Dare Me (5 page)

Ricky counts. “In five, four, three, two, one . . .”

John straightens, presses his arms to his sides, and jumps into the air like he’s on the edge of a pool. I hold the camera on him, and he seems to hover, his mouth working like a fish. In an instant he’s gone, and I’m following his splash in the water below.

He surfaces, the napkin blown off his face, and screams, “Yeah, woo hoo! What’s up now?”

We cheer and it takes all I have to stay focused on him and not lose my shit screaming my head off. Ricky rushes over, grabs the camera like I’m handing him a football, and sprints across the bridge. He crouches along the rock ledge and shouts questions to John. I hear pieces of what John’s saying, mostly, “Awesome,” and, “I’d do it again.”

John and Ricky cross the street, and John shakes like a dog when he’s close to us. “How you like me now? Yeah.”

“Nice work,” I say and pound fists with him.

Ricky clasps my shoulder. “You’re up.”

I look over at the bridge and my stomach knots.

“Don’t hesitate, Ben. Just go for it,” John says. I don’t argue, only nod, and in a moment I’m on the railing and Ricky has tied the napkin around my eyes. Everything is black and Ricky asks John,“Ready?”

I’m not.

“All you have to do is stand and hop.” Ricky’s voice tickles my ear.

Goose bumps rise along my neck as I feel Ricky’s hand beneath my elbow. I rise with him and stand.

I can hear the water rushing below. I can feel the gentle whip of breeze. I’m trying to get calm, to find my zone of relaxation. Then something rumbles and my legs wobble.

“Shit. Car. Sit down, Ben.” Ricky’s at my side again, grabbing my elbow. My stomach lurches, but he pulls me to the railing. I sit and go to rip off my napkin, but his hand is at my wrist. “Hold up.”

The bridge rumbles with the car and the brakes squeak. “Hey, what you all doing?” Sounds like a local hick.

“Filming a movie for school. You know, class project about the Gorge?” Ricky’s voice is smooth.

“Is that right? Why you all wearing masks? And dressed the same? And why is that boy sitting on the railing? That’s dangerous. Kid got killed ’bout three years back jumping. You ain’t doing that now, are you?”

I want to take the napkin off and for this to be over. I want to thank the man for stopping and then force Ricky to stop. I was wrong to push this, to want this. We got lucky with John.

“No, no, no.” Ricky sounds offended. “We’re not like those hooligans. We’re AP students. Going to submit this for a scholarship. The masks are so no one on the committee recognizes us. Same with the outfits.”

“Well, I’ll be.” The man then says something I can’t hear. “I’ll be off now. Good luck, son.”

“Thanks.”

The car rumbles away and Ricky says, “John, were you recording?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll edit that out later.” His footsteps crunch back to me. “Ready?”

I don’t have time to respond, because he’s at my elbow again and I’m standing and all is as it was before, except I’m more used to the blindfold. In fact, I’m glad I have it on, because I’m numb.

“In five, four, three . . .”

Ricky’s voice fades and I hop. For a moment, I feel nothing and wonder if I haven’t jumped far enough. But then I’m falling, the wind rushing by and my insides shaking. I remember to tighten up just before I hit.

The impact is like I feared falling off the car while surfing would be. The water is cold and dark. I look up and the surface seems impossibly far away. The current pulls and I know if I don’t start swimming, I’m dead.

My head pounds as I kick and pull. My lungs scream and I swim faster, harder. It’s getting lighter, but I’m not there yet. I bump into the rocks, skimming my forehead. I panic and charge one last time.

Air.

I breathe and hear the guys yelling above. I don’t scream like John, I’m too afraid. Blood is filling my eye and I still need to get a hold of the rocks and get out, but I’m being pulled.

“The tree limb!” Ricky’s voice pierces through and I see what he means, a limb about twenty feet downstream.

I grab it and pull myself to the shore. I’m so weak I can barely get out. Ricky crouches at the edge with the camera. “How was it?”

I look up and his face changes. He clicks the camera off and stares at me. “You okay?”

I sit on the tree and rip off the saturated mask, touch the source of the blood. I’ve got a good-sized gash. It doesn’t seem deep but is spilling fast. I rip off my shirt and press it to my forehead.

“Hardcore, Benny!” John yells down.

I give him a thumbs-up because it’s all I can manage. I can’t look at him or Ricky. I barely want to see myself.

CHAPTER 6

A
gain, we all lived.
My cut was the worst of it. Once he knew I was fine, Ricky made a big spectacle of his jump, taking off his shirt. He’d written GET OUT THERE ADVENTURE on his chest with a Sharpie. He made a speech and then climbed onto the railing and jumped from there. Not that it matters, but now he has bragging rights to say he jumped from the highest spot. Dick.

“I’ll text you when I have it up,” Ricky yells from the car.

“All right.” I wave and turn toward my front door. I don’t know what I’m going to tell my parents when they ask about the cut. My parents aren’t idiots. I’ve been gone since the crack of dawn. They’ll see through any nonsense.

The house smells like bacon, and my stomach guides me to the kitchen. I check the microwave, and sure enough, there’s a plate for me. Mom likes to leave one in there on the weekends when I’m too lazy to get up. Perfect, maybe they’ll think I was sleeping. But where the hell are they?

I ignore the question because my hunger is stronger than my interest, pop bread into the toaster, pour a glass of milk, and lean against the counter. The scenes from this morning replay, and I shudder at the memory of hitting my head. I go to the bathroom and get a good look. It’s nasty, red, and raw. I should probably put a Band-Aid on it, but that would look ridiculous. May have to, though. I doubt Chuck will want me delivering looking like I came out of a gang fight. I hope the video is posted by then. Maybe Alexia has seen it, and I’ll have won our bet.

I devour my breakfast and then see the note on the table:

Ben,

Didn’t want to wake you. We’re going out for groceries and to run some errands.

See you later. Hope you found the bacon in the microwave.

Mom

Shit, yes! In the clear. All I have to do is figure out a story, and I’ve got plenty of time. First, I’m showering and hitting the sheets. Next time we do a dare, it won’t be at six in the morning.

I shower, crawl back into bed, and close my eyes, but I can’t drift off. All I can see is that view from beneath the water. I try to shake the image away but it doesn’t help. I grab my phone and text John:
U okay?

He texts back a moment later:
Yeah. What about your head?

No worries, just a cut.

Good. U working tonight?

Yeah. Swing by.

Maybe tonight I’ll let him know what’s up with Dad’s job and all. Least he’ll be clued in to another bit of my motivation. But I still need to tell Ricky I might ruin all of this for us by moving. He’s going to fly off the handle, like his dad.

I slide my phone onto my nightstand and roll over, burying my head in pillows, and soon enough, am out.

—

“Ben! Ben! Jesus,
it’s one o’clock. Get up.” Mom’s voice accompanies the removal of my pillows. She gasps. “What happened?”

Shit, I never came up with an excuse.

“I, uh, hit it during the night. Fell off the bed.”

She looks at me like I told her my imaginary friend tried to perform brain surgery.

“Maybe I was sleepwalking?” I turn away because even I’m barely buying this.

“Right. Okay. You can tell me what really happened when you’re awake. You’ve got to be at work at 3:00 so you may want to get moving.” She settles my pillows and gives me a concerned look.

I nod and rub my eyes. “How were your errands?”

She doesn’t answer. I look up, expecting her to be gone, but she’s standing there looking like I asked her about the meaning
of life.

“Mom?”

She jumps. “What? Oh, right. Fine. Just fine. Now get out
of bed.”

She leaves in a huff and I wonder what that was all about, but there’s no point in trying to understand. They’ve been weird all week, and I’m sure the end of the month will only be worse. I lay back and grab my phone.

There’s a text from Ricky:
Video’s ready.

I scramble out of bed and turn on my computer. My leg thrums while I wait. I log on and pull down the bookmark and there it is, Dare #2. I watch and it scares the hell out of me all over again. It’s worse than watching the surfing, which is ridiculous, because I know none of us got hurt. Not really. But seeing it now, how close we were to the ledge, how high up it was, and how ridiculous the blindfold made it, I cringe.

But we’ve got hits. We’re already over five hundred views. The comments are pouring in, and all are giving us props.

I text Ricky:
Nice job. O. P. happy?
I’m sure he got in touch with him first.

Off the charts. We’re making some loot. Says he’ll know how much by Monday.

Sweet.
I don’t ask for more. I’m going to enjoy this for now and see what happens.

—

Mom didn’t check
on my cut again because she and Dad spent the afternoon having one intense conversation. The last I caught of it was Dad at the kitchen table, hunched over, Mom hovering with her hands at her hips. I heard him say, “I don’t know if we can swing it.” She sighed, and I told them I was leaving. Neither said a word to me.

I pull into Pizza and More, and Chuck’s throwing bags into the Dumpster. I climb out, grab two that are sitting by the back door, and toss them in.

“Thanks, Doc.”

“No problem.” I turn to head in, but Chuck stops me.

“No, no, no. Explain.” He points to his forehead.

“Oh, that? Yeah, craziest thing. I must have fallen out of bed or something. I woke up with this.”

Chuck frowns. “Really?”

I should have spent more time on this. I look away. “Yeah. Ridiculous, right?”

“I think ridiculous fits.”

I look at him and he hits me with a hard glare, but then smiles. “Come on, I already have orders waiting.”

I grab bags and check the slips and punch the addresses into my phone.

“Oh my God! I saw the video!” Alexia bursts in and I almost drop my phone. I have no idea where she came from.

I look around and Chuck raises an eyebrow but goes back to kneading dough. “Yeah, me too. Crazy, wasn’t it?”

Her eyes grow huge. “Insane! Do you know those guys?”

I look away. “No, no, remember, Ricky stumbled across their video.”

“I know, I just thought maybe you were protecting them
or whatever. Wonder who they are? You know? We should try to figure it out.”

“Sure. We can bet on that too, but since you already owe
me . . .”

I trail off because Alexia isn’t smiling like I believed she would.

“What happened to your head?” She reaches out to touch my forehead, but I grab her wrist before she can. She pulls her hand back like she’s touched a stove and tucks her arm across her face. I stare and she peeks out, looks around, and blushes. “Sorry. I . . .” Now Alexia doesn’t finish.

“I know how nasty it looks. Surprised you didn’t faint.” I try to lighten it up because she needs me to.

She frowns. “Yeah, it does look pretty nasty.”

“Right.” This is so awkward. I don’t know what to say. I want to ask what that was all about, because that reaction paired with those bruises equals someone in her life who shouldn’t be. But who am I to do that? Maybe I should talk to her friend, Chantel?

The phone rings and we look at each other. “Gotta get that.”

I laugh like this is hilarious, and when she goes to the phone, I pick up my deliveries.

As I head out the door I notice Chuck, who I know watched that exchange. He doesn’t say a word, but I can tell his brain’s turning faster than his hands spinning the dough. He nods and watches Alexia like a parent in the stands of something athletic. Maybe he’ll have the courage I don’t possess.

Funny how I can go from being badass to my regular timid self in a few short hours. Funny, or maybe pathetic?

—

I text John
after the last of my first run is delivered:
Want me to pick you up?

He replies instantly:
I’m already here. Outside.

Chuck doesn’t allow me to have people ride along while I work, but I usually pick up John at his house and he hides out while I’m getting orders. Why is he there now? I rip back to the shop as fast as I can.

His enormous frame is a shadow at one of the two tables we have out front. He’s slurping on a soda.

“What’s up?” I sit next to him.

“Nothing. Couldn’t stay home any longer.”

His voice is flat and I don’t know how many times he’s said these exact words to me. His parents are always at each other. “I hear you. I couldn’t wait to get out either. My parents were . . .” I pause, not sure what to say.

John looks up. “Mine are getting divorced.”

He’s also said these words a few dozen times over the years, so I hate to ask, but have to, “For real?”

He turns back to his soda. “Maybe. Once I’m at school, I bet.”

“Big-ass fight today?”

He nods.

There’s no way I’m going to drag him into the bullshit of Dad’s job and whatever that fight was about today. He’s got enough. “Let me grab up these next orders. Meet me down at the park. Okay?”

“Sure.” John stands and it seems to take all his strength.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just sore from the jump. You know?”

“Even my feet hurt.” I open the door.

“Hey, Ben?”

I turn to John.

“We’re going to be all right? Yeah?”

For a moment I think he’s talking about the dares. But then I process. They’re nothing in comparison to what he’s going through. They’re a diversion, at best. The heaviness of his beat-down voice makes me feel old. And because I don’t want to lie, I say, “Why wouldn’t we be?”