Текст книги "Dare You To"
Автор книги: Katie McGarry
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 25 страниц)
“You’re right,” she sighs. “Give me a sec.”
My hands sweat again and I don’t want any more thoughts of my body lying next to his or visions of his hands on my skin or hope that his smile is for me. I don’t want anyone
touching me anymore. Especially guys that are strong and warm and slightly cute and can make my heart stutter. I try to pull away, but Ryan tightens his grip. “What are you doing?”
“She can’t do it,” I say. “And she shouldn’t have to.”
Ryan studies me for a second. “Yes, she can.
Lacy can do anything she puts her mind to.”
I try to jerk my arms away again, but Ryan’s hold is too tight.
“This is stupid.” Panic floods my brain and makes me feel a little crazy. “All of this is HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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stupid. What’s the stupid point?”
“To learn how to work together as a team
and to put our trust in one another.” Ryan’s voice becomes a calming balm on my panic
until I figure out how much I want to listen.
This isn’t good. Not good at all. Isn’t that how the pied piper worked? Didn’t he play
something soothing and all the rats drowned?
“I’m not a part of your stupid team.”
“I know, but let’s pretend for a few seconds that you are.”
“She’s ready,” says Chris.
A split second later Lacy’s Nikes are inches from my face. Resting safely in our hands, Lacy laughs. “That was great. Let’s do it again.”
Ryan releases me and helps the guys lower Lacy to her feet. I step back and try to rub any trace of Ryan off onto my clothes. I don’t want strong hands holding my arms. I don’t want to be part of a team, and I sure as hell don’t have to prove anything by jumping off a ledge.
“You’re next, Beth,” Ryan says.
“No.” The word comes out automatically.
“You’re going to have to go sometime, so
let’s do it now.”
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“I swear it’s not that bad.” Lacy flies to my side. “At first I was like ‘no way’ and then Ryan was like ‘You can’ and then I thought ‘I can’t’ and then I thought ‘These guys would never drop me’ and I was like ‘Okay’ and then I did it and it was such a rush.”
Logan and Chris warily look at me. They’d drop me. Just like Ryan would definitely drop me. “What type of game are you playing?” I ask of Ryan.
He narrows his eyes. “What?”
“You used Lacy to lure me over here. Was
your plan to make me believe I could trust you and then drop me so everyone can laugh?”
With each word, my voice becomes higher and my heart pounds faster in my chest.
Ryan shakes his head. “No.”
I turn on my heel and head to the locker
room. I’ll claim cramps and blood and periods and tampons and keep saying words like
menstruation until the teacher lets me out of class. Right on the verge of entering the locker room, Ryan’s large figure looms in front of me.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Go away,” I say.
He points at me. “You are a part of this team HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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and you will help us until this task is done.”
“No,” I bite out. “I’m not part of your
perfect team.”
“Get back over there.”
“Here’s the beauty of living in America. You can’t make me do a damn thing.” I slam my body into his and enter the safety of the locker room.
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Ryan
COACH KNOX MADE US hit the locker rooms
early and I rushed to get dressed. Beth will be one of the first girls out since she was the first in. Me and her—we have unfinished business.
She left my team in a bind plus she ruined my plan to ask her out.
At the top of the wooden bleachers, she sits by herself with her back against the cinder-block wall and her legs stretched out. Her black hair rests behind her shoulders and she types into a cell phone with her thumbs. A small smile curves her lips. There’s a look about Beth, one I haven’t seen
before…something almost peaceful.
Scaling the bleachers, I take the rows two at a time. The hollow thumping of my steps
echoes in the empty gym. Beth snaps the phone shut and shoves it in her back pocket. The HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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small smile and peacefulness fade as she
officially extracts the claws. “Aren’t you popular people supposed to be gracing the masses with your presence in the locker room, leaving us losers to hide in peace?”
“We need to talk.”
“Well, I want to be alone.”
Noted, but her being alone won’t help me
win the dare. “This is going to be a long year if you keep pushing everyone away. I can help you fit in, you know.”
In a slow, sexy motion, Beth slides her silky hair behind her ear. “I see. You’re into charity work. Admirable, but I think I’ll pass.”
How she does it, I don’t know, but she has this hypnotizing sway and seductive voice that can make me forget for a few seconds why I don’t like her. Then my brain replays her snide comments. Ignoring my admiration of her body and that I love the sound of her voice, I sit on the row below her.
Beth flutters her fingers in the air. “Go on,”
she says as if she was talking to a dog. “Shoo.”
Play it cool. I’ve done it plenty of times. Pull out the charm. Overlook the fact she dismissed me when I asked her to hang with me during HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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gym. Pretend I didn’t have to resort to using Lacy in order to accomplish my goal. Repeat over and over again that I don’t care that she left a team depending on her. “You look nice.”
She glances at her outfit: black pants—
stylish, form-fitting—and another white
button-down shirt, except this one has puffed sleeves. Definitely not the style she wore when I first met her. On Gwen, those clothes would look like they came out of a fashion show. On Beth…it makes me miss the jeans with holes.
“Nice for a clown in a traveling circus. What angle are you playing?”
For her to give me a damn break. “Go out
with me.”
“Are you trying to snag the niece to impress Scott or a fuck to impress your friends?”
A muscle in my jaw jumps and her all-
seeing eyes catch it. I’ve come to detest that wicked grin. Be nice. Even if she isn’t. Getting mad won’t help me win her over. Plus, she’s not far off the mark. “There’s a field party Friday night. It would be a good chance to meet people instead of blowing them off.”
She leans in and I inhale the distinct scent of roses. “I’ll let you in on a secret. I kind of HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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enjoy blowing people off. It goes well with my attitude of this-school-can-eat-shit-and-die.”
What the hell is wrong with this girl?
Beth relaxes back onto the bleacher. “I’ll ask again, what’s the game, Jock Boy?”
“No game,” I say too quickly and try to slow it down. The door to the locker rooms opens and I hear laughter as people enter the gym. I have seconds to impress her before the
bleachers fill. “You’re pretty, Beth.” Suddenly it’s hard to look at her. She is pretty. More than pretty. I stare at my shoes. Get a grip, Ryan.
She’s a dare.
“I’m pretty?” Beth raises her voice and I glimpse the other students climbing the
bleachers and taking their seats. Their chatter stops and they watch the two of us. This is not how this moment is supposed to go.
“I’m pretty,” she repeats loud enough for the entire gym to hear. The evil sparkle in her eye informs me that she’s enjoying the social lynching. “Is that the best line you can come up with? Let’s fast-forward this entire
conversation so you can stop wasting my
time.” She holds up the palm of her hand and HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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even though the word is gone, I still see my defeat: can’t.
Tim Richardson imitates the whistle of a
bomb dropping from the sky and uses his
hands to create the explosion. “Crash and burn, Ry. Good to hear that the new girl has some standards. When you’re done playing with the ballplayer, Beth, you can come play with me.”
“Back off, Tim,” I say in a low, clear
warning. If Tim wants to cut me down—fine, but he leaves Beth out of it. Girls will be treated with respect.
“Don’t pretend you’re trying to defend me.”
Beth’s eyes narrow. “You’re pissed off that I’m not falling at your feet in worship like the rest of this pathetic school.”
More laughter from the crowd. Idiots. She also put them down.
“You can’t keep up,” she whispers. “Stay the hell away from me.”
Screw this. I can do anything.
Coach Knox blows his whistle and the entire class turns to face him. “Last order of business for the day. We need one senior girl and one senior guy nominated for the homecoming
court. We’ll start with guys.”
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Several hands rise. I can’t keep up? She’s so wrong.
“Raise your hand if you want Tim
Richardson.” Coach nods with each hand he counts.
I’m the king at this school. I can win any dare, any time. Win any game. If she wants to play, we’ll play. She doesn’t want the world to know she’s Scott Risk’s niece. Skater Girl humiliated me and she’s about to learn that turnabout is fair play.
“Now for the girls,” says Coach.
My hand rises in the air at the same time as everyone else’s, but I’m not giving anybody else the opportunity to supply another name.
“Beth Risk.”
Hands drop. All gazes flicker between me
and Beth. Her feet fall off the seat, one right after another—clomp, clomp. “What did you say?”
“Did you say Risk?” asks Tim. “As in Scott Risk? As in the baseball god who just moved back to our town?”
A wave of whispers crashes among the
students sitting on the bleachers, Beth’s name the topic of each hushed conversation. Ignoring HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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Tim, I face Beth. Her blue eyes blaze like twin flames from a blowtorch. Who’s not
keeping up now? “I nominate you, Beth Risk, for homecoming court.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “You can’t.”
“Yes.” I love winning. “I can.”
“I second it,” says Gwen with a bright smile plastered on her face, and red flags rise. She’s wanted the homecoming crown since she was three.
Beth jerks up and stamps her foot against the bleacher like a toddler throwing a fit. “No, you can’t. Nominate yourself.”
“It’s okay,” says Gwen, “I was already
nominated in first and second period.”
“So was I.” I waggle my eyebrows at Beth.
“We could walk on the field together. Won’t that be fun?”
Beth stands completely still, mouth slightly slack, her hands held out to her sides with her fingers spread. I finally nailed the girl who’s been nailing me for weeks.
Coach Knox claps his hands to get our
attention. “All in favor of adding Beth to the football homecoming court raise their hands.”
With every eye on Beth, the entire class
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raises their hands. Everyone except for
Lacy. Her stare burns holes through me, but she keeps her mouth shut.
“All opposed,” says Coach Knox.
“Me,” Beth yells. I smile. I love winning.
“Congratulations,” Coach Knox says in a
bored voice. “You’re on the homecoming
court.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you people?”
Coach Knox points at her. “Take a seat and watch your language.”
The bell rings. Beth grabs her backpack and leans into my face. “You are so fucking dead.”
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Beth
ARROGANT BOY—he’s going down. Blah. It’s
aggravating the way they worship him. Ryan this. Ryan that. Ryan’s a god. Ryan’s a
goddamn moron. I’ve met guys like him
before. Hell, I screwed one. Rather, one
screwed me over. I’m not a stupid little girl anymore and I will no longer fall for things that look pretty.
Our Calculus teacher, with teased eighties hair, peers at us over her gigantic glasses.
“When I call your name, come to the front and write out your work on the board.” She scans the class. “Morgan Adams, Sarah Janes, Gwen Gardner, and Beth Risk.”
The back of my head hits the wall behind
me. Damn. This is Scott’s fault. The stupid guidance counselor told Scott I couldn’t keep up in this class, but Scott insisted I be placed in HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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the honors program. Scott explained to me later that night, over the tofu and green crap his wife insisted on calling dinner, that he was raising my expectations of myself.
“So, it’s true,” someone says from the front of class. “Your last name is Risk.”
Clank. Clank. The sound of the chains
squeezing my lungs echoes in my head. Since Ryan’s little performance in Gym, the entire school has whispered as I pass and this time it isn’t because I’m the school freak. No, they whisper for reasons way worse. Their envious, judging eyes survey me because they want to know me—or rather, my uncle.
“Are you related to Scott Risk?” asks a girl with short brown hair.
Everyone in the class watches me. My hands start to sweat.
“Ms. Risk?” prods our teacher. I’m not sure what she’s prodding me on: that I’m the only one who hasn’t come to the front or because I haven’t answered the question. I stare at my empty notebook. Panic pushes my heart past my rib cage. What do I do?
My teacher’s lips edge into a cheesy grin.
“Why don’t you go ahead and satisfy the
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curiosity of your fellow classmates.” On the first day of school, Scott met privately with my teachers to “ensure I was in the best possible hands.” The witch flirted with Scott until he gave her an autograph. She probably has his face tattooed on her ass.
Sweat forms along the hairline on my neck as the world sways. It’s been too much: the changes. Losing Mom. Losing Isaiah. Losing my home. I’ve tried. Really I have. I’ve
roamed the halls as the reclusive freak show.
This answer will change everything again.
“Yes.”
Whispers and comments rush through the
class like wind from an oncoming
thunderstorm. Our teacher becomes
uncharacteristically cheery. “I’m sure Beth would love to answer your questions about her uncle outside of class. Now, Ms. Risk, would you please come and write out your solution to today’s equation?”
“No,” I say without thinking. No to both of her statements. I’m not answering anyone’s questions and I’m not writing out a solution.
My reply silences the class.
“Excuse me?” she asks.
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I look at my blank sheet again. There is
no way in hell I’m going to that dry-erase board and have the entire school witness the niece of the great Scott Risk fail because I’m an idiot. “I’m not writing out my solution.”
The bell rings and my teacher’s expression gives new meaning to the term wrathful. A couple more pounds of chains settle in my stomach. I’ve gone and done it—I’ve broken Scott’s rules in a very public fashion. How could I do this to Mom?
“Ms. Risk,” she calls from her desk as the rest of the class files out. I go, knowing the level of shit I’m in is too deep for her to allow an audience. “Let’s discuss a few rules.”
She “discusses” for a long time, and when she finally lets me go, I race down the stairs.
Scott made it perfectly clear I was never to miss my bus. The idling buses greet me
through the window when I reach the bottom floor. I have seconds before they leave.
A high-pitched whistle catches my attention.
Ryan leans against the last locker with a shit-eating smirk on his face. He lifts his right hand and shows me his palm. Written there is the word that makes me want to vomit: can.
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The buses roll out of the lot. Ryan
withdraws his hand, and strides out the door.
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Ryan
DEEP, THROATY LAUGHTER fills the school’s weight room when Chris rips off the Kick Me sign Logan planted on his back. The laughter grows when Chris wads the paper up, throws it at Logan, and flips him off.
“All right, girls.” Coach bangs his hand
against one of the lockers to gain our attention.
“I’ve got this week’s study hall list.”
The laughter switches to groaning. Coach is serious about our grades. Each week he pesters our teachers for a progress report and if he sees our grades slightly teeter, we end up in after-school tutoring. I wipe my hands on a towel and prepare to lie back to finish my reps. I’m no Logan, but I keep my grades at a decent level.
“Allen, Niles, and Jones.”
Chris tilts his head back and moans. “Damn HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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science.”
I snap the towel at him. “Have fun.” Nothing can lower this mood. I finally got the better of Beth. And it’s about damn time. No one has bested me this long.
“Screw you, Ryan.” Without another glance, Chris leaves the room.
“Stone!” calls Coach.
“Yeah?”
Coach stares at me oddly and hitches a
thumb in the direction Chris just went. “Study hall.”
“For what?” My grades are fine.
He shrugs. “Your English teacher requested you.”
Back talk will get me push-ups or laps, so I suck up any commentary and head out of the room and down the empty hallways. When I
finally reach study hall, I’m immediately greeted by Chris’s chuckles. He leans back in his chair, ignoring the science book in front of him. “My life just got better.”
If it weren’t for the tutors and teachers in the room, I’d tell him where to shove it.
“Over here, Ryan.” Mrs. Rowe waves at me
as if I’m across a stadium. Her hair has a green HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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tint today. I acknowledge her with a
movement of my chin and walk over to her
desk.
I slide into the chair next to her. “I passed the quiz and I’ve turned in my papers.”
Her hand flutters in the air. “Oh, you’re not here because of your grades.”
My eyes narrow as my muscles tighten.
“Then why am I here?”
She shuffles through a stack of papers,
searching for something. Possibly her mind.
“Your coach said we could request you for any academic reason. It doesn’t have to be a bad reason. Stop being so pessimistic.”
Pessimistic? “I’m missing weight training.”
“So you are,” she says as she pulls my
George the zombie tale out of the stack. “You haven’t turned in your paperwork for the
writing competition. What you should be
worried about is missing your opportunity at a college scholarship. If you win this
competition, you’ll receive money toward any Kentucky school of your choice. It’s not a full scholarship, but it’s something.”
“I’m not going to college,” I say plainly.
She freezes and stares at me as if I’d
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announced her impending death. “Why
not?”
I gesture at my shirt. Is this lady for real?
“I’m a ballplayer. I’m going to play ball.”
“You can play ball at college. Ryan.…” She falters, then places my story in front of me.
“This is the most magnificent piece of writing I’ve seen from a high school student. Ever.
Have you considered that you’re more than a ballplayer?”
My mouth opens to respond, but absolutely nothing comes out and that shocks me into closing it. My mind’s blank. I’m a ballplayer. A damn good one. Isn’t that enough?
“Did you even read the information I gave you about the state competition? For three years I’ve watched you obsess over winning.
Aren’t you interested in winning this too?”
I say nothing as my face reddens. Mrs.
Rowe just called me out and she has a right to.
I didn’t read the paperwork. I haven’t even considered the competition since the other night when she first told me I finaled.
“I have a feeling you enjoyed writing this.
It’s too good for you not to have.”
She’s right again. I did enjoy it. Finding HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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those words, being in George’s head…I
stare down at the printed-out pages…it felt freeing. Just like when I step on the pitcher’s mound before the game and the pressure
begins. The moment when it’s just me, a ball, and a mitt to throw into.
And he wondered what
happened to the world around
him. Did it also collapse into
chaos? Had everything ceased
to exist as it was, just like how his life spiraled into
nothingness? Or had the rest of
the world continued on like
normal, because in the end his
position within it never really
mattered?
The words I wrote glare at me in accusation.
A nagging ache pulls at my insides. I’m proud of those words and denying the competition is like denying part of me. In front of my
computer, there were no secrets, no
complications—just a world that I could
control.
“In order to be considered for the award,”
Mrs. Rowe continues, “you need to complete a short story and turn it in a week prior to the HC TITLE-AUTHOR
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event. Your attendance is still required that day, however, as that’s when you’ll get
critiques of your work and meet with faculty members from universities across the state. It’s one day. Just one Saturday.”
I hear my dad in my head. “I have games
Saturdays.” And I glance over at Chris, who’s eyeing me warily. How much of this
conversation can he hear? “My team’s
depending on me.”
She pats the pages resting in front of me.
“Let’s start off small, okay? Turn this four-page beginning into a true short story. I can yank you out of every weight training, or you can promise me that you’ll write it in your free time at home. The choice is yours.”
And it’s a no-brainer. “I’ll do it in my free time.”
“Good.” Her eyes light up. “But I’m still keeping you for the next hour. I want you to get started now.”
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