by Hannah Jayne
“Drink this!”
There was a garbled response, and Brynna realized that the people on the phone weren’t talking to her. She heard their indistinct voices and the jostling of the phone as if it was in someone’s pocket. She was about to hang up, to chalk the thing up to a random butt dial, when she heard a voice—distinct, sharp.
“No, no, no, my turn!”
She knew the voice from somewhere—didn’t she?
Laughter. Something popping. Another voice.
“Okay then, go!”
It wasn’t Lauren or Darcy, but she knew that voice too. The first girl laughed then started up again.
“Okay.” A muffled, drunken snicker. “I dare you to take off all your clothes and jump, right now.”
Ice water shot through Brynna’s veins. She wanted to drop the phone, to run. But she was paralyzed, phone pressed to her ear.
“Where? What the hell are you talking about?”
“You. Take off your clothes. Walk your fine little butt to the edge and jump. Come on, Erica…”
The voice belonged to Brynna.
She strained to hear over the thundering sound of her blood as it pulsed in her ears. Every cell in her body was electric, moving so fast that Brynna felt like her skin would explode. Sweat broke out over her upper lip, dampening her palms, and her chest ached, begging her to breathe.
She remembered every second.
In her mind’s eye, she could see pictures of that night, of all of them—Erica, Brynna, Ella, Michael, and Jay, bare feet pressed in the sand as the fire crackled in front of them. Behind them, screams, laughter, and the soft music as the end-of-summer party went on. Erica was winding a stray piece of Lincoln-purple crepe paper around and around her hand. Michael kept hiccupping. Brynna leaned against him, breathing out the saturated sweetness of breath soaked with some kind of punch that made her eyes cross.
“So you want me to get buck naked and jump off the pier? First of all, the water is, like, eight degrees.”
Ella started to crow like a chicken.
“It’s August. The ocean is, like, sixty-eight degrees.”
There was a muffled, masculine voice, and Brynna remembered Michael nuzzling into her neck, saying something disgusting about sixty-nine. Holding the phone against her ear, she shivered and pulled back, thinking of his beer-soaked lips kissing the spot behind her ear. Then, the feeling was warm and sensual; now, just the thought sent ice water down her spine.
“Okay.” Brynna listened to her own voice sounding foreign on the phone. “No nakedness. In your clothes.”
Erica said something muffled, and Brynna’s heart started to speed up as memory filled in the gap.
“Just because you dare people to do stuff doesn’t mean they have to, Bryn. You don’t rule the world.”
She remembered the way she felt then, her body made lithe by the liquor, her skin hot from the fire, from Michael’s body heat.
“Prove it!” Brynna sang back to her friend.
Brynna took a few steps back on the lawn as if the scene was still in front of her. The chill that ran through her was gone, replaced by a searing heat that oozed into every pore of her body. She felt the fist knotting in her chest. She knew what came next.
“Come on.” Brynna could hear sand shifting, bodies moving. She knew that was when she rolled onto her knees and eyed Erica hard. “You said dare, you have to do it, you big baby. It’s not my rule. It’s the world’s rule.”
The soft cackle of her friends’ agreement.
Erica’s silence.
“Okay, okay, fine. I’ll totally do it with you since you’re such a massive wimp.”
“Bryn, for a best friend, you’re a super huge ass. But if I have to do it, your big assiness is coming in with me.”
“’Kay, but you both should really take your clothes off. They could be a water hazard.” Jay’s warning was equal parts drunken and lascivious.
“Okay, so, there’s no way I could, like, do something else?” Erica again.
“Come on, wimp. You’re doing it.”
She knew she didn’t want to hear anymore, but she couldn’t get her arm to move. She was paralyzed in the makeshift park, the phone pressed against her ear.
Erica’s groan. “Fine. But I’m shaving off your eyebrows when you fall asleep.”
There was a silent pause, and Brynna remembered her and Erica running down the beach. Her toes itched as if the sand were still there. Her palm twitched, remembering the way she pulled Erica along.
We were laughing, Brynna reminded herself. We were both laughing.
There was more static on the phone as if someone was fumbling or moving with it. The sound of the ocean was more clear now, the rhythmic whoosh of waves pounding shore.
“Time to step out of your comfort zone, E!”
“May you get eaten by a great white, Brynnie.”
Brynna was there again, standing on the dock, the sliver of yellow moonlight washing over her and Erica as though it were dawn. She felt Erica grab her hand this time.
“If I go down, you’re going down with me.”
Brynna dropped the phone and slammed a hand over her mouth as the crash of the water flooded the earpiece.
They jumped.
Tears filled her eyes and the line went dead.
“Ms. Chase?”
Brynna whirled and threw her arms up instinctively. She was shaking so hard her teeth were chattering, and although her mind was registering someone standing in front of her, that was where recognition stopped.
“Brynna?”
She felt a soft touch on her forearm and stepped back.
“Just breathe.”
“Mr. Fallbrook.”
Brynna’s English teacher was standing in front of her, his head cocked, his normally shining blue eyes clouded. “I’m sorry if I scared you—are you okay?”
Mr. Fallbrook looked barely old enough to be a teacher and had the high school girls following him around Hawthorne High in a panting, giggling line. His hand was still on Brynna’s arm, soft, barely touching her, but her heart was still thudding so hard it hurt, and she wanted to tell him everything. He was an adult; he could make everything all right.
“Um…” Immediately she heard the echo of Erica’s voice on the phone, the definitive tone of her own as she ordered her friend to jump. “It was just—I just…” She stared down at the phone dumbly then used the back of her hand to swipe at her tears. “Nothing. Thanks.”
His hand dropped from her arm, but his concerned expression didn’t break. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”
“Shouldn’t you?”
A small smile touched Mr. Fallbrook’s lips. “I’m a teacher and I have a free period. You’re a student and you have…?” He raised his eyebrows.
“P.E.”
“Look, if there’s something wrong, you can talk to me, but you’re going to have to go back to class eventually. If you’re not feeling well, I can write you a pass to the nurse’s office.”
Brynna grabbed her phone from the grass. She shoved it into her back pocket and sniffed, trying her best to settle herself into some semblance of a non-hysterical mess. “That’s okay. I’m fine, really.” She shouldered her bag and started to walk, making a straight line for the school building. “Thanks,” she called over her shoulder. Mr. Fallbrook stood, watching her go.
She was met at the double glass doors by Evan. He was framed perfectly on the other side of the glass, arms crossed in front of his chest, a sharp, scrutinizing look marring his features.
“What was that all about?” he asked as he stepped through the door. His brown eyes grazed over Brynna and immediately brightened. “Oh my god. You’ve been having an affair. You’re pregnant with his love child.”
Brynna was taken aback and found herself laughing. “No.”
&
nbsp; Evan frowned, running a hand through his rumpled brown hair. “Nothing good ever happens around here.”
“What are you doing out of class?”
He shrugged. “Same thing you are. Ditching.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Come on.”
Brynna wanted to stop him. She wanted to find a dark corner, dig the phone out of her pocket, and listen to the call message again and again, as if every second, every staccato note of the conversation, wasn’t already etched in her head. But Evan linked her arm and dragged her toward the student lot.
“Wait,” Brynna said as they approached the edge of the grass. “Fallbrook is out here. He knows I have P.E.”
Evan put a hand over his eyes, shielding the sun. He did a quick scan. “I don’t see him. Besides, Fallbrook remembers what it’s like to be young. He’s not going to report us. He’s not been at Hawthorne long enough to get bitter and start hating his students.” He waggled his eyebrows. “He’s still fresh. So come on!”
Once Brynna was strapped into the passenger seat and Evan had cleared the Hawthorne campus, she tried to focus on him, on the road in front of them, but Erica and Michael and Ella and Jay kept whispering in the back of her mind.
“You said dare, you have to do it!”
“It’s not my rule. It’s the world’s rule.”
“Earth to Queen B!” Evan said, snapping a finger a half inch from her nose. “Want to get something to drink?”
She snapped to attention, eyes wide as she stared at Evan’s profile. Immediately, she could feel the hard burn of something smoky and dark as it slipped down her throat, singing away the memories, her reality. Her mouth started to water, and she could feel an icy cup in her hands, could feel the way her stomach churned with the first few swallows of vodka or whiskey or rum.
She was supposed to be over that. She was supposed to be better now.
But it wasn’t the alcohol she craved; it was the oblivion that came with it. She knew she was breaking every rule they had forced her to learn at rehab. She knew that she was breaking her probation. She didn’t care.
“Yeah, I do.”
Evan flashed a wide grin at her and flipped on his blinker. “Great. I know the best place.”
FOUR
The silence in the car was palpable, at least to Brynna. The waves kept crashing in her head, and all she could focus on was a drink, something to drown out the voices.
She leaned over and nudged the radio up. Evan shot her a glance and turned the volume back down. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you didn’t want to talk to me.”
Brynna gave a halfhearted shrug. “So Lauren didn’t want to come out today?”
“She’s already out. Mom picked her up to get her head shrunk.”
“Lauren sees a therapist?”
“Yeah. Sometimes I’ll drive her, but it’s over off Sand Dollar and there is nothing out there.”
“Sand Dollar?”
Brynna thought of the turns her mother took when she dropped her off at Dr. Rother’s office. She closed her eyes and visualized the street signs: left on Harper, left on Cole, right on Sand Dollar.
“Do you know who she sees?”
“I don’t know, some lady. It’s not like I engage the crazy.”
Does Lauren see Dr. Rother too?
Brynna started feeling like she was hearing information she wasn’t privy to. She knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help herself. “Why does she go?”
Evan shrugged. “I don’t know, chick stuff, I guess. Or probably like how she’s depressed because she can never measure up to her beloved twin brother. Who knows? Maybe she’s a serial killer.”
A tremble went down Brynna’s spine, and she forced a laugh. “You’re joking.”
“Of course I am. She’s my sister.” He turned the wheel easily. “I think I’d know if I was sharing my bathroom with a socio.”
Brynna laughed with Evan, but there was still something nagging at the back of her mind.
Evan slowed the car, the wheels crunching over the gravel. He pushed it into park, and she looked up, surprised.
“Where are we?”
“This is officially downtown Crescent City. Try not to become a coked-up heroin addict.”
“Coke and heroin are two different things.”
“What’s that?” Evan asked as he fed quarters into a meter.
“Uh, nothing. So, why are we here?”
“Because.” He pulled open the glass door in front of them and she followed. “You are going to tell me everything you’ve been hiding from me.”
Brynna glanced up at the hand-painted sign above the front door. There were swirls and big hippie flowers, the name By Joe! painted in swirly white script.
He yanked her down onto a leather couch in the coffee shop that looked like it was born on a movie set. Two overhead fans turned lazily, slightly moving the warm, coffee-soaked air. Tiny round tables dotted the room—which could have been only ten feet wide, tops—and against one of the latte-covered walls was a heavy wood bar with curlicues of brass design going the whole length down. Ivy and leafy vines trailed from a hodgepodge collection of coffee pots set on the table next to the couch, giving the whole place a sort of coffee-jungle-type vibe.
“Where did you find this place?” Brynna asked.
“Sometimes I need to get away.” Evan stood. “I’m getting you their special. It’s called Cocoa Bananas. Coffee, chocolate, banana, malt, pixie dust, eye of newt, whipped cream.”
“Sounds delicious,” Brynna deadpanned.
She tucked her legs underneath her and sunk into the butter-soft leather of the old couch, immediately liking the private vibe, enjoying the enveloping warmth of the place. She was comfortable enough to forget that Evan had dragged her there in an effort to force her secrets out of her and that she was about to down a horrible-sounding coffee drink rather than a mind-numbing shot.
When he came back with their drinks—two behemoth mugs oozing whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles—Brynna was in a relaxed state. Even more so when she took her first sip.
“This sounded disgusting when you described it, but it is incredible.”
“There really isn’t any eye of newt in it. That was a joke.”
She nudged him gently. “Dork.”
“So.” Evan got comfortable, situating himself so he was facing Brynna full on. “Spill it.”
The nervous twitter that the comfort of the room had stamped out was back, full force. The sweet, chocolate liquid turned to acid, burning in her stomach. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Are you bipolar?”
Brynna pulled back, stunned. “No.”
“Then there is something going on with you. Are you doing drugs? Do I have to go all public service announcement on your ass?”
She wrinkled her nose. “No, of course not. On both counts. I’m fine, Ev, seriously.”
“Nope. You were all fun, bubbly Bryn and then, kapow! You’re terrified of your own shadow, and you’ve worn the same hoodie and jeans to school three days in a row.”
She looked down at the jeans in question. “You noticed that?”
“Everyone noticed. Darcy was going to host an intervention.”
“There is—”
Evan put a hand on her shoulder. “Spare me. If you’re going to say that there isn’t anything wrong, then it’s been nice knowing you.”
Brynna gaped. “Seriously? If I don’t spill some stupid secrets to you, you’re going to stop being my friend?”
But Brynna’s indignant act dropped the second she saw the look on Evan’s face. It was sad. Kind.
“I want to help you, B. I care about you. If something is bothering you, it’s bothering me too.”
A hint of a lump started to form in her throat. “Does e
veryone else feel this way too?”
“Lauren and Darcy? No, they couldn’t give a crap. Teddy, I don’t know about. So come on, B, what’s going on with you?”
Brynna put down her mug and studied a blue ink stain on the leg of her jeans. Part of her wanted to tell Evan everything, to let someone shoulder a tiny bit of her burden, even if it was only for the duration of a car ride and a cup of cocoa-malt-banana-coffee. But the other part—the louder part—rallied for her to drop her coffee and run, or to make up something, some lie that would appease Evan so she could keep his friendship—and her secret.
Internally, Erica, the dare, that night would follow Brynna forever. She would never be able to dismiss what had happened, would never be able to overcome her grief and her guilt. If she hadn’t dared—then prodded, then pulled—Erica into the water, Erica would still be alive. If she had gone back in the water again, maybe she could have saved her best friend.
Erica was the pretty one, the fun one, the smart one. Brynna was just the girl who survived.
“Okay, look. I’ll tell you a secret first, and then you’ll know that we’re bound together forever and you can tell me yours.”
Brynna nodded, glad just to have a few more minutes while Evan looked away, worrying his bottom lip. Finally, he sucked in a dramatic breath and focused his eyes on her.
“No one else knows this, B, okay?”
“Okay, just between us.”
He closed his eyes for a long beat and then blurted, “I hate corduroy.”
Brynna gaped. “Seriously? That’s your enormous, earth-shattering secret? That you hate fabrics?”
He held up a finger. “One. I hate one fabric.”
Brynna rolled her eyes but found herself smiling.
“It’s serious!” Evan smirked behind his coffee mug and took a long sip. “Okay, also—”
“If you’re going to tell me you hate seersucker too, I’m going to beat you with this coffee mug.”
“I don’t know what seersucker even means. My secret is that I hate corduroy. I hate the shoosh-shoosh sound it makes when people walk. Also, I’m gay.”
He kept his focus on her, and Brynna could nearly see the cogs working in his head behind his bright, wide eyes. He was sitting up ramrod straight and holding his breath.
