The Dare

by Elle Kennedy

Wait.

  What?

  For some reason, I assumed Abigail would protect Jules, and Charlotte would protect Abigail. I’d been the sorority punchline for so long that I forgot about all my old hopes and dreams of sisterhood, of having close friends to support me and watch my back.

  But Abigail’s declaration brings some unexpected redemption to the Kappa house, as everyone bands together during the vote. Rebecca’s hand is the first up. Followed closely by Lisa, Sasha, Olivia and Beth. More hands rise, each encouraged by the growing majority. Until finally, my hand goes up.

  “Good, its unanimous,” Charlotte says with a nod. “Julianne Munn, by unanimous decision, the membership of the Briar chapter of Kappa Chi have lost faith in your commitment to our shared tenets of sisterhood, and you are hereby excommunicated and banished from the grounds.” Our president pauses, staring at Jules when she doesn’t respond. “Well, get the fuck out.”

  “Are you shitting me? This isn’t fair,” Jules argues, looking at Abigail to save her. She searches the room, shocked and dejected when no one comes to her rescue. “Seriously? Fine. Fuck you all. Have a nice life.”

  Jules storms up the stairs to her room while the rest of the sisters sit dumbfounded at what’s just happened. I know the feeling.

  “Taylor,” a sheepish voice pipes up. It belongs to Nancy, who eyes me sadly from across the room. “I’m really sorry we were watching that crap. We were trying to figure out how to say something when Rebecca caught us.”

  “Shep sent me the link like five seconds before you got home,” Robin adds, glancing at Rebecca. “We weren’t laughing about it, I swear.”

  Rebecca and I each respond with a nod. I’m not quite sure I believe them, but at least they apologized.

  After Charlotte dismisses everyone, Abigail gets my attention, weaving her way through the room.

  “Taylor, wait up. I want to talk,” she pleads.

  I’ve got less than zero interest in what she has to say. She chose this one moment to grow a conscience and do the right thing. Good for her. But I’m not giving her a pat on the back for it. We aren’t friends.

  Instead, I rush up the stairs with Sasha. Rebecca disappears into her room. I wish I knew how better to comfort her, but the minute Sasha and I are alone, and I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I remember it’s my birthday and that Conor is on his way over.

  He’ll be here any minute and I’m a fucking mess from the inside out.

  “I can’t do this,” I mutter, stumbling into Sasha’s bathroom to wipe the makeup from my face.

  “So let’s get the hell out of here,” she says, standing in the doorway. “Tell Conor to meet us at your place with some liquor and we’ll stay in and get loaded.”

  “No, I mean I can’t see him.”

  The idea of facing him after this has me feeling queasy again. Like the slightest nudge could send me hugging the toilet.

  “Do you want me to call him, say you’re sick or something?” Our eyes meet in the mirror. Reading my face, Sasha’s expression sobers. “Are you going to tell him?”

  Tell him what? That I’m now a trending topic on one of the world’s most popular porn sites?

  That when he tells his mom and stepdad about me, they can go online and see my tits?

  That every one of my mom’s Rate My Professor reviews will now include a link to her daughter?

  Bile rises in my throat as panic once again attacks my insides.

  Oh my fucking God. This is going to affect my entire life. What happens when elementary school principals and parents get a look at Ms. Marsh and her famous rack and I’m banned from every school district across the country because a woman’s body is more dangerous than a hand grenade?

  “Taylor—”

  I push Sasha’s hand off me and lunge for the toilet again, where I kneel there dry-heaving.

  I didn’t choose this. To be put on display. To be the object of humiliation. The thought of Conor having to deal with it too makes me want to cry again.

  His teammates will see the video. Spank it under the covers then smirk every time they see me. Hang screenshots in the locker room. He doesn’t deserve to have a fucking embarrassment, no, a joke, for a girlfriend. And then what? He’ll forever have to keep defending me? Keep being infinitely patient and understanding during the numerous freak-outs I now envision in my future?

  I can’t live like that, constantly feeling like everyone I meet is seeing me naked and knowing I’m embarrassing my boyfriend even if he pretends otherwise. I can’t. I can’t see him anymore.

  I fucking can’t.

  “Take me home,” I say, rising on wobbly legs. “I’ll text him on the way.”

  Sasha nods. “Whatever you need.”

  Once I’ve gathered my things, we head downstairs. But the universe hates me, so I’m not surprised to discover that Conor is early.

  He’s striding up the darkened driveway as we open the door. Dressed in a sharp black suit somewhere behind an enormous flower arrangement. I never get tired of seeing him all pressed and polished. He’s like sex personified. A walking fantasy.

  And I’m walking away.

  He smiles wide when he sees me, then notices my rumpled state and gives a sheepish look. “Shit. You’re not ready. I’m sorry, I should have done another couple laps.” He’s adorable when he’s excited. And here I am about to take him out back with a shotgun. “I was getting a little overanxious. But I can wait.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, “I have to cancel.”

  The words come out in someone else’s voice. Distant and strange. I feel myself shutting down even as I stand under the lights of the house. My mind is peeling away from my body, recoiling from everything.

  “Why? What happened?”

  He sets the huge flower arrangement on the ground and tries to reach for me, but I step out of his grasp. If I let him touch me, my resolve will crack. I’m not strong enough to withstand Conor Edwards’ touch.

  “Taylor, what’s wrong?” The hurt in his eyes is immediate and gutting.

  I can’t form the words. I remember how frustrated I was last month when he wasn’t communicating with me, and yet here I am, doing the same thing. But his shit was righted by the simple act of telling his family the truth, removing himself from Kai’s influence.

  My shit isn’t going away. The truth won’t help a goddamn bit, because the Internet is fucking forever.

  How the hell do I ask him to tie himself to that bullshit long-term? He’s been so patient and encouraging already, but this is too much for anyone to handle. It’s too much for me.

  I see the alarm on his face, and I know what comes next. The pain, the betrayal. I don’t want to do this to him. He deserves better and probably always has. We were a mess from the start and maybe it’s fitting it should be just as messy at the end. He won’t understand, but he’ll get over it. They always do.

  “I’m sorry, Conor. It’s over.”

  39

  Conor

  This isn’t funny. Because she has to be messing with me, right? Some sick idea of a joke. In lieu of presents I will be scaring the shit out of you.

  “Taylor, stop.”

  “I’m serious,” she says, looking at her feet.

  I came up to the Kappa house to find her acting suspiciously, like she was making an escape. Bag slung over her shoulder. She looks worn out, ragged, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think she was hung-over. Yet there’s a coldness about her. Her expression hard and impassive, as if my Taylor isn’t even in there anymore.

  “Listen, I’m sorry, but you’re just going to have to accept it. This is over.” She shrugs. “I’ve got to go.”

  Like hell it is. “Talk to me,” I order.

  She’s got Sasha with her and they start walking toward a red car parked at the side of the house. I leave the flowers behind to follow them, because she’s not pulling this shit today.

  “You’re seriously breaking up with me? On your birthday? The fuck is that, Taylor
?”

  “I know this is shitty,” she says, walking fast and refusing to look at me, “but it’s the way it has to be. Just…I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t believe you.” I step in front of her, needing her to look me in the eyes and tell me the truth. I notice Sasha trying to edge away from us, but Taylor glances over in panic and Sasha stops. She stands a few feet away, but doesn’t leave.

  “It doesn’t matter what you believe,” Taylor mutters.

  “I love you.” And yesterday I would have said she loved me too. “Something’s happened. Just tell me what it is. If someone said something to make you think—”

  “It was a fling, Conor. It’s run its course. You’ll bounce back.” Her gaze drops to the pavement. “We both got in over our heads.”

  “What does that even mean?” This woman is fucking infuriating. I feel like I’m losing my mind. Everything up is down and left is right. It makes no sense that yesterday she was in my bed and today she’s practically running at the sight of me. “I was in this for real. I am in it. And I know you were too. Why are you lying?”

  “I’m not lying.” Her indignation is far from compelling and the more she feeds me this bullshit, the less I can remember why I’m still standing here like a jackass getting my heart stomped on. “Whatever you want to call it—”

  “A relationship,” I growl. “It’s a fucking relationship.”

  “Well, not anymore.” She sighs, and at this point I’d believe she didn’t give a shit about me if it weren’t for the fact that I know her better than she’d like to admit. “The semester is ending, anyway. You’re going back to California and I’m going home to Cambridge, so. The long-distance thing never works.”

  “I wanted you to come stay with me. Already cleared it with Max and my mom.” I shake my head in frustration. “They were excited to meet you, T. My mom was redecorating one of the spare bedrooms for you.”

  “Yeah, well…” She fidgets, eyes bouncing from the ground to the road. Anywhere but me. “I don’t know where you got the idea I wanted to spend the summer with your parents. I never said yes.”

  Taylor isn’t a cruel person. She doesn’t treat people like this. Even me. Even when I was breaking her heart because I was too afraid to face her. She isn’t this heartless.

  And yet.

  “Why are you doing this?” This act, this façade she’s put on, is nothing like the person I’ve known for the past few months. “If this is about the whole thing with Kai, I’m sorry. I thought we’d—”

  “Maybe you guys should take the night to sleep on it and talk again tomorrow,” Sasha cuts in, her attention trained on Taylor. I don’t know Sasha well, but even she is giving off a sketchy vibe.

  Taylor moves to go around me so I block her path. She glares at me not with anger but something that resembles defeat.

  “Just level with me, Taylor.” This is exhausting and I don’t know how else to get through to her, to break through this barrier she’s erected between us. Even the first night we met I never felt this distant from her. As if she’s looking past me. Invisible. Irrelevant. “You owe me that much. Just tell me the truth.”

  “I don’t want you as a boyfriend, okay? Are you happy now?”

  The gun was loaded that time. Bullet goes right through my chest.

  “Like, seriously, Conor, you’re a great guy and you’re good looking, but what else do you have going on? You have no idea what you want to do with the rest of your life. You have no ambition. No plan or prospects. And that’s fine for you. You can live in your parents’ house and hang out on the beach for the rest of your life. Well, I want more for myself. It was fun, but next year we’ll be seniors and I’m ready to grow up. You’re not.”

  At that, she grabs Sasha’s hand and pushes past me.

  This time I let her go.

  Because finally she hit the nail on the head, what I’ve always known and hoped she’d ignore—that we’re on two different paths. Taylor is bright and motivated. She’ll accomplish whatever she sets her mind to. I’m…a fuckup. A perennial drifter carried on the current with no aim or drive of my own.

  Sasha’s car pulls out down the driveway and disappears around the corner.

  A pang of loss stabs me square in the gut. A deep, buried memory of pain breaks the surface. A child’s memory of being in a darkened room, crying, alone and unconsoled. It was the first time I realized I had no father, when I was truly old enough to understand that it was something other kids had, but not me. Not because he died, but because we weren’t good enough. I wasn’t good enough. Abandoned. Disposable. Garbage.

  It was bound to happen. That moment Taylor woke up and realized she was out of my league. That she’d been too quick to forgive me for running out on her over Kai. I’d kept her hanging and waited too long to figure out my feelings for her. I waited too long to make my intentions clear and define our relationship. I was selfish to think she needed me, wanted me, enough to be patient. I took her for granted because no one had ever made me feel as comfortable and accepted as she did. No one had ever given me that sense of self-worth before she did.

  And now the best thing that’s ever happened to me just drove away.

  40

  Taylor

  I only watch shows with British accents now. It’s like going on vacation without having to put on pants. On Friday I skipped class—it was just a review anyway—turned off my phone, and dove into my to-be-watched list that has languished for months. When that failed to adequately distract me, I signed up for about a dozen streaming free trials.

  My takeaway thus far is that serial killers are rampant in quaint country villages. Also, dating shows are better with accents, too. Although one thing I’ve noticed is the severe lack of excessive drinking on their reality programming—I mean, how are people supposed to start throwing chairs and breaking shit if they’re sober all the time? They do love their lip fillers and hair extensions, though.

  “I like the one who says ‘fit’ a lot,” I tell Sasha over speakerphone while I watch a show that’s essentially Tinder, except they all live together. “And they call girls birds. I feel like it’s still the fifties in just Cuba and England.”

  “Uh-huh,” Sasha says with boredom in her voice. “Have you showered today?”

  Clearly she doesn’t appreciate sophisticated television.

  “It’s Saturday,” I tell her.

  “Do we not shower on Saturdays now?” Always so judgey.

  “Water doesn’t grow on trees, you know.”

  After Sasha drove me home from the Kappa house Thursday night, I got in my sweats, went to the couch, and watched British Cottage Murder Detective Priest while eating an entire box of Cheerios before falling asleep in the same position, waking up this morning, getting more cereal delivered, and resuming my viewing schedule. This will be my life now. With Instacart and online classes, who needs to leave the house?

  “It’s the end of the semester,” I add. “Isn’t this what college students are supposed to do? Lie around in a nest of our own molting skin, watching TV and gorging on processed foods.”

  “Not since millennials all got startups, Taylor.”

  “Well, I’m an old soul.”

  “You’re hiding,” she says sharply.

  “So.” So what. Aren’t I allowed? I was dragged out in the middle of the student union, stripped, and ogled by the entire campus. That’s how it feels, anyway. So fucking sue me if all I want to do is lock myself inside and escape into other people’s lives for a while.

  “So you were violated,” she starts, her tone softening.

  “I’m aware.” Thanks.

  “Don’t you want to do something about it? We can get the video taken down. We can go to the police. I’ll help you. You shouldn’t have to just accept that this happened and suffer for it.”

  “What am I going to do, have Jules arrested?”

  “Yes,” her voice bursts out of the speaker. “And Abigail’s shithead boyfriend. Or, ex, I guess, bas
ed on the screaming coming from her room last night. What those two did is a crime, Taylor. It would make them sex offenders in some places.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Cops mean statements. Sitting in a room with a dude staring at my tits while I recount my humiliation for him.

  Or worse, a morally righteous woman who tells me this wouldn’t have happened if there wasn’t a video, if I hadn’t put myself in that situation.

  Screw that.

  “If it were me, I’d be slitting throats.”

  “It’s not you.” I appreciate Sasha’s venom. It’s what I love about her. She’s everything I’m not, vengeful and confident. I’m not built that way. “I know you’re trying. Thank you. But I still need time to think. I’m not there yet.”

  Truth is, I’ve barely wrapped my head around the idea that this is happening, much less the larger implications. When my alarm went off yesterday morning for class, a fierce and immediate sense of panic erupted through my muscles. I felt sick at the thought of walking across campus to the lingering eyes and hushed conversations. Heads turning when I entered the room. Classmates with their phones in their laps, the video playing. Giggles and stares. I couldn’t do it.

  So I stayed home. On one of my TV breaks, I even texted Rebecca. I don’t know why, I guess to share in the misery together. She didn’t respond, which is probably for the best. Maybe if we just ignore this and each other, it’ll just go away.

  “Have you heard from Conor?” Her voice is apprehensive, as if she’s concerned I might hang up on her for daring to ask.

  I almost do. Because just the sound of his name sends a knife of pain to my heart. “He’s texted a few times, but I’m ignoring the messages.”

  “Taylor.”

  “What? It’s over,” I mutter. “You were there when I dumped him.”

  “Yes, I was, and it was obvious you weren’t thinking clearly,” she says in aggravation. “You did everything you could to push him away. I get it, okay? When we’re in that level of crisis, we fall back on our worst insecurities. You were worried he’d judge you or feel embarrassed on your behalf—”