by Jeanne Ryan
I toss the cotton swabs in the trash. “All done.” Is there any possibility we’ll return to the flirty magic? I take a seat in front of him, noticing a smudge on his collar that could be lipstick or rouge.
He slides his chair around me so he can examine himself in the mirror. “Great job, Vee! You’re the best.”
I feel anything but the best as I watch him admire himself. When he gets up, he gives me a playful poke on the shoulder. No thank-you kiss. No fairy lift.
As he heads out of the room, I call out, “Did you send Syd the flowers?”
He stops short with a satisfied expression. “Her ThisIsMe page says roses and peonies are her favorite. They still are, right?”
“Well, if it’s on her page, it must be true.” I slam the makeup box shut.
“Great. See you at the party.” He rushes off.
The last thing I want to do is party. This evening officially sucks. The sooner I get out of here, the better.
I hurry to the props area, where I left my purse. A thick crowd swarms between me and the door to the auditorium, so I decide to head out via the fire escape. As I pass the girls’ dressing room, Sydney laughs, a star in the midst of her many admirers and all those stinking peonies. I don’t have the energy to push through the crowd or deal with the scene she’s sure to cause if I tell her I’m not hanging around for the cast party. Sooner or later she’ll figure out that I’ve left. Probably later.
I rush outside in a race against the flood of tears that threaten to spill over. When I’m on the fire escape, I take a big, hiccupy breath. How could I let Matthew lead me around like a love-sick puppy?
The door creaks open. Aw gee, did he smear off his makeup again?
Tommy peeks out. “I’m not stalking you, promise. But you didn’t look so good in there.”
I run a finger under my eye. “I’m okay.”
He comes outside again. “You want some water or something?” Maybe he thinks we non-obvious girls are fragile.
I force myself to think of Comedy Central shows to keep the tears in check. “I’m fine.” As a way to avoid eye contact, I pull out my phone, even though I just checked it a few minutes ago.
My knees go weak when I see my latest text. NERVE is doing a live round in Seattle.
And they want me.
With trembling shoulders, I read the rest of the message. “Oh my God.”
“What is it?”
“NERVE chose me! They’re doing a live round here.”
“That’s crazy!”
“I know. I’ve got ten minutes to give them my answer.”
He shakes his head. “You saw how they terrorized the players in the last game. Ever hear of PTSD? My cousin has had it since he got back from Afghanistan. No prizes are worth that.”
I rub my hand along my hip. “I agree. But you know a lot of the scary stuff has to be faked, like the special effects in the play. I mean, do you think that guy who played last time was really trapped in a dark elevator with a rat? I’ll bet they would’ve let him out if he wanted. And that rat was someone’s pet, guaranteed.” I bite my thumbnail. Why did I immediately go into defending NERVE?
“His fear looked real to me.”
“It’s supposed to. But it’s not like they can ask you to do anything overtly dangerous or illegal. They’d get sued.”
Tommy groans as if I’m a moron. “If they’ll never ask players to do anything shady, why are the owners totally anonymous?”
“They’re probably based in the Cayman Islands, for taxes or something.”
His voice takes on an urgency. “I don’t think you realize what you’re up against. It’s not like you have to be the girl with the dragon tattoo to dig up personal data on people. They’ll use it against you.”
“I have nothing to hide.” Well, if you don’t count my little hospital stay. But even NERVE can’t access confidential health records. Besides, I’m tired of being ashamed of something I shouldn’t have been ashamed of in the first place.
He nods toward the door. “C’mon, let’s just go to the party. You can sing your version of the school song.”
I pretend to throw my phone at him. He ducks. From beyond the partially open door, the voices of the cast float out, reciting highlights from the play and laughing. Sydney’s and Matthew’s voices carry louder than the others, of course. I move past Tommy to kick the door shut.
His voice goes soft. “I know that maybe your feelings got hurt tonight. But that’s no reason to turn into some femme fatale.”
If only. “It just would be fun to do something totally unexpected.”
“You already have. Twice. And look how upset you got when things went wrong the first time.”
“But last night wasn’t so bad. I won stuff.”
“Those dares were preliminary. In the live rounds, thousands of folks pay to watch from all over the world. You think they’ll be satisfied with you getting your shirt wet?”
“Well, let me see what they’re offering, at least.” I check my phone. Sure enough, NERVE has dangled the first prize. Whoa, it’s a full-day makeover at Salon Dev, including a massage, waxing, makeup consult, the works. Best of all, I’d get a haircut from the owner, who’s impossible to see if you aren’t a local celeb. As if that weren’t enough to have me drooling, NERVE sends an image of me in that cute sundress I checked out on the Custom Clothz site the other night. My image has the correct body proportions this time, and it’s not bad, even in an almost-B cup.
Goose bumps rise on my arms and legs, partly because of the amazing prizes, partly because of Tommy’s words. This much loot will come with hefty expectations.
I move to the creaky handrail to consider my options. In the alley below, two crows hop onto a nearby Dumpster. Why does Seattle have so many crows? Don’t birds like warm weather? The wind picks up, sending the birds on their way and leaving the air around us hushed.
Tonight is my first night of not being grounded since I pulled into my garage last November and fell asleep listening to my favorite song list. Since then, Mom and Dad have seen me as a frail being who tried to do something unthinkable, no matter how many times I’ve tried to tell them otherwise.
At least Syd believed me. Or so I thought. The story everyone else got was that I’d had a serious case of the flu that sent me to the hospital. For a while, there were rumors going around, but by the time I got back to school, everyone had moved on to the love triangle taking place on the football team.
All anyone cares about is the latest drama. Tonight I have the opportunity to replace my old drama with something new. If only I knew whether that meant something better or worse.
I stare at my phone. “You’re a smart guy, Tommy. Probably the smartest one I know. I appreciate your advice.”
“So you’re turning them down?”
“No way. Game on.”
five
Two minutes after I send my acceptance, NERVE responds with a description of the first live dare. As I read the message, my breathing quickens. Instinctively, I shift the phone away from Tommy.
WELCOME TO THE LIVE ROUNDS, VEE! YOU’LL HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY TO WIN LOADS OF GREAT PRIZES. AND WE’RE PARTNERING YOU WITH SOMEONE YOU’VE MET BEFORE—IAN!
That cute guy from the coffee shop will be my partner? Not bad.
SO, HERE ARE THE COMPONENTS OF YOUR FIRST DARE:
DITCH YOUR BOYFRIEND.
The screen flashes with Tommy’s picture. Hmmm, maybe their research isn’t as thorough as I feared. But boyfriend or not, the idea of heading off without my unofficial partner makes me queasy.
DOWNLOAD AND RUN THE ATTACHED APP. IT WILL PROVIDE YOU WITH A SPEEDY LINK TO THE GAME.
MEET IAN AT PACIFICA BOWLING LANES IN TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES.
GO INSIDE AND ASK TEN GUYS THERE FOR A CONDOM.
LEAVE WITH IAN, SINGING THE FIRST VERSE OF THE SONG BELOW.
On the slim chance I’m Amish or live off the grid, they include the lyrics of a song about getting laid, which plays twenty t
imes a day on the radio. Okay, most songs on the radio are about getting laid, but this one is the most explicit.
Tommy leans against the wall. “So, what is it?”
“Um, I’ll be doing a dare with Ian.”
“He’s your partner?” His voice cracks on the last word.
“I’m sorry. They really should’ve teamed me up with you. Too bad you didn’t apply.”
His eyes shift away and he swallows. “What’s your dare?”
“I don’t know if I’m allowed to say.”
“Technically, I’m not part of the crowd or a Watcher. Besides, no one’ll know.”
I tell him.
His expression remains neutral, but there’s a hardness in his eyes. “Well, at least let me go with you. It would be crazy to meet him alone.”
“I kind of have to.” I show him my phone.
His jaw tightens the way it did when Ms. Santana, the drama coach, tried to slash his budget for set construction. “You’re too smart for this.”
“It’s not like I’m taking off with the guy. The bowling alley’s a public place.”
He takes out his own phone. “I’m signing up as a Watcher.”
“You don’t need to spend money to keep tabs on me.”
He shrugs. “I would’ve signed up anyway. Cast parties don’t interest me much.”
“You sure? Matthew’s planning to add an extra ingredient to the punch.” Ms. Santana isn’t known for her chaperoning skills, and I think Tommy could have some fun if he loosened up.
He sighs. “Just be careful. Promise?”
“As long as you promise to only sign up as an online Watcher, not an in-person one, otherwise you’ll get me disqualified.”
He nods. “It’s a deal. Remember, you can quit whenever you want.”
“Of course. The minute anything sounds sketchy, I’m out.”
There’s no time to determine whether it’s hope or doubt flickering across his face. I hustle to my car and check the driving directions NERVE sent along with the dare. I also start downloading the app they gave me. It’s too bad Tommy can’t join me to discuss strategy. But the dare seems straightforward enough. Of course, so did the water-dumping one. A tremor goes up my spine with the memory of that cold fabric plastered to my chest.
I try to take my mind off of the upcoming mission by tuning in to a hip-hop playlist. But it only makes my heart pump faster. Twenty minutes later, I pull into a parking lot full of SUVs and mini-vans. Ian’s next to the front door, shuffling his feet. Heh. It’s only fair that he had to wait for me this time.
I check the lot for Watchers. Shouldn’t we have a few to record us? Maybe they’re on their way. No reason to hold off getting out of the car to greet my partner, though. When I reach him, I notice a sign on the door that says: “WELCOME PURITY PROMISERS!”
“This dare just got a lot harder,” I say.
He shrugs as if he expected this. “Just remember, the dare says we’ve got to ask. It doesn’t say anything about waiting for an answer.”
Why didn’t I figure out that angle? I’ll need to step up my game if I want to win anything tonight. “Good thinking.”
He taps my Jimmy Carter button. “I met him once at a Habitat for Humanity project.”
Wow, a guy who notices accessories and helps the homeless. See, Tommy had nothing to worry about. “So, how long should we wait for the Watchers?”
“Why wait? We can film this ourselves. The NERVE app includes a video chat link to use.”
I check my phone, which now has a little NERVE app, front and center in my faves section. As instructed, I run the program, which displays my dare, along with a video chat button and a little status bar that reads: TASK NOT BEGUN.
I say, “The camera on my phone is a piece of crap.”
“No worries. You can just open the link to catch some audio as a backup. We’ll use my phone for the main video. How about I film you first, before we get them too riled up, and then you do me?”
I thank him, glad for his consideration, but twinging at the thought of what riling people up entails.
A pink-cheeked girl and her boyfriend stroll past us on their way inside. They giggle and hold hands, their shy glances suggesting they haven’t had their first kiss yet, which makes me feel worldly in comparison, although I haven’t gone much beyond the kissing stage myself.
My shoulders tense. “I feel like a jerk. These kids’ll think we’re teasing them. They don’t deserve that.”
Ian takes a deep breath, staring inside. Then he types into his phone. After a minute of reading, he says, “The studies they’ve done on abstinence programs show that the most successful ones are those that don’t disparage safe sex practices. So these guys should be aware of condoms. If they aren’t, we’ll be doing them a favor.”
I shake my head. “Great rationalization.”
“Look, it’s just a dumb dare. Maybe they’ll find it funny. We’ll ask gently, okay?”
People our age should be able to deal with a couple of goof-balls asking for a condom. It’s not like we’ll be hurting anyone. Who knows, maybe some of them have heard of NERVE and will laugh along with us. One big happy joke.
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod before I can convince myself otherwise.
As we enter the fluorescent-lit alley, waves of shouting and giggling hit us, along with the aroma of French fries and the wood polish they use on the lanes. The place is filled with dozens of teenagers chaperoned by a handful of adults. Banners on the wall proclaim: “Save your best for marriage!” and “Mr. Right Now is NOT Mr. Right.”
My heart throbs like a bass guitar; no, make that a banjo. Ian takes my hand, which does nothing to calm me, even though his skin feels warm and smooth. In the far corner of the snack bar, half a dozen video games blink and whir. Five husky guys stand around booming displays, aiming joy sticks shaped like rifles. I can get half of my quota if I ask each of them, and no one else will be able to hear what’s going on, hopefully. I jerk my head in their direction. Ian leads the way.
When we reach them, Ian starts the video chat to NERVE. The guy nearest me, a huge blond with a buzz cut, raises his eyebrow.
I clear my throat. “Excuse me. Do you have a condom to spare?”
He puts his hands on his hips and sticks out his chest. “What?”
I say, louder, “I’m looking for a condom. Got one?”
“That isn’t funny.”
One down. I step over to a curly-haired guy at his side. “Do you have a condom I could borrow?” As if it’s something you’d ever return after using. Yuck and double yuck.
The curly guy scowls. “Get lost.”
“Not until I’ve asked your friend here.” I lean toward a short guy biting his lip. “Gotta condom?” Before he can say anything, I ask the guys holding the joy stick rifles. They both point them my way, and the sound of a bowling ball slamming into pins pierces the air like a shot. I jump. Ian places a hand on the small of my back, which I swear sends a pulse of electricity through me despite my anxiety.
“Thanks anyway.” I pant as we dart toward another cluster of kids.
A group of three guys and two girls sit around a table drinking sodas. Without waiting to formulate a plan, I tap the shoulder of the first person I reach. When he turns toward me, I catch my breath. It’s a guy named Jack, who my friend Eulie has crushed on for months. Guess his presence here explains why she’s never gotten anywhere with him. I think he also hangs out with Tommy in the video club. Please God, let him realize that I’m playing NERVE. Somehow, though, I suspect God won’t be taking my side in this little escapade.
I rub my hands against my skirt. “Um, hi, Jack. So I was wondering if you could give me a, um, condom?”
His face turns crimson. “Why would you ask such a question?”
I fight the urge to cry. “I’m so sorry.” Apologizing isn’t against the rules, is it?
He squints as if examining me, shaking his head.
Ian grabs my
arm and drags me to another table. “Don’t stop to think about it. You’re almost done.”
He’s right. I ask two more guys in rapid succession, not waiting for an answer. One of them stands and gets in my face. “This isn’t funny. I think you should leave.”
I feel like an ass as we move to the girls next to them. These kids haven’t done anything to deserve our harassment. With shaky hands, I take the phone from Ian. “Go easy on them.”
Ian addresses a girl with layers of blue eye makeup. “I don’t suppose you have a condom on you? Not that you’d use it or anything.”
“Get out of here, asshole!” she snarls. Is asshole on her approved vocabulary list?
“How about you?” he asks the other girl. When she screams no, we scurry from the table.
Eight down for me, two for Ian.
We approach another mixed gender group. Jack still watches me from his table, his brow wrinkled. I turn away from his gaze and blurt my request to two more guys, one of whom is the boy I saw walking in with his girlfriend earlier. She clutches his hand and wears a horrified expression. Have I ruined their date? I shout a quick apology and take the camera from Ian. That’s ten. Why don’t I feel elated? All I want to do is shout how sorry I am and run out the door. But, I can’t. Not until Ian’s met his quota. I aim the camera at him while he asks a tiny brunette. She squeals like an injured puppy, which summons the guys from the video game.
The big blond guy glares. “We’ve had enough of you two. Now get out!”
“We’ll be going soon,” I say. “Just a few more minutes.”
Ian asks girls number four and five as the crowd circles us. The blond guy’s face looks like he can’t get enough air. Guess all that purity-promising doesn’t include any stress-reduction exercises.
