know me.”
Mark gestures to the scoreboard. “We’ve got a few more innings to rectify that. So, tell me, how did you meet my brother?”
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