Dare Me (3 page)

Some watch videos and crack up. It could be ours, but it’s not like we can walk over and ask. These kids don’t know us, and certainly have no idea
we’re the ones
from the video. This fact is like a slap in the face. We just risked our lives, but because no one knows this about us, we’re as interesting as a poster on the wall for the recycling club.

We head to our lockers. “Hey, guys.” Ricky’s grin stays hooked on his face as he pulls out his phone. “Someone, somewhere is logging on right now, and they’re finding us on YouTube, and they’re amped from our video and can’t wait for the next installment.” His voice has the run to it like some preacher’s. I’m afraid he’s going to start calling people around like he did in the cafeteria yesterday. “Isn’t that amazing?”

John and I look at each other. “Uh, yeah. I guess,” John says.

Ricky’s eyes widen. “This shit’s bigger than us already, and by the time we’re through we’ll be goddamn weblebrities.”

That
weblebrity
is a bit much. “How is that? And how do we have an ad?”

Ricky puts his hand on my shoulder. “Listen, I said we needed to talk, and we do, but now’s not the time. We’ve got some things to consider, some papers to read.” He pauses. “And hopefully some signatures to sign.”

John and I look at Ricky like we did when he first hatched this plan.

It was some random morning in early August. We’d only been really hanging out again since April, so it was surprising when he showed up with John already in the car and said, “Let’s go,” dragging me out of my house and driving up to the point—this rock that overlooks the town.

At first, Ricky didn’t say a word, only watched the town come to life beneath us. I don’t think he’d been to bed. His hair was a mess, and his eyes were bloodshot. When he turned to us, the horizon was behind him, the sun breaking across his shoulders, and he said, “Do you boys want to be famous?”

Ricky’s plan for these ten senior-year dares seemed so simple and so awesome, how could I not want to be a part of it?

Maybe it was the early morning, or the way he delivered his speech with the town behind his back like he already owned it. Maybe it was something too painful to admit about ourselves. Regardless of the answer, it’s too late because we’re in it, and now there’s something to do with papers. Something that will make this binding. Something he didn’t tell us about.

The bell rings and he peels away. “Lunch. Bring a pen.” And with that he disappears into the crowd and the only thing for us to do is wait.

I head to physics and learn about Newton’s First Law. Who knew that it took a genius to figure out that objects at rest or in motion stay that way unless acted upon? It seems rather simple: The beginning of something, or the lack of beginning, is up to the individual, unless someone else forces the issue.

English is some last-minute review about a book we all should have read (was it
Ethan Foam
?), and econ is something about how today’s economy is nothing like the Great Depression. “Try telling that to the people out of work,” some kid says, and I’m reminded of Dad’s situation. I guess I’m lucky he hasn’t been canned. At least not yet.

And thinking about him reminds me of Ricky. Probably because if Dad finds out that I’m completing these dares because of Ricky, he’ll rip my arms off and beat me with them. That’s not fair.
I
made the decision. I agreed to set this in motion. And now it is.

I’d better get my head together, because regardless of what happens, I’m going
somewhere
. I just don’t know where. But first I have to pass these classes, which hasn’t always been my strong suit. What was that First Law again?

—

I enter the cafeteria
and immediately spot Alexia. It’s like she’s surrounded by amber light. That may only be the reflection off the nacho cheese machine behind the counter, but it doesn’t matter. She’s standing there in all her smiling, glistening beauty, talking to one of her hot friends—Chantel, I think—whose breasts are spilling out of her top. She knows it. She’s talking to Alexia but looking around to see who’s noticing.

That’s not my preference, nothing flashy, but my eyes have a tendency to do their own thing, and she spies me looking, and a little grin touches her lips. She elbows Alexia and says something. My former neighbor, now coworker, whips around. “Hey, Ben.” Alexia gives a little wave like a five-year-old. I remember the Twitter follow and flush red.

Ricky and John are at our table. Ricky talking and John staring. Normally, the beanpole eats like a pig at a trough. For him to be staring at his three lunches, not eating, means something’s up. Ricky smiles when I approach. “What’s up, Ben?”

“Nothing.” I look around the table. “Actually, that was my question.”

Ricky snorts and pulls out a packet of paper. “Since we’re all here, this is it, in black and white.” The packet is thick, like some end-of the-year review compilation, but the font is small and the paragraphs are crammed with words. There are no blanks for answers, but ones for the “undersigned.”

“So these dares, as you may have figured out by now, they didn’t come from nowhere.” Ricky eyes me but looks quickly away. “I, uh, we have a contract offer to complete them. The first was a test.” He sits back. “We passed.”

John’s typically slow on the uptake, so I’m not surprised he stays speechless, but I let my silence speak for me, nudging Ricky on. We both know he needs to add a little more context.

“Back in June I responded to this post on Craigslist for a way to get paid through video stunts. I ended up emailing back and forth with this guy, who owns this adventure gear company, and we set up this idea of the ten stunts.”

I remember how polished it felt when Ricky told us. How it seemed like he’d read the lines beforehand. Probably did. Off this guy’s email.

Ricky runs a hand through his hair. “We agreed that I’d get the first one up, and if we got enough hits that he could justify putting up ad space, then we’d have a deal for the other nine.” Ricky tacks a laugh onto the end, like this is the goofiest mess he’s fallen into. John and I are hunched forward like old men with bad hearing.

But my ears work perfectly well. “So you sold us before you even told us what we were doing?” I ask.

Ricky puts up his hands. “It’s not like that. I didn’t say anything because what if we pussied out and couldn’t do it? What would have been the point of getting your hopes up?”

“But you did. You said we’d have the best year. We’d be legends.” John looks downright sad. He stares at the packet. “Now what are we going to be? I don’t understand.”

“Yeah. I don’t either,” I say, because it feels like I was tricked into believing in myself, or in us, and it was a joke. Or we were just being used. That hurts more than the way we were before.

Ricky looks around the table. “I meant what I said. These dares will work. The first one already is.” He grunts. “I needed to pump you up to get you on the damn car, to get this first one in the bag.”

We all look in opposite directions. I don’t know what John’s thinking, but I have to admit, score one for Ricky. I’m afraid of my own shadow and John can’t risk getting injured. Shit, why are we doing this?

Ricky sighs and touches the packet. “It’s all here in the contract he sent. We will get
paid
for the other nine stunts.”

There’s something about the way he said,
paid
. It’s familiar and I don’t like it. “How much? And why do we need the cash?”

“Depends on the hits we get. It’s a percentage thing. The more views, the more money.” Ricky’s voice is cool again, and he levels his eyes on mine. “I’m sorry that I don’t want to deliver pizzas or won’t be getting scholarship money. This seems like a much better way of earning cash.”

This is the Ricky I can’t stand. It’s not my damn fault he’s too good to work in fast food. Shit, with his grades, he should get ready to do just that for the rest of his life.

“What kind of numbers? What amount of hits equals what amount of cash?” John flips the first page of the contract.

Ricky points to a paragraph. “Here. I think this part explains it.”

John pours over the page, and my stomach flops. I don’t know how I feel because I was all for these dares. I figured they’d be fun. But I also thought that Ricky was right about the here and now and the big picture. But something about
this
, him selling us on an idea when he had a whole other motive, it sucks.

“I don’t understand a word.” John throws the contract back to the table, and it lands near Ricky’s plate.

“Don’t worry,
I
do.” Ricky picks it up, and the grooves of his thumbs are embedded in the edge of the pages. “Guys, relax. We were going to do this anyway, so why not get paid?”

“But we don’t even know what we’re doing. What does the
contract
say about that?” I don’t mean for the word to come out like a curse, but it does, and Ricky’s jaw tightens.

“We have say over the next one, but then we have to pick from a list of suggestions offered in the comments section.”

I go for my phone. “Have you seen some of these?”

Ricky waves his hand. “It’s not like we’re going to have to play Russian roulette.”

I stop digging for my phone, but John already has his out. “Yeah, but there’s swimming with eels or sharks, or launching over some canyon—I don’t know where. We’re going to have to pick from one of these?”

And this is why I love John. He may be a little slow at times, but when he attacks, he brings it.

“No. No. You don’t get it. He’s not trying to kill us, he wants to make money. He can’t do that if we’re dead.” Ricky grabs his hair with both hands, and after he drags them through, it stands up like Einstein’s. “How can’t you see that this is a win-win? He makes money, we get paid.”

“But you said this was about having an awesome year. Building a legacy. You stood up and spoke to the cafeteria. Was that a lie?” John’s voice is soft, like Eeyore’s.

Ricky rests his palms on the table and takes a few deep breaths. I look around the cafeteria. Kids everywhere are laughing and throwing food at one another, enjoying themselves. John’s got a point. We’re sitting around this table like it’s a goddamn board meeting. I can’t believe I’m thinking this, but isn’t the fun of the dares enough? But I may not be here in another month, and I want to enjoy however much time I have left with these guys, not argue over cash.

“You know what?” My voice is louder than I expected. “Who cares? Ricky’s right. We were going to do this. This is a still a fantastic idea. Even though Ricky can’t take credit for it, so what? This could be the best time any of us ever had. And now we’ll get paid. What’s the problem?”

“He lied, Ben. And I don’t know, this shit is really dangerous.” John’s eyes are so sad.

John’s right. Ricky lied, but he had a reason. He only withheld the source of the dares and the plan to get paid. Is that so bad? And in spite of the danger and the deceit, I want to continue. Riding that car made me feel a little badass. I miss that feeling already. How am I going to feel after three or ten?

Ricky clears his throat. “I’m sorry, guys. I guess I was thinking . . . of other things.”

John and I nod and I wonder if John’s thinking what I am: What “other things”?

Ricky picks up the packet, and three lines sit waiting for our names. “We still cool?”

John and I don’t answer.

Ricky sighs, takes a pen out of his pocket, clicks it dramatically, and signs on the first line. He passes the packet to me.

I look at John, his face an explosion of questions that he keeps himself from asking. I sign and pass it to him.

John looks directly at me, as if there’s still a chance to ask his questions, but he doesn’t ask anything and just signs.

CHAPTER 4

I
know I just took
another three classes, but I have no idea what the hell they were. Yeah, I zoned out as usual. But in my defense, this development merits some consideration. We didn’t even talk about the second dare. Ricky tucked the contract away, and we all tried to eat something before the bell rang. What little of my sandwich I did eat sat like a stone in my gut the rest of the afternoon, and now I have to shit so bad I’m sweating.

John walks up to my locker. “Ready?”

“Yeah. If I can’t make it home, I’m dropping a deuce at your house.”

“That’s fine.”

We take off and kids peel out of the parking lot. Jesse Holmes’s car leads the pack. Principal McNeil stands on the corner and shakes his head. He’s got a clipboard in hand, trying to take down names.

“So how much you think we’ll get?” John’s sneakers scuff the sidewalk.

“You mean with our deal?”

He nods.

“I doubt that much. We talked about this kind of thing last year in Business and Marketing. Some kids did a presentation. You have to have enormous exposure to really pull it in.”

“I figured.” John sighs.

“What, were you planning on building some dream home with the money?”

“No, man, but having some cash would be nice. Can’t work and play ball at the same time.”

“I hear you. Guess we’ll wait and see?” I don’t say anything about how some cash would be nice with my dad’s job on the line. Maybe enough to help pay for a bill or buy groceries or something.

We pull up to John’s house. “You blowing it up?” he asks.

I consider it, but would rather be home. “No, I’ll make it, but if you hear a rumor that I was running down the street half-naked you’ll know why.”

He laughs. “Put on a ski mask, and you’ll be safe.”

As soon as I get home I do some serious damage to my toilet, but I open the window, run the fan, and light a candle. Nerves and my insides do not mix. The rest of this school year is going to be horrible.

I change, grab a quick bite to eat, and am off to work. I take my time driving, windows down, tunes cranked. I wish Pizza and More was farther away.

“Hey, Doc, how many lives you save today?” Chuck’s mixing a vat of sauce.

“Just my own.”

“Some days you’re the windshield and others you’re the bug.”