Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
ENTER IF YOU DARE
by
ALYSON LARRABEE
WHISKEY CREEK PRESS
www.whiskeycreekpress.com
Published by
WHISKEY CREEK PRESS
Whiskey Creek Press
PO Box 51052
Casper, WY 82605-1052
www.whiskeycreekpress.com
Copyright Ó 2014 by Alyson M. Sousa
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
ISBN: 978-1-61160-839-7
Cover Artist: Gemini Judson
Editor: Dave Field
Printed in the United States of America
Dedication
For Annie + Belen = Annabelle
“No man for any considerable period can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true.”
Nathaniel Hawthorne
Acknowledgements:
First, thank you to all the family members, friends, co-workers and students who encouraged me to follow my dreams, dream big and not give up.
A huge thank you to the first people who read the book in its entirety: Kathleen Sousa, Serena Shea, Samantha McGuinness, Lauren Hartman, Baileigh Martin, Ruksha Senthilkumar and Annie Larrabee. Also, thank you to Warren Lizotte who, five years ago, met me at my classroom door every morning to see if I had written another chapter for him to read, back when the story first began to form in my imagination.
Thank you to Ross Muscato, for his encouragement and knowledge about the Bridgewater Triangle. Thank you to Hazel Varella, Duncan Oliver and Ed Hands for their fascinating class about the History of Easton. Special thanks to Duncan and Ed for their informative pamphlet about Easton's graveyards.
Thank you to Mike Atwood for encouraging Annie Larrabee to do her English project on the paranormal legends of the Bridgewater Triangle.
Thank you to the handful of people who lent me their vacation homes so I could write in solitude and quiet: Rob Keleher, John and Terri Larrabee and Amy and Cliff Curtis.
Chapter 1
There’s a New Kid in Town
Once again the new kid’s sitting next to the only empty seat in the classroom.
And once again I’m almost late. Still panting from my sprint down the hallway, I slide into the last empty seat, crashing my elbows and slamming my knees. Two seconds later, the bell rings. A book topples off my desk and the new kid catches it midair, then hands it to me.
To avoid making eye contact, I stare down at the book and mumble, “Thank you.”
Wyatt Silver leans over so I can hear him above the ruckus. “You’re welcome, Annabelle. Did you study for the quiz?”
Pretending I didn’t hear him, I open my notebook.
Damn.
It’s my English notebook and this is History. I start rummaging through my book bag, looking for my History notes. I have a C minus average in this class and my parents will be pissed if I don’t bring my grade up. Unfortunately, I had no idea there was a quiz today. I’m never prepared for tests or quizzes and I’m always late. Wyatt seems not to have noticed. He keeps trying to start conversations by asking about our History assignments.
He should be able to tell just by looking at me that I’m the wrong person to ask about anything.
Ten minutes ago I was still in the shower and my hair’s dripping down my back. Even my body’s still damp. Like an idiot, I didn’t dry off enough before I yanked on my clothes.
I’m wet. I’m shivering. I’m dropping things. Obviously, I’m the most disorganized kid in the class. You’d think he would’ve figured that out by now but he hasn’t.
As persistent as a bloodthirsty mosquito, Wyatt leans toward me again and asks in an even louder voice, “Did you study for the quiz?”
To which I reply, “What quiz?”
Finally, I locate the spiral notebook containing the right notes. Spreading it open on the desktop, I begin to read my chaotic interpretation of what happened centuries ago in the British Isles, I think. This is AP History and I’m sure I have the lowest average in the class. Everyone else is brilliant. If he’s looking for a study partner he’s chosen the wrong girl. If he’s looking for anything he’s chosen the wrong girl because I’ve sworn off boys. Not forever but at least until college.
Since the first day of school, two weeks ago, Wyatt has asked me at least fifty questions about our History assignments. Sometimes I provide an unhelpful answer. Most of the time I provide no answer at all. He still hasn’t taken the hint. I’ve done everything but say, “Don’t look at me. Don’t talk to me.” I can’t do that, though, because my mother raised me to be polite. So I continue to stifle my rudest impulses and provide stupid answers to his questions. My stupidity isn’t feigned, either. I’m really that big of an idiot.
Wyatt must be starting to notice, because next he asks me, “Do you own a hairdryer?”
I almost smile, but at the last second, as the corners of my mouth start to twitch up, I twitch them back down. I will not smile at Wyatt Silver.
He doesn’t give up. “Do you have towels at your house?”
“Yes, we have towels.” I push a clump of wet hair away from my face and a few drops of water sprinkle across my notes, blurring the ink. He laughs.
I’d like to ask him a few questions, but I have no desire to get to know him, so I don’t. I’m curious about why he moved to Eastfield, though. Everybody is. He used to live in New Hampshire and now he lives here, with his uncle, not his parents.
Some people say that he got expelled from his old school for selling weed.
More Wyatt Silver gossip: he had to leave because he got a girl pregnant. My personal favorite: Every single person in his former hometown has an STD and he started the epidemic. That really happened on Lifetime TV, but it was in California. Not New Hampshire.
I’ve heard all the gossip and I don’t know which story to believe. Who transfers to a new school for senior year? Nobody if they can avoid it, so there mus
t be drama in his recent past. And I wish he’d leave me alone because I hate drama.
He’s not your typical dangerously handsome bad boy type, but he’s good-looking enough, in a tall, awkward, shaggy-haired way. Except he blushes like mad when he talks to me, even if he’s only asking about the homework. No subject is too boring for him and every time he speaks to me, his cheeks turn all pink and his eyes darken. I try not to look at him, but whenever I do his unruly face is changing color.
He leaves me alone for the rest of History class. After flunking the quiz, I tune out a boring lecture about the Celts in the fifth century. Finally the bell rings and I can escape from him so I jump up to leave. About two feet away from the classroom door, I feel something fall out the bottom of my pants leg. When I look down there’s a pair of my underwear, lying on the floor. Orange and black tiger print bikinis.
Ugh!
They must’ve gotten stuck inside my pants leg in the dryer. This morning I pulled a pair of clean jeans out of the dryer and yanked them on in a hurry. Should’ve checked inside the right leg for bunched up undies.
Damn.
I bend and swoop in one graceful motion. The panties are inside my bag within three seconds of hitting the floor. Nobody even noticed. Except Wyatt Silver, who’s right behind me. Just in case his grin fails to say it all, he adds, “I’ll catch your books when they fall, Annabelle, but I’ve gotta draw the line there. You’re on your own with this mishap.”
I love the word mishap, but I hate the burn that’s racing across my reddening face. Even my dripping wet hair can’t cool me off. Now the new kid knows a lot more about me than I want him to know: I own a pair of tiger print bikini underpants and they’re in my book bag right now. At least it wasn’t a thong.
I don’t see Wyatt again until lunch and that’s too soon. When I get to the cafeteria, I hop between two of my friends who are sitting on a long bench at one of the picnic-style tables. As usual I’m so hungry I’m salivating. After ripping my paper lunch bag open I tear into my first sandwich.
While slurping up a carton of milk, I glance around and see Wyatt Silver, once again checking me out. He’s sitting four tables away and we almost make eye contact.
Quickly, I shoot my gaze down to the fascinating focal point of my straw. Then jiggle it around on the bottom of the milk carton, suck hard and make a loud gurgling sound as I vacuum up the last drop. I smile at my friends, Jen and Connor, on either side of me and then at Meg who’s sitting across from us with her boyfriend, Ryan; we all eat lunch together every day, on the seniors’ side of the school cafeteria.
Jen says, “I want to dive into his blue eyes and swim around naked.”
I laugh. “Jen, you would never really do that.”
“Would too. What is wrong with you, Annabelle? He’s so hot!”
“Nothing’s wrong with me. I know he’s hot. I just need a break from boys. I want to stay single this year.”
We all know who Jen’s talking about, but we also know better than to look directly at the new kid.
Jen and Meg, individually, not together, glance in Wyatt’s direction. We’ve worked hard to perfect the skill of checking out a situation without getting caught. We combine quick, well-aimed glances and peripheral vision; which can be used more casually and slowly.
Meg warns me. “He’s so checking you out. He’s staring. I think he feels safe being four tables away, like maybe you won’t notice, but you’d have to be unconscious.”
“He sits next to me in History class, first period. Kelsey told me that he looks at me a lot. Sometimes he even talks to me, stuff like, ‘Did you study for the quiz’.”
Jen spoons a bite of applesauce into her mouth, gives my damp hair the once over and frowns. “I’d get up at five in the morning to do my hair if he stared at me the way he stares at you. I’d get up at four if he talked to me.”
“It’s been going on since the first day of school. He always sits next to me. I’ve shut him down a million times. I don’t know why he keeps trying.”
“Because you’re a catch, Annabelle. You’re smart and funny and gorgeous,” Ryan says.
I don’t like it when people compliment me, especially about my appearance. It makes me feel uncomfortable. They all need a visit to a good eye doctor, anyway. My nose and my neck are too long and my boobs barely fill an A cup. I snort at Ryan.
Who responds, “It’s definitely not your laugh that turns him on.”
I snort again, just to annoy him.
Meg says, “Shut up, Annabelle. You sound like a farm animal.”
Ryan won’t quit. “He likes you. He wants to get to know you. He asked me about you at soccer practice.”
Jen and Meg start piling on the questions ten times faster than Ryan can answer them. “When was this?” “What did he say?” “What did you tell him?”
Wyatt could go out with any girl in the school and I’ve been playing mad hard-to-get. Except I’m not playing. I’m serious. I mean it. Why isn’t he discouraged? What the hell’s up with him?
I ask the most obvious question. “Why me?”
“He says there’s something about you.” Ryan’s answer only makes Wyatt’s interest in me seem even more mysterious.
Connor says, “There’s a lot about you, Annabelle. Your face is gorgeous and the golf team voted you best butt in the whole school.”
“Thanks, Con, I’m so glad the whole golf team has been checking out my butt.”
“Silver would have to be blind not to notice you. I have an idea. Let’s see if he gets jealous; a little experiment.” Connor leans in so close to my right ear that his lips are touching it. We’ve always had kind of a flirty friendship. And he’s definitely flirting with me now. Anyone watching us would think so.
His warm breath whispers against my skin as Connor gives directions to Meg and Jen. “Watch Silver and see how he reacts.”
His chest presses against my shoulder. He rests his hand on the back of my neck and nudges my ear with his nose. “This could be interesting. Does he really care about you? Does he think he has a chance? What will he do, Annabelle?”
“Wow, he’s staring straight at you guys and I swear his eyes changed color!” Meg’s voice creeps out from between her closed teeth, like a ventriloquist’s. She knows how to be discreet. “He just stood up!”
I throw my right elbow into Connor’s stomach and then look across the cafeteria at my not-so-secret admirer. Wyatt Silver is indeed standing up. His formerly blue eyes have darkened to battleship gray. The grim line of his mouth stiffens. A muscle in his reddening face twitches.
I launch myself up, banging the backs of my knees on the edge of the bench.
“Shut up, you guys.” My warning’s unnecessary, though, because everyone has been stunned into silence. At least their mouths aren’t hanging open. Not that it matters. Staring straight at me and only me, Wyatt Silver takes a step in my direction. I need to escape fast, before he gets to our table.
But as I try to climb out from between Connor and Jen I lose my balance and almost fall over. Grabbing onto Connor’s shoulder, I effectively demonstrate how uncoordinated I can be. At least I’m not wearing a skirt. Awkward is what I do best, but flashing everyone in the school cafeteria would be extreme, even for me.
During my almost-fall, one leg flies up and my flip-flop catapults into the air, end-over-end, landing I know not where. When I finally I regain my balance, I can feel how disgustingly sticky the floor is because one of my feet is bare. Spinning around frantically, I try to spot my sandal, and finally succeed. It’s lying a few feet away, next to another table.
I need to get away fast, before I end up having to talk to Wyatt. So I scoop up my books and then turn back toward the spot where I saw my sandal a second ago. It’s gone.
A large hand with long fingers wraps around my forearm. Wyatt’s hand is so big he can hold my arm gently, without squeezing, and still encircle it. I stare at his hand for a second before my gaze trails up to his face. He’s smiling a
nd his face and eyes have returned to their normal color.
In the hand that isn’t holding onto my arm, he’s holding a stack of books, on top of which sits my flip-flop.
“Lose something, Tiger?” He lets go of me, turns and stalks away with my sandal still resting on the cover of his Calculus book. Struggling to keep up with his long-legged stride, I jog after him.
“See you in Math class, Connor.” Wyatt tosses this comment over his left shoulder like a live grenade.
When I catch up to him he grins. “What’s up, Annabelle?”
“Give me my shoe. I’m barefoot on this slimy floor and everyone’s watching.”
“Only one of your feet is bare.”
“Please.” I decide to try being polite.
“I’ll trade you.”
Oh, crap, what now?
“Trade me what?”
“All I want is a conversation; a chance to get to know you better.”
“It’ll have to be a fast conversation. I can’t be late for my next class.”
“Which way are you going?”
“I have English upstairs.”
“C’mon. I’m going upstairs, too.”
We’re in high school so a lot of kids are watching us. There’s no way I can avoid walking to class with him without being outrageously rude and obvious about it, in front of everyone. Besides, he still has my shoe. So I walk with Wyatt Silver, through the hallway and up the stairs. I have to take two steps for each one of his and I’m wearing only one flip-flop. If he doesn’t give me the other one soon, my foot will be filthy by the time I get to English class.
He asks, “So, Annabelle, what do we have for history homework tonight?”
And I don’t know the answer. I refuse to look at him, but I can hear him and he’s chuckling softly.
“I know what the homework is. Too bad for me if I didn’t. You’re never much help.”
He takes a deep breath and blows out his next words fast. “You made a movie last year, about ghosts. Everyone still talks about it. I’d like to watch that movie with you.”
Chapter 2
Make New Friends but Keep the Old
My head snaps up and I stare into his serious face.
“Who told you about the movie?”
Enter If You Dare Page 1
