Nerve

by Jeanne Ryan

  “It’s all I could afford,” I say, sniffing. “Party clothes are awful expensive.” I stare down at my poor non-hookery flats. In the distance, a siren wails.

  The guy scratches his armpit. “I’ll give you fifty, but that’s all I got, and it’s more than what the girls around here normally ask for.”

  I raise my head and make doe eyes at Ian. “I’m not sure I can do this, even though Mama needs that operation really bad. Let me get some air, okay?” This last bit is actually true. If I don’t get away from this smell, I’ll faint.

  “Sure, sis.” Ian pats the top of my head and goes back to negotiating with the guys, like a good brother should. I make another trek along the curb.

  A few couples pass me by, all with the same expressions, a half smile and quickly averted eyes from the guys, a huff of contempt and a longer stare from the girls. Don’t they realize that I’m one of them? Shoot, the last girl who frowned my way was wearing the same T-shirt as me.

  I can’t take this personally. It’s role playing that has nothing, nothing to do with real life. I force a smile at the next couple to walk by and am shocked when they return it. Then the guy runs to my side and puts his arm around me.

  “Hey,” I say, trying to squirm away from him.

  The girl takes our picture while the guy tugs at one of my pigtails and whispers, “You’re doing great, Vee.”

  I slap him away. “Hands off, you creep.”

  Ian races to us and threatens to beat the crap out of the guy, but he and his girlfriend just laugh and hurry off the way they came. When Ian starts to run after them, I pull him back.

  I take a deep breath. “Forget about them. We need to focus on the dare.”

  He seems torn, but, after a few seconds of considering it, listens to me. “If you see any more stalkery Watchers, holler, okay?”

  I agree and get back to work. Within minutes, a car slows down and pulls to the side of the street, right next to me. Inside is a middle-aged guy with thick eyebrows.

  He grins. “You seem kind of young to be out here by yourself. Look at you shivering.”

  “I’m old enough. Just cold.”

  “My car has heated seats. I could give you a ride.”

  I stand there, waiting for him to continue. Please, someone, be capturing this on video. I’d try it with my lousy camera if I didn’t think it would scare this guy off.

  He taps the steering wheel in time to a disco song. “So, you want to come in?”

  “Um, you’re cute, but…”

  Ian passes by, his arms folded across his chest so he can hold the camera raised without it looking like he’s filming. He takes up a position at the rear of the car. Hopefully anyone passing will think he’s a pimp looking out for his girl.

  The guy in the car doesn’t seem to notice Ian. He rubs his cheek. “You need food money? Maybe I can help.”

  “Yeah, I’m hungry.” I draw out the hungry.

  He grins. “How much do you eat?”

  I want to hurl then and there, but manage to get out, “A lot.”

  He laughs. “Small girl, big appetite. Like twenty bucks’ worth?”

  I open my eyes wide. “Um, like five times that.”

  His smile disappears. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you?”

  I rub my hand along my waist. “No. Just someone who’s willing to work hard.”

  He raises a caterpillar-y eyebrow. I don’t want to imagine what’s flashing through his brain. “You’re awfully adorable, but I can’t go that high. It’s against my policy.”

  As if guys trolling for underage hookers have policies. “That’s too bad. Hope you have a nice night.” I strut forward.

  He puts the car in reverse, causing Ian to scramble back. “You think you’re hot shit, huh?”

  I can see that this won’t go well. “No.”

  He yells, “Bitch!” and hits the engine, blowing exhaust until he stops up the street, next to a girl in five-inch studded boots.

  My knees feel rubbery. First the hookers and now this guy. I can’t remember being called “bitch” twice in the same night before, or even the same month. My bottom lip quivers.

  Ian comes up to me and squeezes my shoulder. “Don’t let him get to you. Just a prick who didn’t get what he wanted. We’ll get this done. You’ll see. In the meantime, we’re getting some great video.” He heads off to take up a position nearby.

  I swallow in frustration and watch the girl in studded boots chat with eyebrow guy, lots of nodding and smiles. With so many hookers willing to work for less than a hundred, how am I ever going to find a client? Obviously, NERVE calibrated this dare for difficulty. What did I expect for a new phone with icing on top?

  After a couple of minutes, the girl trudges around the back of the car to get to the passenger door. As soon as the guy can’t see her, her face goes blank. What’s she thinking? That this isn’t her real life, just like I’ve been telling myself it isn’t mine?

  Suddenly, I feel tired, wishing I could go home, take a hot bath, and go to bed. I check my phone as I walk. No new messages. NERVE must still be blocking them. Don’t they realize I need moral support?

  I’m about to ask Ian for some change to use a pay phone so I can connect with a friendly voice, assuming I can find a phone that’s in working order and not covered in something disgusting. But another car slows down, its Mercedes symbol stopping just behind me. The window lowers next to a clean-cut guy in his thirties with neat sideburns and boyish features, the kind of man who shouldn’t require the services of a streetwalker. Whatever revs your Harley, I guess. He rests an arm so it sticks out the window, showing off a huge watch worth more than my car.

  “Hey,” he says, revealing glow-in-the-dark teeth.

  I take up a spot just out of arm’s reach, and jut out my sore hip. “Hey, yourself.”

  “You don’t need to be out here, you know.”

  I wait for him to add how I should come in and take advantage of his car’s toasty seats.

  Instead, he says, “Whatever problems you have that make you feel this is your only choice, are problems you can solve another way. Especially if you let someone help you.”

  “Someone like you?”

  He smiles. “I was thinking of someone a little more powerful.”

  Whoa. “You mean a three-way?” If he offers a hundred for an orgy, will that satisfy the dare?

  His lips pull back in a mask of disgust for a brief moment before he recovers his smile. “I was referring to a higher power. My wife and I run a ministry to help girls like you.”

  I fight to stay in character. “Girls like me? You don’t know me.”

  “I know you need someplace where you can feel safe. If you’re open to enjoying a home-cooked meal and having the opportunity to chat with other young women who’ve been in your shoes, you can get off the streets right this minute.”

  I glance toward Ian as he passes us with his camera raised. “That’s really nice, but I’m okay.”

  The guy in the car tracks Ian with his eyes, leaning out to stare at him when he takes up his normal filming position in what should be the guy’s blind spot. There must be a higher power taking care of this guy if he’s been staring down real pimps on a regular basis.

  He speaks to Ian. “Are you the one responsible for this young lady’s welfare?”

  Ian shrugs. “We’re friends.”

  The guy holds out a hand. “Good to hear. Because I want to take her someplace safe, where she can be helped. I’m sure you won’t mind, friend.”

  I wave. “Uh, hello? I mind. Look, thanks for your concern, but I’m fine. This isn’t what it seems. We’re just hanging out.”

  He shakes his head without a hair shifting out of place. “Sad to say, many young women out here are harmed most severely by men who claim to be looking out for them, their so-called friends.”

  I point across the street. “If you really want to help someone, there are a couple of girls named Ambrosia and Tiffany who could use it. Bu
t their friend seems kind of dangerous, so be careful, okay?”

  I march away, pulling at Ian’s arm until we’re on the next block. The guy stares after us, but finally drives off.

  Ian shakes his head. “All kinds of crazies out here.”

  “He didn’t seem crazy, and I hope I haven’t sent him into harm’s way.” I rub my temples, unsure of whether I’ve done something noble or idiotic.

  Ian takes my shoulders. “You aren’t responsible for anyone out here except yourself, and, if you want, me.”

  Too bad the girl in the studded boots went off with the eyebrow guy. She looked like she could use a little hope. Once again, I’m thankful that for me this is just a game. Which reminds me.

  “Guess it’s time to get back to the dare,” I say.

  He winks. “Yeah, we can save the world after we win our prizes.” He saunters off, leaving me alone once again. I gaze across the street at the Watchers, wishing I’d get a glimpse of Tommy, even though he said he’d sign up to view the game online only. Is he still looking out for me, or did he go home in disgust?

  I amble back and forth while Ian tries to hustle guys on foot. A few more cars stop alongside me, but it’s always the same story—I’m asking too much. As the fourth car in ten minutes roars away, I can’t help feeling rejected, even though they’re the losers who have to pay to get laid.

  Another round of haggling goes by before a Ford Taurus pulls up. I sigh and wait for the negotiation to begin.

  A soft-faced guy opens the window. “You alone?”

  I bite my lip. “For now.”

  “Me too. Loneliness sucks, huh?”

  I nod. Is hooker talk always so inane?

  He taps the edge of his door. “What would it take for us to change our alone statuses?”

  “A hundred dollars.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “My, oh my. What would I get for that much?” He hasn’t called me a greedy bitch or driven off yet. A good sign.

  I run a finger down the middle of my chest. “What would you want?”

  He gives a low chuckle as his gaze slides over me. “A lot.”

  I glance around, catching Ian’s eye as he passes us with his phone out. I turn to the guy in the car, smiling as Ian takes up his filming position.

  I bat my eyelashes. “So is it a deal? You’ll pay a hundred?”

  “Anything I want?” His lips are plump and shiny, like he licks them a lot.

  “Mm-hmm.”

  A hairy hand emerges from the window to stroke my skirt. I fight the urge to vomit.

  He presses a button to unlock the passenger door. “Then it’s a deal. Why don’t you get in already?” He leans away to clear a box from the seat. As his body shifts, I see something flash in his breast pocket. Oh geez, was that a badge?

  “Look, sir, I was just kidding. Sorry for any confusion.” I hurry toward Ian and yell, “Run!”

  Behind us a door slams.

  “Get back here! Freeze!”

  The crowd across the street erupts into whoops. We sprint in their direction, dodging cars. The frat boys double over in laughter and the others nearby hold out phones. But none of our fans are going to protect us this time. Ian and I head south and keep running. I doubt any of the Watchers are dumb enough to chase after us. Not with a cop waving his gun as he jogs across the street.

  Ian and I turn the second corner. My feet are killing me. Ballet flats have lousy arch support.

  I pant. “I’m not sure I can keep up this pace all the way to the car.”

  Three doors down is an alcove that Ian pulls me into. I instinctively hold my breath, afraid of what smells lurk in such an obvious place for winos to spend the night. Although it’s musty, the odor I fear most is absent. We huddle in the shadows, Ian against the wall, me in his arms. Half a minute later, footsteps approach, and the cop huffs by, cussing to himself. Behind him are two boys in athletic jackets, giggling and filming him. Okay, someone was dumb enough to follow.

  Ian’s heart pounds hard against my cheek. Neither of us moves a muscle.

  “Come here!” The cop yells to the boys.

  By their footsteps, I hear that they’re following orders; even the laughter stops. He demands their phones, probably hoping to delete whatever footage they got before it ends up online. Too little, too late, dude.

  As they march past the alcove, one of the boy’s eyes get wide like he spots us, but instead of ratting us out to save himself, he hangs his head. The cop also glances our way, squinting, but keeps going. I don’t dare breathe until their footsteps are far in the distance. When I do, I notice Ian’s scent—like mountains on a late summer hike. I take another long breath of him.

  “I think we did it,” he whispers.

  “Amazing.” I look up into his face, although I can barely make out his features.

  He strokes my jawline with a finger. “Ian Jagger, huh?”

  “Don’t you want to be a rock star?”

  “Out there, you were the rock star.” He pulls me in closer, as if that’s possible.

  Is he going to kiss me? I barely know this guy. But we’ve faced all kinds of danger together already. That has to count for something. And he seems to have my back. That counts for something more. Okay, maybe his attention is just part of the game. But that tingle along my spine sure feels real.

  He moves his finger from my jaw to my lips, gently tracing their outline. We stand there breathing each other’s air, feeling each other’s pulse.

  A light goes on inside the building, causing me to jerk away from our clinch. The thick glass door next to us reveals a tiny foyer with a shabby sofa and a row of mailboxes. A white-haired man limps down a stairway, leaning on an ornately carved railing.

  “Recess over,” I say, with all the disappointment of a second grader heading back to class.

  We tiptoe down the steps, peek both ways to make sure the cop’s gone, and trot to the car with our fingers loosely laced. It isn’t until we get inside the car that we discuss my dare.

  “Think it’ll count?” I ask.

  “Hell, yeah. An offer’s an offer, whether it’s from a cop or not.”

  I hope he’s right. As we wait to hear from NERVE, we sit there grinning at each other. Hard to believe that earlier this evening I was sulking behind a dusty curtain while I watched my best friend backstab me. And now? Prizes, fun, and maybe cash. But most importantly, a smokin’-hot guy who’s eyeing me like candy.

  I love this game.

  eight

  Ian starts the engine and turns on the heat. Outside, it’s begun to rain. Do the girls on the street carry umbrellas, or does rain not even factor into their complaint list? Maybe the drizzle helps wash away the stench of their clients. I rest my cheek against the seat, content not to be running or shivering or negotiating with horny older men.

  Ian adopts the same position as me, so that we’re face-to-face, less than a foot apart. “So how far do you want to take this?”

  Is he talking about the game or something more? Even though the evening has been exciting so far, it’s not like I’m eager to subject myself to whatever the NERVE dare-makers, which I suspect are really a roomful of greasy guys eating cheeseburgers, come up with next.

  But the words that come out of my mouth are, “I don’t have to be home until midnight.”

  He brushes a lock of hair from my forehead. “We could have so much fun in the next fifty minutes.”

  My insides melt into latte foam. Fifty delicious minutes. Or wait, is he talking about the game?

  “Fun is good,” I say, hoping he’ll elaborate upon what he’s thinking.

  Keeping his eyes on mine, he slips off his jacket and shifts closer. Heat emanates from his body, drawing me in. I run a hand along his shoulder, amazed by how solid he feels, and more amazed that I reached out to touch him without a second thought. Maybe the game is altering my risk-taking DNA somehow. The drumming of rain on the car roof gives me a tingly, under-the-covers sensation. Settled inside this cozy space wit
h Ian is good. Really good.

  So, naturally, this is the moment our phones blast with trumpet music. My head almost hits the ceiling. Never thought I’d miss that creepy kid ring tone. I open my phone, not because I care what it says, but to stop the noise. The message from NERVE is packed with exclamation points.

  “Holy shit,” Ian says as I read.

  My thought exactly. Not only have I earned my new phone, but the audience grew by seven thousand Watchers, which tacks on fourteen hundred dollars of bonus money. I feel faint.

  In addition to my winnings, NERVE allowed incoming messages to go through. A dozen each from Liv and Eulie, first with condolences (IT’S MATTHEW’S LOSS), then with amazement (IS THAT REALLY YOU?), then with congratulations (OMG! OMG! OMG!).

  I can’t wait to hash over every detail of my night with them, the way I normally would do with Sydney.

  Still, it’s weird there aren’t any texts from her or Tommy, even WTF ones.

  As a test, I select Tommy’s number and press it. His voice comes through harshly. “Are you okay? Why didn’t you call me back sooner?”

  Crap. I should’ve just texted him. “NERVE blocked my phone as part of the game. You’re the first person I’m calling. You’ll never guess how much bonus money I’ve won.”

  His exhalation fills my ear with static. “Better be a ton after what they made you do. Seriously, you know how many people get shot in that part of town? And if you get arrested, you’ll have a criminal record.”

  The rain outside intensifies, with a rumble of thunder. The hip I fell on outside the bowling alley starts to ache again. “I didn’t actually do anything wrong. It was all just pretend.”

  “You trolled for johns, negotiated a deal, and resisted arrest. Good luck proving you were only kidding.”

  I laugh. “Congrats on earning your Law and Order degree.” A nagging stitch in my side tells me he’s right though.

  “Hey, you’ve won some stuff and had your fun, so you’re quitting while you’re ahead, right?”

  A ripple of lightning flashes everything around me blue for a second. “Yeah. It’s getting late anyway.”

  “Good. I’m glad you’re going home before things get even more dangerous. I don’t trust that Ian guy.”