Dare Me (26 page)

She answers, wearing an outfit that accentuates her breasts in a way that forces me to stare.

“I guess I’ve gotten your attention.” Chantel takes my coat.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry.” I’m blushing.

“Don’t be.” She takes my hand and walks me into the living room. She has a fire roaring in her gas fireplace and champagne on ice on the coffee table.

We sit on the leather and I feel like it’s trying to hug me. Chantel leans against my side. “Ben, I’m sorry things have been so crazy. I hope you haven’t given up on
us
.”

I don’t know what to say, because I have, but then again, I’m here. “I haven’t.”

“Good.” She kisses me on the lips and bounces to the champagne. After popping the bottle, she pours two glasses and hands me one. “We should toast. You do it.”

“I don’t really know what to say. Here’s to whatever the future may hold.”

Chantel frowns. “Ben, that’s too dark. It should be light and fun. Here.” She kneels on the couch. “You do the same.” I do, and now we’re face-to-face and I’m so uncomfortable and it has nothing to do with the couch.

“Let’s link arms. It’s adorable.”

We do and I’m pressed into her now, the effervescence of the champagne fizzing beneath my lips and her staring into my eyes. I could give in to this. She is beautiful and this is undoubtedly the most romantic thing I have ever done. But . . .

“To us,” she says and I have no choice but to drink. She leans in, her sweet breath on my face. “Kiss me, Ben.”

I open my mouth, to kiss, to speak, but I see him, the man from the mall, and not in my mind, not as some hallucination, but in a picture frame on the mantel.

“Who is that?”

Chantel frowns and turns around. “Who?”

I disentangle from her and cross to the picture. I bring it back. “This guy.”

She looks at it and then back up at me. “My Uncle Paul. Why?”

I so want to see a lie in her eyes, something to tip me off that this is bullshit, that she forgot to put away a picture of her lover, boyfriend, something. But it’s not there. She’s telling the truth.

I turn my back to her and stare at the fire.

“Ben, what’s wrong? Do you know my uncle?”

“No, I don’t. Sorry. It’s nothing.”

She hands me back the picture. I return it and see his face again.

“Chantel, is he the only Paul in your family?”

She sips her champagne and answers, equally bubbly. “No, he’s got a nephew, Paul. We call him P. J.”

I know what her answer will be, but I still ask, “So what do you call your uncle?”

“O. P.,” Chantel says. “Old Paul. He doesn’t like it because he’s not that old, but we do it anyway.”

I drop the champagne to the marble floor and it shatters, the splintering the only sound I hear against the rush of blood to my head, as too much improbability clicks into place.

CHAPTER 27

I
’m not sure why
I do it, but I enter the guidance office and head to the wall of applications. They’ve got them for all the local private colleges, the universal one used for all the state schools, and then the one for the community college. I grab the latter and don’t look up as I pass by my guidance counselor’s door. I’m sure she wants to talk to me since I’ve skipped out on every appointment she’s tried to schedule. I’ll end up with detention just so we can get face-to-face.

I head to physics and we discuss potential energy. There’s gravitational potential and elastic potential. I know all about potential. There’s potential that O. P. is Chantel’s uncle, which means what, exactly, I don’t know. Because he may not be. Could be a coincidence? They happen. But something tells me that’s wishful thinking. And if so, then what is Chantel’s role?

She’s had her own questions since that night. I told her I didn’t feel well and took off, but she’s not buying it and I know we’re going to have to talk. A week of stall tactics hasn’t gotten me anywhere.

I head to my locker before going to lunch and John rolls up. He’s still favoring his good arm, and I think it’s sad that at seventeen he has a “bad” appendage. “What’s the deal?”

He looks at me as if he doesn’t understand the question, but we both know he had an appointment over break. He’s got answers.

“Tell me, man. We’ll deal.”

“It’s over, Benny. I’ve got some nerve damage from the surgery. Or because of taking that bat. My fingers don’t work right.”

“So, because of the nerves, you mean?” I don’t finish, but John answers.

“Yeah, no one’s looking at me for next year. I’m beyond damaged goods.”

I lean against my locker and take a deep breath for him. I cannot imagine how painful that must be. Not only the physical, but the mental and emotional. I’m witnessing firsthand what it’s like to have a dream shattered. I may be able to help my father, but I don’t know about John.

“I am so sorry.” I can’t think of anything better.

“Me, too.”

He’s choked up and I want to end this conversation before I make things worse. “Come on.” We head toward the cafeteria.

Alexia and Chantel are in line.

“There you are. I’ve been texting you all morning? What’s up?” Chantel waves me over, and I go to her and let her hug me. She looks me over and grabs my cheeks. “What’s wrong, Benny?”

I don’t answer because I am afraid of what I might say. There’s no way I’m confronting her about her uncle until I’m sure. I’m not even telling the guys. But I do notice the new necklace Alexia is wearing. I wonder how much closer this brought Jesse to her, and how much her dad was okay with it?

I follow John to our table and Ricky asks, “You ready?”

Trevor watches Ricky. John and I wait anxiously. Because of the holidays—or so he says—O. P. didn’t mail the check. None of us saw the number of hits because we were too messed up, and Trevor was too busy editing.

“Do you think it’s possible that we reached twenty thousand?” Ricky’s voice has a game-show announcer quality. We shrug.

“Higher?” He continues and cocks his head to the right while turning his hands, palms up.

“You’re killing me,” I say.

“Yeah, out with it,” John adds.

Ricky laughs maniacally and looks directly at me. “Thirty thousand.”

The figure hangs over us, and the math is so simple, and at the same time so painful. Seventy-five hundred is a lot of money, but doesn’t get me to twenty thousand. I need one more dare before the auction.

“I hope you boys got big plans for your wad of cash because it’s about to get bigger. Next stop, the Winter Formal.” Ricky smiles. John shakes his head like he’s clearing it, and Trevor looks momentarily scared.

My stomach convulses. This is the first time we’ll be pulling off a dare in public. I’m equally petrified and excited. This kind of stunt could give us killer exposure. Sure, what we’re doing is fun to watch, but when shit gets crazy at some unexpected place with lots of unsuspecting people around, that gets attention. In our case, will it be too much? Shit, with everything as upside down as it is, what do I really care?

—

I punch in and say,
“Hey,” to Alexia and look for slips.

“We’ve only got two orders. Looks like it will be a slow night.”

I can’t help but stare at the necklace.

She sees me, tugs the gold in her fingers. “This was for Christmas. Along with a lot of apologies.”

“You accepted both?” I don’t mean for it to be an accusation, but as soon as I say it, I know that’s exactly what it is.

Alexia looks at me with her gorgeous eyes and they gloss with a sheen of tears. “I know you think I’ve got my shit together, Ben, but really, I don’t.”

“I’m sorry, that came out wrong.”

She turns away. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. It’s his and it’s mine. Mom always says it takes two to tango.”

“Yeah, but if the guy makes you dance, does that logic really apply?”

She’s quiet for a moment and I watch her collect herself and think. When we were young, she always took a moment, staring off into space, chewing gum or holding a stuffed animal or in the middle of a leaf pile. I always laughed and waved my hand in front of her face. Not now. Now, I wait.

“You see things differently than me, Ben, so maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think logic applies in relationships.”

I shrug. “You’re the expert on that. I don’t really have any experience.”

She turns back to me. “What about Chantel?”

“What about her?”

“Really? I . . . she seemed . . .”

“That’s it right there. That’s how I feel. I thought so, too. Guess we were both wrong.”

Alexia purses her lips. “Like I said about logic, huh? I haven’t seen Jesse since he gave me this.” She flicks the necklace. “Spent New Year’s alone. He’s with his friends almost every night.”

Two ideas solidify. One, Jesse Holmes is a tool for leaving a girl like Alexia hanging—along with his other failures as a human being. Two, if he’s been busy with his boys that could mean he’s scheming. We’d better have a plan.

“If you’re single for the Winter Formal . . .” As much as I want to finish, I can’t.

Alexia smiles, and it’s the first whole-face grin I’ve seen on her in forever. “Right back at ya.”

My face reddens and my mouth falls open, but before I can respond, Chuck’s bellowing, “Doc, get in that ambulance and save someone from hunger.”

Alexia and I are all business then, and I’m out the door and so thoroughly lost it’s almost comforting.

—

The house is subdued
when I return. Mom’s watching TV, Dad’s in their room, and Ginny’s in hers. I say hey to Mom and she asks about school and work during a commercial, and when the questions are over, I’m free to leave and go crash in my room. I head up the stairs and hear a frustrated growl come from behind Ginny’s door. I hesitate but then knock. “Fun times?”

“Fucking awesome!”

I turn the knob and push in. She’s on her bed, laptop on her legs, papers everywhere she can reach and beyond.

“Don’t touch anything.”

I wasn’t planning on it. I spy a clear space in the corner and sit with my back to the wall. It feels good. “So what’s the deal? Paper not going as planned?” I can’t remember the last time I put any effort into something I’ve written.

“I wish it were that simple.” She shakes her head and looks over the piles and at her laptop and then at me. “You want to hear?”

“Sure?”

“Some of it may be over your head, but I’ll try to dumb it down.”

“Thanks.” I feel like kicking the closest stack of papers. She misses my sarcasm though, and carries on.

“So we set out to prove that risk-taking activities, the kind of bullshit you guys are doing, is a result of adolescents’ desire to achieve adult status. Basically, you act like an ass to prove you’re an adult.”

I let this sink in. “That’s not it at all.”

“Exactly!” Ginny throws up her arms and almost topples her laptop. “I’ve been watching you guys, and it has nothing to do with that. It’s all about . . .” Her face turns upward and she stares at the ceiling for a second. “No, you tell me. Why? Why are you doing this?”

“Really? Come on? The money.”

She frowns. “The money didn’t come into play until after. Therefore, it may keep you doing what you’re doing, but it wasn’t your prime motivation.”

Shit, she’s good. I look at the carpet, this worn raspberry-colored disaster and think back to August and what Ricky said to get us so fired up. Then, of course, to how things have morphed, and our last conversation.

“It was a few things, really. You know how Ricky, John, and I always used to do stupid stuff. It was kind of an extension of that, only on a bigger scale, bigger result.”

Ginny’s staring at me, but jotting down what I’m saying at the same time. “Which was?”

“To be awesome. You should understand this. You’re awesome because of your brains. Some people are because of sports. Through the stupid shit we do, because people love it, we get that feeling.”

“But it’s more than that, right? You could feel good about doing community service? Why this daredevil life-risking, whatever?”

“Don’t overanalyze it, Ginny, it’s fun. Community service is not fun. Sure, you think what we’re doing is stupid, and it is, to a degree.”

She looks at me, and I know I’m not off the hook. “To what degree?”

I lean back, so full of shit that I’d like to say, but can’t, so confused with my trajectory that I’m beginning to wonder if I ever was really on course. Like Ricky said. But I’ll answer this, because I can.

“To the degree that we get to throw caution to the wind, to say fuck it. I’m sorry, that’s not PC or what people are supposed to think, but look at Dad. He did all the right things all the time and look where it got him.”

Ginny raises her pen to ask a question, but I ramble on.

“I can’t live like that. He stopped me years ago because he was afraid. He was right, because that’s who he is, what he does, makes the tough calls. I respect that. But I’m not that. I’m seventeen, and yes, I want to live to see seventy, but not if it means I have to sacrifice my desires. I’m allowed to want. And I want this.”

Ginny writes some more and looks at me. “Damn, Benny, that was pretty deep.”

I feel like flipping her off because I think she’s teasing me, but her face is set and she’s nodding like she does when things start clicking. She’s figured something out, and I can see the lightbulb.

“Well, I hope I helped.” I stand. “I have to go plan my world domination now.” Ginny starts rifling through the papers around her, and I walk out of her room.

I stand in the hall and listen to the crackling fireplace and wonder what she’s going to come up with. I want to read her paper now. I want to know what she thinks because maybe that will help me figure out what to do after this all falls apart. Because in spite of all I said, yeah, I want this, but that doesn’t mean I deserve it, or will get it.

CHAPTER 28

T
he house is cold
when I wake up and I feel like I should stay in bed. I filled out the community college application last night. Who knows what inspired me? Maybe it was seeing Ginny working so hard at something that may be pointless, but at least it’s something she’s into and can do in the future. I’ll be delivering pizzas if I don’t find something besides monthly suicide attempts.