Nerve (21 page)

I can’t believe this. “Are you guys psychopaths? We’re locked in here with guns. Doesn’t that bug anyone but Ian and me?”

Samuel’s huddled in his love seat. “They’ve probably removed the firing pins or loaded them with blanks.”

It’s all I can do not to jump on him. “You really want to bet on that?”

Ty grunts, “Chill out. No one’s doing any shooting. It’s just a game.”

Daniella’s got a hand to her mouth like she’s trying not to cry, but she doesn’t say anything. Jen and Micki nibble each other’s lips and giggle. Do they know something I don’t?

I try my phone again. Maybe I can delete the NERVE app and regain access, but it demands a password. Holding the phone up to the camera, I shout, “Get your program off of here.”

Of course, there’s no reply. I rub the tops of my arms, trying
to soothe the panic that threatens to take over. The sleeve of my jacket has been torn loose, revealing deep scratches on my right shoulder.

I holler, “I need to see a doctor. Your pit bull got off leash.”

Micki has a hand to her forehead. “You deserved worse.”

FIRST AID SUPPLIES ARE IN THE YELLOW CABINET. OUR VIRTUAL DOC THINKS YOU ALL LOOK FINE. BUT WE’LL HAVE YOU CHECKED OUT WHEN THE HANDYMAN OPENS THE DOOR.

The cabinet. I run toward it, not caring about first aid supplies, but wanting to block the others from the guns. I note that someone, probably Daniella, closed the green door they’re behind.

Ty beats me to it, however, and hovers over me. “Oh no you don’t.”

I try to dart around him, but he’s too large. “I need a bandage. And probably a rabies shot.”

Ian’s next to me. “C’mon, dude, we’re all stuck in here. Let her get what she needs.”

Ty holds an arm out. “I’ll get it for her. Just in case some dumb-ass thinks they can grab a gun and shoot the lock off the door.” He stares at me. “It wouldn’t work anyway. They tested it on TV.”

Great. That’s probably the one piece of scientific data in his pea brain.

My arm aches. Maybe I really do need a rabies shot, or
at least distemper. “Okay, fine. I’m not going for a gun. Just give me something for my arm, okay? Then again, maybe you should let me bleed until I need medical attention and NERVE has to cancel the game.” I bet NERVE will do no such thing.

Ty summons his gang for backup. We stand there face-to-face, twitching, while he opens the yellow drawer and rummages through it. He hands me a couple bandages and a few other supplies.

Back in our seat, Ian wipes my scratches with antiseptic pads before applying the bandages. Across the table, Jen holds an ice pack to Micki’s head. Did
I
hurt her? Good.

Ty sits with his arms crossed, his glare daring us to make a move toward the cabinet. Daniella purrs and runs a hand through his hair, her bracelets jangling like jail keys. To Ian’s and my left, Samuel remains silent, eyeing us over his glasses. We’re all seated, like at the Last Supper, only no food and no saints.

The music shifts to elevator rock. Who’s choosing the soundtrack? Satan?

OKAY PLAYERS, TIME TO EARN YOUR KEEP.

Again, our commands come only via text on the panels. As plastic as I found Guy and Gayle to be, without them, the room feels more isolated.

TY, PLACE THE GUNS ON THE TABLE, ONE IN FRONT OF EACH PLAYER.

My stomach goes to my feet. Ty stares at the panel with
a wrinkled forehead, like maybe he can’t read. Or maybe he’s grown a conscience.

YOU’LL EARN A HUNDRED-DOLLAR BONUS FOR YOUR EFFORT.

With a broad smile, he gets up. I hold my breath, praying that, like a magic trick, the weapons in the cabinet will have been replaced with doves. But as soon as he opens the door, it’s clear that hasn’t happened. Whatever bad luck’s been biting my bony butt all night is here to stay.

I call out, “Don’t do it, Ty. This is totally
Lord of the Flies
. NERVE wants to turn us into savages. Show them that you’re your own man.”

Ty addresses Ian. “Can’t you control your woman, bro?”

Ian’s face stiffens. “She’s right. Don’t do it, Ty.”

“Pussy.” He removes a gun and strokes it. “SIG Sauer P226. Sweet. A Navy SEAL’s best buddy.”

Keeping the gun at his side, he takes out a second one and places it in front of Daniella. The next two guns go to Jen and Micki, who leans in to examine hers with a low whistle. I flinch when she glances my way. Ty places guns in front of Samuel, then me, and finally Ian. He’s laid mine and Ian’s so that the barrels face us.

I cross my arms and start chanting loudly, “Whoever’s watching, call 911. Whoever’s watching, call 911.” What are they going to do, threaten me with another consequence? Upgrade to machine guns?

I keep repeating the request. Even if NERVE blocked out my pleas when I was in the other room, they can’t keep censoring me, especially now that all the other grand prize rounds are over. There’d be no show. Eventually, they’ll either have to let us go or let the Watchers see us. Either way, the game is over. Screw fashion school.

TIME TO SHUT IT, VEE.

“Time to let me quit. I quit. I quit. I quit.” I alternate this with pleas to the audience to call 911. Ian joins me in the chant.

LOOK AT YOUR PHONES.

I interrupt my chant to say, “There’s no other prize you can offer. Fashion school and an internship aren’t worth this. Nothing is.”

Ty snarls. “Well, taking a trip to Ireland with my dad before he gets too sick is plenty worth it. So suck it up.”

LOOK AT YOUR PHONE. YOUR PARENTS WOULD APPRECIATE IT.

What, they’re bringing my parents into it again? I check my phone, which contains a long message. I read. It appears to be notes from my sessions with the shrink, stuff she was typing into her damn computer while I blabbed away. Details like what type of music was playing in my car that night. It’s amazing how much info is in her notes. I thought I’d been so smart, trying to get her attention off of the garage incident by feeding her crap about how I felt invisible around Sydney,
even going into that time when I was fooling around with Jason Walker and he called me her name by mistake. There’s more humiliating material following that story. God, did I tell the shrink everything? Fat lot of good all those privacy forms I signed did. And to make things worse, there’s a second message with details from a therapy session the shrink had with my parents, something about them not having intimate relations since—aw, no, they’d be mortified if this got out.

I look at the panels. Ian, who’s been reading his phone, does too. His eyes are haunted.

WE’LL KEEP OUR MOUTH SHUT IF YOU DO.

I stop chanting.

NOW THEN, EACH PLAYER MUST PICK UP THEIR GUN. ANYONE WHO DOESN’T CLAIM HIS OR HER GUN FORFEITS IT TO ANOTHER PLAYER OF OUR CHOOSING.

Micki picks hers up first. Everyone follows suit. Except me.

I clear my throat. “It’s not worth it. Let’s just drink beers and hang out. This could still end up okay.”

A crease forms between Ian’s eyes when he glances my way. “Take the gun, Vee.” Whoa, they must have even worse dirt on him than the crap they have on my family. Or did NERVE offer him another bonus? But what could be worth it? I wish I could get into his head and see what’s motivating him.

My own thoughts, focused on the shiny black weapon in
front of me, send a shiver down my back. My mouth is dry. “This is crazy.”

His eyes travel to the others around the table. “Yeah, it is. But if you don’t claim it, you’ll be totally unarmed.”

Every breath I take threatens to turn into a wail that’ll never stop. I force myself to speak through quivering lips. “Not taking a gun could be safer than taking one. Even these guys wouldn’t shoot an unarmed person.”

Micki smacks her lips. “Of course not.”

YOU HAVE THIRTY SECONDS TO DECIDE.

Gayle’s voice whispers over the speakers, “Be smart, Vee.”

Too late for that.

A clock starts ticking down on the display. I gaze around the room. Micki and Ty caress their guns as if they’re pets. Even Samuel seems to hold the gun like he’s handled one before, which surprises me—must be all those video games. Daniella and Jen have theirs resting on their laps, while they tightly clutch their armrests.

The clock shows twenty seconds left.

“You don’t have to point it at anyone, just claim it,” Ian says.

“That’s how they get you, baby steps,” I whisper, although everyone can hear me.

Ian’s voice is tight. “No one’s going to make you fire it, but if you take it, that’s one less gun for those guys to get their hands on.”

Micki and Ty stare at me like pythons waiting for a rabbit. Maybe I should grab the gun and shoot out the cameras.

Ten seconds left.

A drop of sweat rolls down Ian’s forehead. “Vee, please, I can’t protect us alone.”

I so do not want to. But how can I sit here defenseless? With three seconds to go, I grab the gun. It’s heavy and greasy and totally does not feel fake. I place it on my lap, beyond caring if the oil stains my skirt. Micki grunts, a huge sneer on her face.

GREAT, GUYS! NOW SIT BACK AND ENJOY A SHORT FILM. JEN, PLEASE OPEN THE PINK CABINET FOR MOVIE TREATS.

She gets up, unsure of what to do with her gun, looking at Micki questioningly.

“Just hold it facing down,” Micki says.

Jen does so and tiptoes toward the cabinet. I can only imagine what NERVE’s sick idea of treats will entail. Probably something toxic. We haven’t had any poisonous dares yet. But when she opens the door, the buttery smell of popcorn fills the air and makes me want to puke. She pulls out a tub plastered with a brand name on its side and places it on the table before making a couple more trips to deliver boxes of candy that are also clearly labeled. Do the product sponsors actually think this’ll sell more concession-stand items? Dumb question.

Jen calls out to Micki, “There’s a cooler full of Red Bulls. Want one, baby?”

Of course, Micki and the same people who were downing beer earlier each take one. Alcohol and caffeine, a winning combination.

Ty and Micki are the only ones to grab at the popcorn, stuffing handfuls in their mouths. Samuel takes a box of candy with a shrug. Once Jen’s back in her seat, the lighting dims and a movie comes up on the panels. Its title,
Gun Handling for Newbies
.

We spend the next five minutes learning how to load our guns, cock the hammer, pull the slide back, and aim with one hand or both. With each new piece of knowledge, I fight the urge to scream. We’ll be shot. Our blood will flow down the drain, leaving the room tidy for the next batch of players. My knees shake so hard the gun might fall from my lap.

Ian takes my hand. “It’s all for show. They’re just trying to scare us.” Trying? Even
his
face is pale, and the pulse in his hand drums against mine.

WE’LL GET TO THE FUN PART SOON, GUYS, BUT FIRST A LITTLE HOUSEKEEPING. SOMEONE STILL NEEDS A CONSEQUENCE FOR HER ACTIONS DURING A PRIOR DARE.

Seriously? What could possibly be worse than this? I want to kick myself as soon as the words form in my mind. It’s one
of those questions that always answers itself in a way you’ll hate the moment you ask it.

In between Micki’s whoops, the sound of chattering comes from behind one of the doors we used for the customized dares. With a pop, the panel opens and two people wearing blindfolds stumble into the room.

The gun in my lap feels ten pounds heavier when I realize who’s joined us.

Tommy and Sydney.

My spirits plummet, but I jump up. “You guys, get back out while you can!”

They tear their blindfolds off and blink against the lights with dazed expressions. The door they just emerged from slowly closes on its own.

I race toward them, pointing toward it. “Run!”

Their heads whip with nervous expressions between me and the door, which clicks shut. Micki and Ty, who’d risen from their seats, probably to block me from escaping, sit back down wearing smug expressions.

Sydney blinks with a level of disorientation I’ve never seen on her. The confusion snaps into shock when she sees the gun dangling in my hand. “That’s not real, is it?”

I tuck the weapon behind my back. “I don’t know.”

Tommy scans the room with a mixture of disgust and curiosity. He stares at me and shakes his head with an
I told you so
purse to his lips. The other players remain in their seats, some munching popcorn, as if my friends and I are the new show.

Syd struts forward so we’re inches apart, her eyes boring through mine. “You’ve taken this way too far. How could you not quit after they got you to hallucinate that you were breathing carbon monoxide fumes? Shit, Vee.” She grabs my arm and drags me toward the door they just came from.

I trail in her haughty wake. “How much have you seen? Did any of my requests to call 911 get through, or did you guys think that was part of the hallucination?”

She ignores me and knocks on the door. “Okay, let us out now.”

The panels light up and beep, causing her to crane her neck backward to read the one above her head. I put a hand on her back, bracing her for a message that’s sure to set her off.

THIS DOOR’S ON A TIMER AND CAN’T BE OPENED AGAIN FOR THIRTY MINUTES, UNLESS, OF COURSE, THERE’S AN EMERGENCY. THE PLAYERS CAN SHOW YOU WHERE THE DRINKS ARE. MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME!

Sydney slaps the wall. “I don’t want to make myself at home. And, hello, guns
are
an emergency!” She tries to pry
her fingers into the almost invisible seam along the door, but it does no good, so she runs to the main door and tries the knob. When that doesn’t work, she bangs at the door and shouts, “You guys said Vee was in over her head and that Tommy and I should come pick her up. Now we have, so let us out or I’ll call my dad. He’s an attorney.”

Micki laughs and asks the other players if they want another beer. She pretends to prance on high heels as she passes between us.

Syd pulls out her phone and swears when she sees that she doesn’t have service. She marches to where I stand in the middle of the room. “Give me yours.”

My chest is heavy. This is my consequence. It’s not enough to put myself in danger or freak out my parents. NERVE’s playing on my guilt, which doesn’t take much with Capricorns, especially since mine was already near a breaking point before the grand prize round. I can hardly stand the thought that I’m responsible for my friends joining me in a hell they don’t yet understand. If anything happens to them…