Truth or Dare

by Peg Cochran

  “But you’re special,” her mother put her hands on either side of Rivka’s face, “you’re not like everyone else.”

  Rivka squirmed free. “I know. But I want to be. I want to fit in like all the other girls. I want to dress like them, and act like them and talk like them.”

  Her mother shook her head. “We’re different, bubele. Accept it. That’s why Tate and I wanted you to go to the Hebrew school instead, but you insisted. Now, hurry and change.”

  Rivka’s mother was getting the linen challah cover out of the china closet when the phone rang. “Who could be calling so late? It’s almost time to light the candles.” She scurried back to the kitchen.

  Rivka followed behind her.

  Her mother grabbed the telephone. “Hello?” She listened for a moment. “I’m sorry, but you must have the wrong number. There’s no one here by that name.” She replaced the receiver.

  “They were looking for someone named Becky.” She shook her head.

  “That’s me. They were looking for me.”

  “Don’t be silly, Rivka. You’re not named Becky.”

  “Yes, I am. My friends call me that. It was Pamela’s idea.” She bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to tell her mother that.

  Her mother sniffed. “That maideleh prietzleh, that prima donna who lives up on the hill?”

  “She’s my friend.”

  Her mother wagged a finger at her. “Be careful, Rivka.” She opened the oven door and peered inside. “She’s not your friend—she’s playing with you. I’m afraid you’re going to get hurt.” She closed the oven door and laid the oven mitts on the counter nearby. She turned and looked at Rivka, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Believe me, bubele, that girl is trouble.”

  “Thank you.” Mary took the envelope from Mr. Sobeleski and put it in her purse. She didn’t bother to count the money. The old guy hadn’t cheated her once in all the years she’d been working for him.

  “Going to put that in your college account?” He pointed toward her purse.

  Mary nodded.

  Sobeleski’s News Stand wouldn’t have been Mary’s first choice of employment. She’d rather be working in one of the cool boutiques at the mall and get a discount on the cool clothes, but she could walk to the newsstand easily enough, and Mr. Sobeleski had let her start working when she was only twelve although he really wasn’t supposed to. The fact that he paid her in cash was a bonus.

  Mr. Sobeleski pulled the shade down over the grimy, bug-specked front window. He was wearing the tan cardigan he wore all year long. He was stoop-shouldered and had bristly tufts of gray hair coming out his ears. Mary thought he was gross, but he’d been good to her so when kids came in trying to steal magazines or gum, she chased them away even though they called her names and once threw half a ham sandwich at her.

  “Good night.” Mary opened the door, and a bell jangled in the back of the shop. The air was cool, and the sky was overcast with a thin shroud of cloud over the new moon. Mary shivered and began walking toward home.

  She couldn’t wait to add her pay to the stash she kept hidden in the back of her closet. She had enough for her SATs, college applications and maybe her first year’s books.

  She bit her lip. She was worried about that last calculus exam. If she was going to get a scholarship, she needed to ace almost everything. Maybe Mrs. Damson would let her do some extra credit and not be such a bitch for a change.

  Rivka was in Mary’s calculus class, and the subject seemed to come naturally to her. Mary was jealous. She had to sweat blood for her A’s. Rivka’s parents already had money set aside for Rivka’s college. She said they’d been saving practically since she was born. Pamela didn’t have anything to worry about either. Her parents had plenty of money, and Crestview College wouldn't turn down the granddaughter of the man who had given the money for Miller Auditorium no matter how lousy her grades were. Must be nice, Mary thought.

  She had applied to the Miller Foundation herself for a scholarship. She thought she had a pretty good shot at it—as long as she didn’t piss Pamela off before they made their decision. Pamela claimed the old fart in charge of the money had a crush on her and would do anything she said. Mary couldn’t wait to be rid of Pamela and all her bullshit.

  Deirdre was the only one who didn’t seem concerned about college. She showed no interest in her schoolwork, her grades, or, for that matter, anything that was happening beyond tomorrow. She kidded Mary about being such a geek, but Mary knew that college was the only way she was going to get somewhere. She wasn’t about to spend the rest of her life behind the counter at Sobeleski’s News Stand.

  All the lights were on in the house when Mary got home. She went around to the back and pushed open the door to the kitchen. Dishes were stacked in the sink, and the garbage can was overflowing. Mary watched as a black bug scurried across the grease spattered counter and disappeared under a wadded up dishcloth.

  “Mom?”

  She ran out into the hall and peered into the dining room. “Mom?” Her heart started to pound.

  She found her mother in the living room curled up in a chair. She was moaning softly and rocking back and forth.

  Mary looked at her watch and gulped back a sob. Her father ought to be home any minute now.

  “Mom? What’s wrong?” Mary crouched at her mother’s feet and grasped her hands. “Have you stopped taking your medicine again?”

  Her mother looked at her, but her eyes were vacant.

  Mary heard the front door slam.

  “What’s the matter? What’s happening?” Her father came in, pulling his tie from his shirt and rolling up his sleeves.

  “I don’t think she’s been taking her pills.” Mary gestured at her mother.

  “She’s out of them. That new insurance doesn’t kick in until next month. We’re still paying off that last hospital bill...” He bent down toward his wife.

  "She needs to go back to the hospital.”

  Her father shook his head. “Not possible, I’m afraid. Not until we pay off that last bill.”

  “But can’t you just—“

  “We have to wait till next month. Then everything will be okay.”

  “It’s not going to be okay. She’s got to go now.”

  Last time her mother was like this she tried to cut her wrists. Mary still remembered the blood all over the kitchen floor, and the wailing of the siren as the ambulance got closer and closer.

  “We’re going to have to take care of her ourselves. At least until we’ve got that new policy in hand.”

  “We can’t take care of her ourselves!” Mary stood up and backed away from her father. “I’m in school all day, and you’re at work—“

  “Be realistic, Mary. It’s the best we can do.”

  “No, it’s not.” Mary walked toward the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  Mary climbed the stairs trying to convince herself she didn't have to do this, but she knew she did.

  She kept the money in an empty tampon box in the back of her closet. Mary opened it up and took out the cash. She would add the money Mr. Sobeleski had given her today, and there ought to be enough to pay for her mother's meds and maybe some of the hospital bill, too.

  Mary sat for a moment with the bills in her hand feeling the peculiar softness of the worn paper. It had taken her five years to save the money.

  And now it was gone.

  Pamela scrunched down in her chair and closed her eyes. Mr. Marshall droned on and on. There was a fly flinging itself against the window trying to get out. No wonder, Pamela thought. It probably figured death was better than another five minutes of this boring class.

  Sun streamed through the dusty windows, and the room smelled from the group of boys in front who had come straight from gym class. Pamela's bare arms stuck to the desk, and she felt a drop of sweat trickle slowly down her back and under the waistband of her shorts.

  Thank God, in a few short weeks, they would all be seniors and summer vacation would start. She
looked forward to the first weekend at their shore house. Her parents rarely put in an appearance for more than a few hours, and she would be able to do whatever she wanted. She had great plans for this summer.

  She felt a slight tremor of anxiety—as if her stomach were twisting into knots. So far her parents hadn't said anything about that letter she'd found in the wastebasket. But what if they suddenly asked her if she wanted to do it?

  Never! Pamela slapped the desk with her palm, and Mr. Marshall looked up, raising his eyebrows at her.

  She looked down quickly. Maybe she could ask for a pass to the bathroom and sneak outside for a smoke. There was a bit of shade over by the north side of the school. Maybe it would be cooler. Or, she could go to the girls room and splash some cold water on her face. She pulled her shirt away from her chest and fluttered it trying to create a breeze. She had to get out of here.

  She was about to raise her hand to ask Mr. Marshall if she could leave the room, when Sue Moltisante poked her and handed her a note.

  Pamela raised an eyebrow, but Sue pointed at the note and mouthed “read it”.

  Pamela opened up the slightly grimy piece of notebook paper with the tips of her fingers. The handwriting slanted upwards toward the right, but she had no trouble reading the words.

  Pamela began to smile.

  Chapter 5

  “Truth or dare?”

  Pamela looked around the table and then glanced down at her tray. She couldn’t decide what she wanted for lunch so she’d managed to spend almost fifteen dollars ordering everything on the menu, and now she wasn’t sure she was even hungry.

  Mary was unwrapping a dreary peanut butter and jelly sandwich that looked like it had been in her locker for several days. She’d been quiet all day. Something was going on, but Pamela figured she’d find out what it was soon enough. Right now she was way more interested in the information in Sue Moltisante’s note.

  Pamela put her chin in her hand and stared at Rivka for a minute. She knew perfectly well that she was going to choose Deirdre this time, but it was fun seeing Rivka flinch from her gaze. Rivka had been pathetically pleased when Pamela invited her to join them at lunch.

  “Me?” Rivka stopped fussing over a plastic container of leftovers and pointed at herself.

  Pamela shook her head and pointed at Rivka’s lunch. “If you’re going to sit with us, you can’t bring disgusting things like that for lunch. Get rid of it.”

  “It’s brisket. From Sha—Friday dinner.”

  Pamela pointed toward the garbage can.

  “I’m hungry...” But Rivka got up and dumped the container as Pamela demanded.

  “Okay, let’s get down to business. Truth or dare?” Pamela looked over at Deirdre who was fiddling with a container of peach yogurt but not actually eating any of it.

  Sue Moltisante and Deb Harris walked past their table slowly. Sue winked at Pamela and managed to bump Deirdre's arm.

  "Sorry," she said but didn't sound it. She and Deb walked away giggling.

  “Me?” For once Deirdre didn’t seem excited to be picked.

  “Yes. You. Truth or dare.”

  Deirdre hesitated. “Truth, I guess.”

  Pamela cleared her throat. “What were you doing in the bathroom before third period?”

  Deirdre looked into the depths of her yogurt and mumbled something.

  “What?” Pamela prodded.

  Deirdre looked up. “I said, I was throwing up, okay? I think I’ve got some kind of tummy bug...”

  Pamela laughed. “No you don't. You’re pregnant! Deirdre’s pregnant,” she announced to the table.

  “No, I’m not.” Deirdre jumped to her feet.

  Pamela pointed at her. “The truth. You have to tell the truth, or the game isn’t worth anything.”

  “Don't be an ass, Pamela. Leave her alone.” Mary threw down her sandwich and glared at Pamela.

  Rivka looked from one to the other of them, waiting, nearly holding her breath.

  “That is the truth.” Deirdre sat back down. “At least...I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m pregnant or not. It could be the flu, right?”

  And she started to cry.

  “Are the parents going to be there?” Rivka’s mother and father stood shoulder-to-shoulder and stared at her over their glasses. They looked as solid as a brick wall. Rivka wished they would sit down. Was it so wrong to want to go to a party like everyone else?

  “I told you. Pamela’s parents are giving the party. It's a benefit for Crestview College. They told Pamela she could invite a few friends. That’s all. It’s not going to be a ‘bunch of teenagers’ like you keep saying.”

  Her father took off his glasses and polished them. “There’s no need to be disrespectful, Rivka.”

  “I’m not being disrespectful! I’m trying to explain to you that there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “I don’t know.” Her mother had her apron in her hand and was scrunching it up and then smoothing it out.

  Rivka bit her tongue and tried to keep a pleasant look on her face although she really wanted to scream. They had to let her go to this party. It was at the country club and there would be waiters serving champagne and catered hors d’oeuvres and everything. It would be like the movies.

  “Maybe if she doesn’t stay too late...” her mother gave a nervous smile and glanced at her husband.

  Rivka held her breath. Please let her father say okay!

  He stroked his beard. “As you say, there will be plenty of adults at the party,” he turned toward his wife, “as long as you’re sure, Esther.”

  Her mother nodded slightly. “What could happen after all?”

  “Oh thank you!” Rivka grabbed her mother and hugged her fiercely.

  There were two clubs in town. There was the new one over by the highway that was all beige carpeting and crystal chandeliers and admitted anyone who had enough money to join. Then there was Beacon Hill on Colt Road with its polished wooden floors, fading Oriental carpets and stricter standards.

  Pamela’s family belonged to both of them, Mary’s neither, and Deirdre’s had managed to afford the new one by the skin of their professionally whitened teeth.

  Rivka's family had no interest in country clubs at all. "Pretension," her mother sniffed when they dropped Rivka off in front of the main entrance of Beacon Hill.

  Rivka looked up the long, carpeted stairs to where they disappeared under the immaculate green and white striped awning. She'd wanted to get a ride with Mary or Deirdre, but her parents had insisted on bringing her themselves.

  Which meant she had to walk in all by herself. She took a deep breath to quell the butterflies that were rampaging under her ribs. This was so out of her league. Pamela was out of her league. For a moment she wondered what on earth she was doing here?

  Pamela had loaned her a gown and shown her how to do her make-up, and her mother had reluctantly counted out enough money for her to get her hair done at one of the chain salons downtown. Rivka put a hand to her head. She’d flipped through fashion magazines far into the night and had finally settled on a simple chignon centered low on her head.

  The dress was simple, too—a waterfall of peach silk with a deep-vee neckline and plunging back. Her mother had raised her eyebrows and made that clucking noise with her tongue but miraculously, she hadn’t said anything. She’d even scurried to fetch the camera to take some pictures to show Bubbeh and Zayde and Aunt Ruth later on.

  Rivka took a deep breath and started up the stairs.

  “Care for an hors d’oeuvres, miss?” The waiter brandished a silver tray under Rivka’s nose. She jumped. She’d been scanning the room for any sign of Pamela, Mary or Deirdre.

  “Oh. Thank you.” She looked at the tray and hesitated.

  “Foie gras.” He said and smiled at her.

  “Oh.” Rivka took a cracker uncertainly. She had no idea what foie gras was. It looked like liverwurst to her.

  “They’re good,” he confided, winking at her. “I st
ole one in the kitchen.”

  Rivka laughed. “Okay.” She nibbled on the end of the cracker. “Mmmmmm, this is really good.”

  “Care for another?” He waggled the tray under her nose.

  Rivka shook her head. “I have to go find my friends.”

  He bowed deeply from the waist and turned to serve an older couple standing nearby.

  Before Rivka could get any further, someone came up behind her and draped an arm around her shoulders.

  “You’re Pamela’s new friend aren’t you?”

  "Yes." Rivka tried to inch away. She recognized him as Pamela's father. She'd seen him roaring down Miller Lane in his Mercedes.

  He tightened his grip on her shoulders and grinned at her.

  Rivka squirmed. She didn't want to seem rude, but she smelled the liquor on his breath, and it was disgusting.

  She looked around the room hoping to spot Mary or Deirdre. She saw Lance talking to an older woman in a black dress and quickly turned her head. She didn't want Pamela to think she was going after him deliberately when she'd promised she wouldn't. Pamela's father took her glass from her and sniffed it. “Nothing in here,” he mumbled, weaving slightly. “Got to get you something real to drink.” He snapped his fingers at the nearest waiter.

  “No, really, I can’t—“

  “Get this girl something to drink. Champagne.”

  “Yes, sir.” The waiter practically clicked his heels as he turned and walked toward the bar.

  “He’s going to bring you a real drink.” He pointed at the retreating waiter.

  “I can’t drink, I promised my parents—“

  “Nonsense.” He lowered his face toward hers again. “You hold the glass up to your lips like this…” He held a pretend glass toward Rivka’s mouth.

  “I see you’ve met Pammy's new friend. I’m jealous. She refused to introduce me.” Lance appeared from behind them and took his father's arm. “I think Mother is looking for you.