Dare (20 page)

“Honey,” her mother said, rapping on the door before poking her head in.

“Teddy's here.”

“Right.” Her mother's smile faltered. “You didn't tell us the dance was this weekend.” She looked Brynna up and down. “Did you forget?”

Truthfully, Brynna had. But she also had no reason to think about it, since her friends weren't speaking to her. “Why is Teddy here?”

“I'm assuming to pick you up for your date. He's wearing a tuxedo and he has a corsage and everything.”

Brynna could see that absolute joy in her mother's eyes, and guilt stabbed at her.
She
probably
thinks
I'm all better,
Brynna thought sadly.
She
probably
thinks
I'm normal again.

“Can you send Teddy up here, just for a second?”

Her mother raised a brow but nodded, and a few seconds later, Teddy was standing in her doorway.

He looked handsome, his rented suit midnight black and pressed to razor-sharp edges. His hair was pushed back—enough to look like he'd made an effort, but not so much that he looked like he was trying—and Brynna grinned without meaning to.

“What are you doing here?”

Teddy held up the corsage. “Uh, going to homecoming, I thought.”

“You still want to go with me?”

He glanced down at the carpet and kicked softly. “You told me you didn't make those flyers and I believe you. You told me that it wasn't you who outed Evan and I believe you.” He dropped his voice. “I can't believe that you won't let me go to the police about the person you think is stalking you…”

Brynna pumped her head, hoping to drop the subject.

“So are we going or not?” Teddy asked.

“Let me just get dressed.”

Teddy went back downstairs while Brynna raced into the shower, giddiness flipping her stomach. She didn't pause to think about Erica, to breathe deeply through the belting water. She didn't think about anything but Teddy and her and homecoming, until she went for the garment bag in her closet, unzipped it, and stopped.

It was still Erica's dress.

In all the fuss, her mother hadn't returned it. Brynna hadn't thought about it.

There was nothing else in her closet except hoodies and jeans, so Brynna slid the dress from the bag and closed her eyes.

“I'm sorry, Erica,” she muttered. “I'm so, so sorry.”

She stepped into the blue dress, the mounds of frothy fabric swirling around her. The bodice—tight, sparkly—fit her exactly the way all of Erica's other dresses fit her—slightly tight across the bust, a few inches shorter than she was comfortable with. She blew out a shaky breath, feeling heat surge through her. This wasn't just like Erica's dress. It
was
Erica's dress.

Brynna's parents took the requisite paparazzi photos of Teddy and her, and Brynna tried to feel comfortable in Erica's dress. Teddy complimented her, and all she could do was smile thinly and nod, thinking of Erica, thinking of the way she held the dress in front of her and twirled.

“It's incredible, right? It's, like, the color of the ocean.”

They
were
in
Erica's room with the lights on and the radio softly playing. Brynna's hair was in a sloppy ponytail, and one eye was dressed with a sparkly, smoky eye shadow while the other waited for the next look Erica wanted to practice. All at once, Erica stopped dancing and Brynna felt her hackles go up, her skin tightening.

“Did you hear that?” she asked Erica.

Erica
went
to
the
window, squinting into the blackness outside. She yanked the cord and the blinds came crashing down. “It's probably my creepy stepbrother. He's been lurking around.”

Brynna
stared, wide-eyed. “Christopher? Isn't he, like, twenty-five?”

Erica
nodded. “Something like that. And he's not supposed to be within eight hundred feet of here.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He's got some crazy obsession, Brynnie.” Erica pushed her hair back over her shoulder and twirled again in the mirror. “So, how do I look?”

A shock wave zipped through Brynna and she straightened. She had forgotten that night, buried it back under memories of the beach, that night, the dare.

Erica had a stepbrother.

“Are you okay, Bryn?”

Teddy cocked his head to look at her, his ice-blue eyes catching the streetlights in the darkened car. She studied him, suspicion crashing over her as she scrutinized.

No,
Brynna thought to herself.
That's ridiculous
—unless Teddy was almost thirty, pretending to be a kid.

“It's nothing,” she said hastily, shaking her head. “I'm just looking forward to going to the dance.”

The Hawthorne High School parking lot was packed, but Teddy found a spot near the back. He killed the engine and the car fell into silence. Brynna went for the door, but he stopped her with a hand on her forearm.

“Wait.”

The soft touch and gentle tone of Teddy's voice should have made Brynna swoon, but instead, her blood ran cold, every cell on high alert. She stared longingly at the blue-black concrete outside of the passenger-side window and slowly turned to Teddy, pressing her palms together so he wouldn't see her hands shaking.

Not
Teddy!
She instructed herself.
Act
normal!

“What?”

Teddy's lips pressed up into that half smile that Brynna used to find so endearing, but in the darkness of the car and with her blood pulsing in her ears, she suddenly found off-putting.

Still smiling, he undid his seat belt and twisted around in his seat, fumbling with something behind his chair. Brynna's heart started to pound, and she cut her eyes back to the car door.

“This.” Teddy righted himself in his seat and presented Brynna the coffin-shaped plastic box he had carried into her house. A tiny white spray of baby roses and electric green fern was nestled in iridescent shredded paper in the back of the box, and Brynna grinned, feeling sheepish. He popped open the box and slid the corsage over Brynna's wrist.

“Sorry,” he said as he straightened it. “I thought you said you were going to wear a white dress.”

Brynna glanced down at the corsage and grinned at Teddy, pecking a quick kiss on his lips.

“Now we're ready to dance!”

•••

The Hawthorne High School gym was draped with tulle and twinkle lights, and rented silk plants spilled between fake pillars and spires. The look would have been magical if suspicion and fear weren't still thrumming through Brynna's veins.

She tried to brush everything off and just be happy for the moment, but she heard every sound, every person creeping through the darkened gym. Were they watching her?

“Are you cold or something?” Teddy asked after they'd finished their first slow dance.

“Why would you say that?”

He ran the back of his fingers over Brynna's bare arms, the touch so soft and sensual that Brynna forgot what she was supposed to be afraid of. “You have goose bumps.” He held her a tiny bit closer. “And you've been shaking.”

Teddy clasped his hands behind Brynna's back and pulled her toward him, her chest crushing up against his. She couldn't move, but she liked the feeling of being cared for, that someone was holding her near enough that nothing bad could happen. For just a millisecond, she was able to let her guard down, to melt into Teddy's warmth, to listen to the powerful, steady beat of his heart against her.

“This is nice,” she murmured.

She felt him nod then rest his chin on the top of her head. “You don't have to be afraid, Bryn. I'm never going to hurt you.”

Brynna wished she could believe that, but his saying it stiffened her spine again and she was filled with ice. She broke the embrace and stepped away. “I'm going—I think I'm going to get some punch now.”

She left Teddy standing, dumbfounded, in the middle of the dance floor while she went to the refreshment table, swishing a paper cup through the bowl of ice-cold punch. She took a big glug, and the second the liquid passed her lips and went coursing down her throat, she knew exactly what it was: spiked.

The alcohol hit her stomach with an enveloping warmth, and Brynna tipped the cup again, finishing it in a second gulp. She glanced across the gym to where Teddy was standing, watching her, hands in pockets. He turned when Darcy approached him. She dipped her cup in a second time and finished that serving, focusing her eyes on the swirls of light in front of her. She took a step and smiled as she felt the booze work its way through her system—nothing really, just a comforting little blur as she stepped.

She spied Evan in the corner and paused, sucking in a breath. Their eyes locked, and his were cold and dark. Every time Brynna turned, someone else was turning their back to her. She slugged her cup through the punch again and closed her eyes.

When she opened them, Erica was sliding out of the gym, her dress—the exact same one that Brynna was wearing—shimmering under the disco lights.

“No,” Brynna murmured to herself. “Erica is dead.”

But the crash of the door crashed Brynna to reality and she dropped her empty cup, shoving past the couples on the dance floor, making her way toward the door.

“Bryn, wait!”

She vaguely heard Teddy call to her, vaguely felt his fingertips brush across her bare skin.

She needed to find Erica.

She was groping blindly through the darkened hall, unsure which direction Erica had gone but somehow certain too. Something drove her forward, and she stumbled over her own feet, mumbling.

“Erica, please come back!”

Brynna's words were slurring and her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. Her whole body broke into a cold sweat, the stiff fabric of the dress itching against her moist skin. Behind her, she heard the double doors smack shut as Teddy came into the hallway, calling out for her again.

“Brynna!”

The edges of his words were blurred and seemed to bounce off the locker-lined walls around her. Brynna stumbled and blinked, trying to bring the hallways into focus, but the linoleum, the lockers, the cheerleader-made GO! FIGHT! WIN! posters swirled and fish-eyed around her. Her head felt like it was in a vise grip, and everything around her seemed bigger, brighter, and sharper. She could smell the scent of seawater on the air. She pushed forward and, catching her heel, crashed to her knees in the hall. The faint glimmer from the emergency lights caught it before Brynna did: the faint, wet outline of a footprint.

Brynna pressed herself to her feet, hearing the tear of her skirt as she stepped on the hem. She hunched and squinted, following the line of footprints.

Her head was pounding a painful rhythm now, and her stomach was doubling in on itself. Her limbs ached, and the sweat was dribbling from her forehead, stinging her eyes. But she couldn't stop. She had to follow every footstep. She had to find Erica.

She rounded the corner and slowed as the enormous double doors that closed off the indoor pool swam in front of her. She reached her hands forward and pressed on until she gripped the handles, feeling a horrifying tremor shoot through her when the doors didn't move. They were locked.

She could feel her temperature ratchet up, and she knew that something was desperately wrong. She went to the window and cupped her hands, her stomach going to liquid.

The light was on in the Olympic-sized pool, a watery yellow spreading down the length of the gently lapping water. It glistened on the edges of a girl, creating fairylike sparkles on her long, black hair as it fanned around her head while she floated facedown in the water.

“Erica!”

Brynna pounded on the glass and yanked on the doors but nothing happened. The girl still floated effortlessly, her body buoyant, her limbs pale-colored under the water. When Brynna leaned in harder, she noticed that Erica was wearing a dress—a green dress with ruching and pick-ups, and the glinting color underneath her black tresses was a bright, cherry red.

“Lauren!”

“Brynna!” Teddy rounded the corner and stopped short, his eyes wide as she struggled against the door, pounding, desperate.

“Teddy, it's Lauren! She's in there! She's in the pool!” Brynna tried to form the words but it took effort. Her mouth felt numb and her head felt tight. Teddy's image wobbled, and she spread her feet to try to steady herself. When she blinked, Darcy was there too, and Evan.

“Lauren?”

Lauren walked around the corner then, her face screwed up in confusion as she took Brynna in.

Brynna took a step backward and pressed her palm to her forehead. “I don't—I don't—”

She glanced back through the windows toward the indoor pool and gripped the door. It was black beyond the window. There were no lights, no pool, no glistening body floating peacefully. It was just…blackness.

“I think I need to sit down now.”

Teddy rushed to her side just in time for Brynna's knees to wobble then finally give out. She sat down hard on the cool linoleum and heard someone chuckle in front of her. When she looked up, most of her class was in front of her, gathered just beyond Darcy and Lauren and Evan who were giving her disgusted looks.

“Dude, that girl is trashed!” someone muttered.

“Wasted!” someone agreed.

“No.” Brynna shook her head, pressing her palms against her temples. “I didn't drink. I don't drink anymore.”

“You don't have to lie, Brynna,” Darcy said, her white satin shoes just inches from Brynna.

“No.”

“Excuse me, excuse me.”

Brynna looked up when Mr. Fallbrook pushed through the stream of students. They split, making way for him, and he crouched down in front of Brynna. She stared at his hand splayed on his knee, at the fat class ring that was on his finger. It mesmerized her.

“Are you okay, Brynna?”

Brynna felt Teddy's arm tighten around her, and though she wanted to answer, the darkness was closing in. Shadows nipped at her periphery, and the sounds of students backing up and disappearing was fading too.

“She's fine, Mr. F. Please?”

An exchange took place but Brynna couldn't follow it. Her eyes felt so heavy and everything was taking such effort. Just breathing, blinking—it was exhausting. She rested her head against Teddy's shoulder and gripped the lapels of his jacket.

“Teddy,” she said, her lips feeling dry and chapped. “Teddy, I want to go home now.”

She felt someone else reach out for her, and when she looked, she was able to make out Mr. Fallbrook's face. He was looking back and forth with a slightly panicked grimace, and voices buzzed around her, slowed, stretched out, like her iPod on its last battery leg.

Out of nowhere, a wave of terror shot through Brynna and she rolled onto her knees.

“Lauren?”

Lauren knelt in front of her and Brynna tried to focus. “You were in the water,” she said in a heavy whisper. “I saw you in the water.”

“No, Brynna, I wasn't.” Lauren drew nearer, her lips against Brynna's ear. “Brynna, what happened to you? What are you on?”

“I think I should call her parents.” Mr. Fallbrook's stern voice was unusually focused, and Brynna looked toward it.

“Please, Mr. F, she's okay. She just had a little too much to drink.”

“The punch,” Brynna mumbled. “There was something in the punch.”

Her head continued the drumbeat, and stars shot bright light in front of her eyes. “Booze and something else.”

“She doesn't look—”

“Olivia Shea is throwing up in the gym.”

Brynna looked toward the voice and started. “Evan?”

He looked down at her, something in his eyes. Mr. Fallbrook paused then leaned into Teddy and Brynna. “You two wait here. I'll be right back.”

The second Mr. Fallbrook disappeared around the corner, Brynna felt her head and shoulders being swept up and her stiff legs being lifted. Her head flopped to the side and she looked at Evan.

“You're helping me?” she asked, using everything she had left to move her lips.

Evan didn't answer, but he didn't move his hand from her calf where it was resting.

•••

The room was dark when Brynna opened her eyes. She was uncomfortable, pinned down by a heavy duvet and blankets, her body aching with even the most miniscule of movements. She blinked and tried to make out shapes in the darkness, finally pushing herself up to sitting. She sucked in a nervous breath and pressed her hands up against her chest when she realized she was wearing a strappy tank top she didn't recognize. Suddenly, the light flicked on and she blinked repeatedly, pressing a palm in front of her face to block out the light.

“Brynna?”

Darcy was in front of her in a pair of extra-baggy flannel pajama bottoms and a tank that matched Brynna's. Her homecoming makeup was still on and her sparkly, smoky doe eyes looked out of place with her muted lips and sloppy hairdo.

“Where am I?”

“You're at my place. Evan, Lauren, and Teddy are downstairs. We didn't want to take you home—we didn't want you to get in trouble.”

“You didn't? Why? I—I thought you all hated me.”

Darcy let out a deep breath. “It took some convincing to get Evan and Lauren to come around. Teddy said you swore you didn't do it. And besides, you looked so pitiful tonight…”

“The punch.” Brynna's throat was achingly dry and her words were hoarse. Darcy came to the bedside and opened a bottle of water, handing it to Brynna.

“It was Meatball.”

Brynna drank half the bottle. “Meatball?”

“He spiked the punch. A whole weird concoction of stuff—booze, drugs. Fallbrook called the police.”

“Did he call my parents too?”

Darcy shook her head, her arms threaded in front of her chest. “Evan texted them. They know you're here.”

Brynna paused, playing with the cap from her bottle. “Did you tell them about Erica?”

Darcy sat softly on the edge of the bed and smoothed the duvet over Brynna's feet. “I didn't tell them anything, Bryn. There's nothing to tell.”

Brynna nodded, her eyes locking on Darcy's. She wanted to believe her friend, but there was something dark, something nagging on the periphery. Something that Brynna knew she should pay attention to, but the fog of the dance, the punch, was too much, and she couldn't make it out.

“Thanks,” she said simply. “For everything.”

When Brynna went home, her parents were seated at the kitchen table, her dad silently reading a newspaper, her mom in her funky bifocals, sketching absently on the edge of her napkin.

Her father looked up first, and for a split second, the world hung, suspended. Brynna waited for the drug test to be slid across the table or for her packed suitcase to be handed to her as they took her back to Woodbriar. Her stomach lurched though there was nothing in it; she had been throwing up all morning at Darcy's house. Her lips were cracked and parched and her throat was bone dry.

“So,” her father said, setting down his newspaper. “How was it?”

Brynna blinked, waiting for the snarl.

“The dance?” she asked meekly.

Her mother dropped her pencil and pushed out the empty chair next to her. “Well, come on, don't keep us in suspense!”

“Your mother and I were very happy to receive your text. Thank you for being so responsible, hon.”

Brynna touched her cell phone in her pocket and slid into the chair her mother offered. Under the table, she searched her text log to see a text she never sent:

Going
to
spend
the
night
at
Darcy's house. You have her parents' number if you want to check with them. That OK?

Her hackles went up and she pressed her fingers to her forehead. Was she so messed up she forgot she sent the text?
No
, she thought.
Evan. Darcy said he sent the text.
The night came back to her in painful blips and pieces.

“Bryn?”

“Sorry,” she yawned. “I'm just tired. Darcy and I stayed up talking half the night.”

“Well, you've got a couple hours before we have to go if you want to take a little cat nap.”

Brynna stiffened. “Where are we going?”

Her parents exchanged a glance, and the hint of joviality was gone. “Today is Erica's memorial, sweetheart. Did you forget?”

Brynna fought a grimace. “No, I didn't forget.”

•••

Brynna stared into her closet, her fingers walking over her hangers as she looked at the same bunch of clothes over and over again. Her homecoming dress—or Erica's dress—was draped over the back of the chair. She glanced at it once before shoving it into the depths with a slight shudder.

What had happened at the dance?

She sat back on her bed and tried to replay the events: the dance itself, the first swig of punch. She remembered the bitter taste of the punch. She stood up again and started to pace, trying to put the flimsy, shadowy pieces together. There were other people at the table. Were they drinking? Who else saw Erica? Who else was there?

She remembered, vaguely, Meatball standing by the bowl when she took the first cup.

Was
he
trying
to
poison
me?

Brynna gulped and pulled Meatball—whose real name was Steven Thomson—and his phone number up in the Hawthorne High registry. She dialed and counted the rings until Meatball answered, his voice groggy with sleep.

“Yeah?”

She cleared her throat. “Steven?”

“Who's this?” He sounded slightly more awake.

“It's Brynna. From school? From the dance?”

There was a long pause, and Brynna thought Meatball was going to hang up on her. Then, “Yeah? What do you want?”

“I know you spiked the punch last night.”

He kind of did a snorty little laugh that made Brynna's skin crawl. “Yeah, I spiked it. The booze was my idea. The drugs—”

“So there were drugs.”

“For you, yeah.”

Cold steel shot through Brynna's whole body. “What do you mean, for me?”

“I was doing a favor. The money was good. You're fine. No harm, no foul, right? My man Teddy have a good time?”

Horror sickened Brynna's stomach as tears swelled before her eyes. “Teddy paid you to put something in my punch?”

“Look, whaddya want? You want another hit?”

“No, of course not. Teddy bought a hit from you and told you it was for me?”

“Nah, it wasn't Teddy, it was a chick. That other chick.”

Brynna was reeling.
“…it was a chick.”
Her lips trembled and she wrapped an arm around herself, trying to stop the tremor. “Did she have long black hair?”

“I'm not a freakin' hairdresser. Are you ordering or what?”