Текст книги "Dare You To"

Автор книги: Katie McGarry

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Текущая страница: 25 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

you.

My biggest thank-you is to the fantastic

authors I’ve met, the booksellers, the

librarians, the teachers, the book bloggers, and my readers. Thank you for taking the time to spread the word and for the messages, tweets, and emails you’ve sent to me. You remind me why I write.

To A, N, and P. You know who you are and

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you know that I love you more than my

own life.

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Don’t miss Isaiah’s story,

CRASH INTO YOU,

coming soon

from Katie McGarry

and Harlequin TEEN!

Turn the page

for an exclusive two-chapter sneak

preview….

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Rachel

THE DRIVER’S SEAT of my Mustang is one of the few places where I find peace. I guess I could go on some tangent about how my older brothers influenced my love of cars, but I won’t, because it’s not true.

I get cars. I like the feel of them. The sound of them. My mind clears when I’m behind the wheel, and there’s something about the sound of an engine dropping into gear as I press on the gas that makes me feel…powerful.

No fear. No nausea. No brothers to boss me around. No parents to impress. Just me, the gas pedal, and the open road. And a big, fat, fluffy dress that reminds me of a flower. Shifting in this getup was a nightmare.

The fluff from the ball gown pops out of my brother Ethan’s old gym bag and I try to shove the overflowing lace back in as I exit the gas HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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station bathroom. I wind through the aisles and out the automatic doors into the cold winter night. My parents would kill me if they knew I was in the south side of town, but this isn’t my destination. Just a pit stop. The county south of here contains backcountry roads that are flat for several miles. Perfect for maxing out the speedometer.

Two college-age guys in jeans and nice

winter coats chat as one pumps gas into a 2011

Corvette Coupe. She’s impressive. Four

hundred and thirty horses are compacted into that precious V-8 engine, but she’s not as pretty as the older models. Most cars aren’t.

On the opposite side of the pump, I insert my credit card and unscrew the gas cap. My baby only receives the best gas. It may be more expensive, but it treats her engine right.

I suck in a breath, and the cold air feels good in my lungs. My stomach had settled when I left the country club and the nausea rolled away when I turned over the engine. I’d made it through the speech with shaking hands and a trembling voice. When it was over, my mother cried and my father hugged me. That alone was worth the trips into the bathroom beforehand.

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The guys stop talking and I glance over

to see them staring at my baby. “I like your Vet,” I say and decide to test them. “V-8?” Of course it has a V-8, but some guys have no idea what sweet cargo they own under the hood.

The owner nods. “3LT. Got her last week.

Nice Mustang. Is it your boyfriend’s?”

Loaded question. “She’s mine.”

“Nice,” he says again. “Have you ever raced her?”

I shake my head no. It feels strange to talk to guys. I’m the girl who hangs on the periphery.

The other girls who attend the most expensive private school in the state don’t want to discuss cars, and most guys get intimidated when I know more about their cars than they do. When it comes to any other type of conversation, my tongue often becomes paralyzed.

“Would you like to race?” he asks.

Our gas nozzles clink off at the same exact time and my heart flutters in my chest with a mixture of anxiety and adrenaline. I’m not sure if I want to faint or laugh. “Where?”

He inclines his head away from the safety of the freeway and down the four-lane road—

deeper into the south end. I’ve heard rumors of HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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illegal drag races, but I thought they were just that—rumors. “Are you for real?”

“It doesn’t get any more real than where I’d be taking you. Stick with us and we’ll help you get a nice race.”

I have four brothers, and one is the type that mothers warn their daughters against. In other words, I’m not that naive, but to be honest, his proposal intrigues me. But I’m also sure this is how horror movies begin.

Or the best action flicks on the face of the planet.

I scan the guy’s car out of the corner of my eye. A University of Louisville student parking tag hangs on the rearview mirror along with a maroon-and-gold tassel. Only my school has those God-awful colors.

But to be safe… “Where did you go to high school?” I ask.

“Worthington Private,” he says with the

arrogance most guys from my school use when saying the word private.

“I go there.” And I don’t bother hiding my grin.

Neither do they. The car owner continues to be the spokesman for his duo. “What year are HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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you?”

“A junior.”

“We graduated last year.”

“Cool,” I say. Very cool. My brother would be a year behind him, but West has made it his business for people to love him. “Do you know West Young?”

“Yeah.” He brightens. This guy thinks he is so close to scoring. “Do you guys party

together?”

I laugh and I can’t stop myself. “No. He’s my brother.”

Their smiles melt quicker than a snow cone on a summer’s afternoon. “You’re his baby sister?”

“I prefer to be called Rachel. And you are?”

He runs a hand over his face. “Going to get my ass kicked by your brothers. Forget I said anything about racing or that we even saw each other.”

As he inches to his car, I spring over the small concrete barrier. I only meant to make sure the guy would keep his distance, not sprint for Alaska. “Wait. I want to race.”

“Your brothers don’t play around when it

comes to you, and aren’t you supposed to be HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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sickly or something?”

Stupid, stupid brothers and stupid, stupid rumors and stupid, stupid hospital visits when I stupid, stupidly was so panicked my freshman year I had to stay overnight twice. “Obviously the whole sick thing is wrong and if you don’t take me to the drag race, I’ll tell West about tonight.” No, I won’t, but I’ll try bluffing.

Owner Guy looks over at his friend hovering near the passenger door. His friend shrugs. “I bet she’ll keep her mouth shut.”

“I will,” I blurt. “Keep my mouth shut.”

Owner Guy curses under his breath. “One

race.”

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Isaiah

I LEAN AGAINST MY CAR DOOR and assess the group illegally loitering in the parking lot of the abandoned strip mall. Green, blue, and red neon lights frame the bottom of different makes and models. A few of us puritans remain on the streets, refusing to decorate our cars like Christmas trees. The bass line of rap rattles frames and a couple drivers are brave enough to blare the screeching electric guitar of heavy metal.

Clouds cover the sky, leaving all of us in a dark pit. Close to a week after Christmas, the presents have been opened, the turkey dinners have been demolished, and mommies and

daddies are either tucked in bed or sucked into a bottle of Jack. Time for the rats to hit the streets.

“Isaiah!” Eric Hall abandons two girls in HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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short skirts and faux fur jackets and heads for me. Most people underestimate the bleach-blond, skinny son of a bitch, but that mistake could prove lethal for your billfold and your health. On the streets of the south side, this nineteen-year-old is king. “Merry belated Christmas, my brother.”

I accept his outstretched hand and the half hug.

Eric is who I came to see, and if I don’t watch myself, I’ll end up indebted to him. My goal in life is to be free of everyone—foster care, school, social workers. Eric Hall may not be official, but he’s an organization all his own with the street business he created. He even has

“employees”: guys with bats and tire irons that willingly beat the hell out of anyone who doesn’t pay.

He motions to the two giggling girls. “Santa brought me twins and in the spirit of the season, I’m willing to share. That is, if you drive for me tonight.”

This is the reason why I’m here. Noah and I need cash and Eric can make that happen. If I play this right, I’ll rake in money and stay free.

While sucking on a lollipop, the twin with HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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black hair stares at me longer than her

sister. “Ho, ho, ho,” mumbles Eric.

My thoughts exactly and I turn my back to them. I have a bad track record with girls with black hair. “You know I don’t street race.”

Typically, I don’t. Street racing can put my ass in jail and cost me the setup I have with Noah. I have no intention of being placed in juvie or worse—a group home. I race legally at The Motor Yard, but The Motor Yard is closed for the holidays. Tonight will be a one-time deal.

He leans in close as if what he’s saying is a secret. “I’ll give you twenty percent of what I make on top of the Christmas cheer. I’m giving my other boys ten.”

Eric has never offered anyone such a

commission, but if he’s starting off high, maybe he’ll go even higher. “Twenty percent isn’t going to cover my bail if I get arrested.”

“I know you, my brother,” says Eric. “You need speed and I have the need for green. Say yes and you can race my recently acquired suped-up Honda Civic with two full tanks of nitro.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m looking HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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for a one-time race, Eric. That is, if we can come to an understanding.”

The sweet purring of an engine grabs not

only my attention, but that of every hot-

blooded, car-worshiping male in the lot.

Jesus—that’s a 2005 Mustang GT. And unlike the other muscle cars parked on the strip, not a piece of her looks like it’s seen the inside of a body shop.

A flood of male bodies surround the

beautiful pony. I drop back and let the wolves have first crack. A car like this is here for one reason—to race, and any new piece of

machinery has to pass Eric’s inspection.

Someone is going to have to approve the

engine and I have no doubts I’ll be the one caressing that soft underbelly.

The driver shuts down the engine, opens the door, and a halo of sunshine slides out of the car and into the light of the only working streetlamp. Fuck me. God does exist and he sent an angel in a white Mustang to prove it.

Angels are small—at least this one is. She stands barely a foot taller than the top of her car. Her long golden hair curls at the ends and she has a slender frame. Her leather-gloved HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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hand grips the top of her door and she uses the door as a shield between herself and the street rats.

“Nice car.” Like a vulture, Eric slowly

circles her.

“Thanks.” She glances at two guys exiting a Corvette. Those college boys belong here even less than she does. All three of them are easy prey.

The angel tucks her hair behind her ear. “Is this where I can drag race?”

I wince internally at her words. Asking for anything on the streets is a cardinal sin. Asking nicely is basically serving your soul to the devil. God didn’t send this angel to save me.

He sent her as a sacrifice….

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Playlist for Dare You To

Overall theme:

“Dirt Road Anthem” by Jason Aldean

“F**kin’ Perfect” by Pink

Taco Bell dare:

“Summertime” by Kenny Chesney

“U + Ur Hand” by Pink

Beth’s mother in the bar:

“Farmer’s Daughter” by Crystal Bowersox

Beth wakes in Scott’s house:

“Heart Like Mine” by Miranda Lambert

Ryan in town:

“Back Where I Come From” by Kenny

Chesney

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Isaiah offers to run away with Beth:

“Somewhere with You” by Kenny Chesney

Isaiah betrays Beth by taking her away from her mother:

“Hurt” by Nine Inch Nails

Ryan takes Beth to a field party:

“My Kinda Party” by Jason Aldean

Ryan dances with Beth:

“Just a Dream” by Nelly

Beth stays the night with Ryan:

“Don’t You Wanna Stay” by Jason Aldean

and Kelly Clarkson

Beth sings her mother to sleep:

“Free Bird” by Lynyrd Skynyrd

Beth tries to scare Ryan away with the truth:

“Don’t Let Me Get Me” by Pink

Ryan teaches Beth to float:

“Broken Arrow” by Rod Stewart

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Beth and Ryan are briefly happy:

“Teenage Dream” by Katy Perry

Beth’s final showdown with her mother:

“25 to Life” by Eminem

Songs written for Dare You To by Angela McGarry:

“Ribbons and Bows”

“We Weren’t Meant to Be”

Check out the songs at

www.reverbnation.com/AngelaMcGarryMusic

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Q & A with Katie McGarry

What inspired you to write Dare You To ?

In high school, my best friend and I would spend our evenings riding around in her car with the windows rolled down and music

turned up. At some point, we would always find ourselves at a late-night fast-food

restaurant.

Some of the most interesting things in my life happened between bites of greasy food.

Those memories pushed me to write the

opening scene of Dare You To and, from there, Beth and Ryan became full-fledged characters who demanded their story be told.

Your first book, Pushing the Limits , takes place in an urban/suburban setting. What HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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made you decide to set a majority of Dare

You To in a rural environment?

I grew up in a fringe neighborhood south of a large city. While we had a city zip code and all the conveniences of a larger population area, we would run into farmland if we

traveled a few miles south. Because of that, I grew up with a mixture of friends. I knew people who owned lowrider cars with

hydraulics along with guys whose tires on their four-wheel-drive trucks were almost as tall as me.

Beth was definitely a city girl and I liked the idea of shaking up her world by placing her somewhere different. Ryan was then born!

What type of research did you do while writing Dare You To ?

Ever since I’ve known my husband, I’ve

spent a good majority of my Friday nights during the summer up at the ballfield watching him play. It’s amazing to see how a group of guys work, and sometimes don’t work,

together on the field.

I knew immediately that Ryan would play

baseball and while I learned quite a bit from HC TITLE-AUTHOR

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my husband, I wanted to understand

baseball in the context of a teenager chasing a pro career and/or an athletic scholarship. I visited an indoor baseball training facility and was able to talk to trainers there. I also spoke with teens and parents of teens in similar circumstances as Ryan.

Everyone was extremely helpful and their

answers and experiences helped shape the

situations that Ryan faced.

Why did you choose not to have Isaiah and Beth end up together?

What if I told you that when I wrote Pushing the Limits, where they appear as secondary characters, I did see them together? I’m sure no one would be shocked by that answer.

When I began to examine Beth and Isaiah

closely, I realized that in order for them to find peace they needed to be challenged by

someone else. Beth and Isaiah are very similar and Isaiah completely enables Beth’s behavior.

The two of them had a lot to work through, and as I began plotting, I realized they couldn’t grow as individuals as long as they were

together.

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I love Beth and Isaiah as if they are real live people and I truly want them to be happy.

Unfortunately, I just didn’t think they could find true happiness as a romantic couple. Ryan, on the other hand, is Beth’s perfect match.

Beth doesn’t see who she really is and

because Ryan has no history with her, he’s able to see her very clearly. He falls hard for the wonderful person buried deep inside her. Beth holds on to a past she can’t change and Ryan helps her learn how to let the past go and look toward the future.

Now, one of the many wonderful chain

reactions that stemmed from writing Beth with Ryan was the joy of writing Isaiah’s story, Crash Into You. My heart broke several times for Isaiah while writing Dare You To and I can’t tell you how excited I am for my readers to see who Isaiah ends up with and how this will change his life forever.

I promise—you won’t be disappointed!

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