by Jeanne Ryan
Jen grabs some more chocolate. “That girl wanted to be in movies. You think all those screams were for real? The game was just a big audition for her. Even afterward, she kept showing up all over ThisIsMe. Did you hear what she did last week, jumping from a cliff at a waterfall, in front of someone who just happened to film it? Total attention whore.”
I grab a can of soda. “That’s pretty far to go for a movie role. And I heard she went off the grid since that last video.”
Jen laughs. “All a big publicity stunt.”
We discuss the other dares from last month, ranking the ones that were the most exciting, and comparing gossip on things we’d seen online about what the former players were up to. Not that anyone will care after tonight. The only cast that counts is the freshest.
Hmmm. I’m thinking of myself as a cast member? Interesting.
I decide that at least Jen and Daniella aren’t so bad. If only they’d hooked up with decent partners. But if they had, I doubt they’d be in the grand prize round, since their partners seem to be the bigger personalities. Is Ian responsible for us being here? Or did I make such a fool of myself that people wanted to see more?
The first door pops open with a little trumpet blare from NERVE. Ian stumbles out, his eyes bloodshot and his legs wobbly. What on earth? I run over to help him to our seat.
I’m surprised to feel the tremor running down his back. “What did they do to you in there?”
He shakes his head. “Reminded me of stuff I don’t want to remember. And things I don’t want to talk about. Sorry.”
Here, I’d thought we were partners. “I understand. Do you want anything from the cabinet?”
He rocks back and forth with his head in his hands. “Nah, thanks.”
What could have shaken him up like this? The next door opens and Ty saunters out. He does a fist-pump and demands a beer from Daniella. But his eyes twitch in a weird way as if he’s trying not to cry. Guess even psychopaths can get psyched out.
Micki exits her door with glassy eyes and yells, “Any of you make one wrong comment and I don’t care about scaring you out of the game, understand?”
Finally, Samuel enters the room. Marching with his head pointed down, he takes his seat and stares at his knuckles. I can’t tell how much his dare affected him, since that’s a posture he’s taken a few times tonight.
Guy’s on the screen, clapping. “Okay, next group, up, up, up. First room goes to Daniella.”
Trembling, she trudges to the door and then turns around to give us all a little wave before entering her dare. I’m next. If only I could stay with Ian for a few minutes. I hate leaving him behind when he’s so vulnerable. But what can I do? I give him a hug, more to reassure him than myself, I believe, and head to my doorway.
The air coming from it is chilled, like it’s straight from outside. I enter a passage with lights along the floor pointing ahead at a steep, downward slant. Once inside, I close the door behind myself. Click. I could swear I hear a faint ticking from the timer, or maybe it’s a bomb. I follow the lights down a hall that heads at least one floor below the game room. At the bottom of the ramp, the corridor turns to the right, where there are two doors. The indicator lights skip the first door and lead me to the second. I push against it into a room lit by a red dome on the ceiling. It illuminates a small space filled by a leather seat that faces the wall opposite the door.
Gayle’s voice seems to come from multiple points in the room. “Sit down and get comfy, Vee.”
I slide into the leather seat, and the door behind me thuds shut. What is this, some kind of amusement ride? Slowly, a panel moves toward my lap, tiny lights on it beginning to glow as the red dome on the ceiling fades. I’m in near darkness, which makes my heart pick up speed. Did they give me Daniella’s dare by mistake? Maybe she’s been thrust onto a stage wearing soaked clothes while Matthew laughs and Sydney accuses her of being a rotten friend.
The panel in front of me takes shape as my eyes adjust. I reach out to find a steering wheel and knobs on the display next to it. It’s a dashboard. What is this, a driving simulation?
“Buckle up, Vee,” says Gayle, still without an image to go with her voice.
I don’t realize that the words are an actual request until she repeats the command in a firmer tone.
“Fine, fine.” I touch the seat at my sides until I find one end of the belt at my right hip and the other at my left shoulder. I pull it across my chest and snap it shut. Maybe this building includes a roller coaster or something. Totally possible, since there were three floors between the dance club and the VIP lounge, Well, I’ve done rides in the dark before. They weren’t my favorite, but I survived.
In front of me, little details sharpen, like the dashboard’s air vents and sound system. Do they actually work? The rest of the details reveal themselves, forming a cohesive picture. I squint at the dials and find myself catching my breath when I notice the little pump up the volume! sticker on the radio knob. It’s a mock-up of my car.
Frowning, I turn on the radio. It plays an indie song I have on my player, one I listen to a lot. Who fed NERVE the details of my playlists? Has Syd teamed up with them to get back at me?
From underneath the dashboard, there’s the sound of an engine starting, and my seat vibrates with the gentle rumble of a real car. It’s kind of pleasant, actually. Soothing. So soothing I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes, even though I know it’ll probably prompt NERVE to send in the spiders. Let them.
I love the song that’s playing and sing along. The next tune is even better. This is as comfy as my own car. Their set designer paid attention to the details, just like Tommy did for our play. There’s even the faint smell of exhaust fumes.
Fumes? Inside a closed room?
My body jolts forward. No way! I jab at the button on the seat belt, but it won’t open. The more I yank at it, the tighter it seems to get. And the music becomes louder.
With a chill I realize that the soundtrack playing is the same one that played that night in my garage, which had also started out peacefully. How could they know? Or did they poll all my friends on my music tastes and take a lucky guess?
The smell seems stronger and my head feels fuzzy. This can’t be real. Someone’s probably having a cigarette on the other side of the wall and blowing it in through a vent to scare the hell out of me. Which is working.
I pull out my phone to call for help, but there’s no signal. Maybe these walls are made of steel. Like a prison. That thought only sends another tremor through my chest. I keep yanking at the strap, and then realize I must have an audience. Of course.
I lift my head up a few inches, to where I’d expect a camera to be pointing. “Gayle, Guy, let me go!” I’m way past worrying whether this violates the integrity of the dare.
Is that Gayle’s laughter floating over the speakers?
I yell, “Whoever’s watching the dare, call 911, now! They’re pumping in exhaust fumes and I feel dizzy. This isn’t a joke. Call the police and have them come to the VIP lounge at Club Poppy. Please!”
Will anyone listen? Or will they assume that someone else will save me, like how they warn you about in CPR class?
“Sydney, Liv, and Eulie, all of you call the cops now! I’m begging you. NERVE is a totally twisted game.” Will they see me? NERVE must have some kind of time delay to ensure that the Watchers only see what they’re supposed to. With Daniella’s and Jen’s dares going on simultaneously, the game could be switching the feed from room to room. But they wouldn’t actually harm me, would they? There has to be a limit to what they can do. There has to.
But my head feels lighter and lighter. I use all of my strength to tug against the belt. It’s on so tight. Even if this is a huge hoax, every muscle in my body squirms to escape. I bend sideways, trying to slip under the upper strap that goes across my chest. My arm and shoulder slide beneath it, but there isn’t enough room for my head to duck under it. I twist as far as I can to the right so tha
t my body is almost lying on the seat, then press myself into the cushion and limbo my torso beneath the strap. It sends a sharp pain up my neck, but I’m able to free myself from the top part of the seat belt.
Using the steering wheel for leverage, I shimmy my lower body upward to get out of the lap belt as well. After a few minutes, I’m panting, but free.
Or am I? I jump out of the bucket seat and hold my arms out until I hit the wall behind the “car.” It’s cold and smooth, like marble, or a tomb. It takes me a moment to find the door handle, which I turn and tug. Locked, of course.
Are they going to let me asphyxiate in here with a camera running? Maybe this is one of those karmic things where you get what would’ve been coming to you if you hadn’t escaped it. Had dying in my garage been my destiny? No, no, this is crazy thinking. If only my head weren’t so buzzy and dizzy.
I pound on the door. “Let me out.” I turn toward the room and plead to anyone watching online to rescue me. The engine keeps purring. The music keeps playing.
With my back to the door, I sink into a squat. Are the fumes stronger down here? No, wait, smoke rises, right? I’m too fuzzy to remember. I rest my head against my knees and close my stinging eyes. Even my throat burns. Whatever they’re pumping in here is stronger than car fumes. When I fell asleep in my garage all those months ago, I didn’t feel a thing.
Or did I? I’ve tried so hard to block it out, I’ve never really considered the details, even when I tried to recount it for the shrink.
What the hell had I been thinking that night? Everyone knows it’s dangerous to sit in a garage with the engine running. The thought must have crossed my mind at some point that I should turn off the car. But the seat and the music and the heater had been so cozy. And I’d been upset. That’s right, I’d been mad at Sydney. A little point that I hadn’t thought about before now. We’d spent hours going over her lines for a play, yet at the end of the evening, instead of thanking me, she’d complained that her costume made her look fat. A costume that I’d altered for her, twice.
Was I mad enough to kill myself? That’s ridiculous. But, maybe, just maybe, I’d done what I’d done in hopes of getting a little attention. That’s also crazy, yet there’s a tiny corner of my brain that wonders if there’s any truth to it.
I slap the stone floor. This game, this speculation, it all sucks. I just want to go home and sleep, forget everything. Screaming, I hammer at the door, bruising my fingers to the bone. I’m angry at myself for getting into this mess, angry at NERVE for this awful dare, and angry at the Watchers for not saving me. Turning my hot face away from the door, I raise my middle fingers to the dark room. If they’re going to let me suffer, I’m going to haunt them. But I’m not going to cry.
The door behind me clicks.
I rise, but it’s difficult because my legs have gone numb. When I’m up, I turn the knob, and this time it opens. I push against the door, half expecting the world outside to have shifted into another horror show.
But I find myself back in the hall with the tiny lights along the floor, like in an airplane. The air is cold, but clean. I take huge gulps of it as I make my way up the ramp and to the door, the one that leads me back into the room with the other players. It pops open just as I reach it.
I squint against the bright light, which hadn’t seemed so intense before I left for the last dare. Across the threshold, Ian’s waiting for me, arms open wide. I stumble into them and let him hold me.
“You did it,” he says.
I sigh. “Like I had a choice.” My body and spirit have given up. If I had the strength, I’d march out the main door right now. But my knees can barely support me.
Ian must sense this, because he half carries me to our love seat, where I nestle against him, hoping to forget the rest of the world. His heartbeat feels so strong, so sure, so alive. When I lift my head to peek at the others, who’ve all huddled near the beer cabinet, it’s clear that Jen and Daniella are even worse off than me, if that’s possible.
NERVE pumps in more techno music. A glance at my phone shows that we still have another hour. How can that be? I can’t do another minute, let alone an hour.
Guy and Gayle show up on the screen in party clothes, like we’re at a New Year’s Eve celebration. Guy says, “Congrats on making it through another round! Let’s move along.”
“No,” I say.
He frowns and Gayle’s eyebrows go sky high. A few of the other players turn to me, scowling as if I’d spit in church. Micki balls her fists. So does Ty. But Daniella and Jen are nodding their heads, causing their partners to give them death glares. For a few seconds, the panels flash our mug shots and Watcher approval ratings. I don’t need to check mine out to know it’s gone lower. So what?
I take a long breath. “You just tried to kill me. I’ve had enough.”
And then Guy reappears. “You’re absolutely right.”
I am?
He does his little finger wag. “Not about the killing, silly. That’s just your nerves and the beer. Sounds like your mind played tricks on you. Amazing, where the brain goes when it feels trapped in the dark. But let’s be sensible. You’re all fine, right?”
No one answers.
Gayle steps into frame next to him. “The audience thinks you guys need some refueling for your spirits. We agree. So take a look at your phones.”
How thoughtful, audience. I’ll have to remember to send thank-you cards, laced with anthrax. Still, even though I don’t want to do anything else NERVE asks me to, I’m curious enough to check out my phone, which now has a message titled LOOK WHO’S WATCHING! When I open it, there’s a video from Eulie and Liv.
Liv starts with a high five to the camera. “I’m so proud of you, Vee! You’re the bravest girl I know.” Eulie joins her, laughing. “Even more of a star than you know who.” They go on to tell me that all of our friends are rooting for me and that there will be some serious celebrating tomorrow. Obviously, they don’t realize that I’ll be grounded until summer, but it still makes me smile to know that not everyone hates me.
Ian and the other players watch clips on their phones too. Everyone’s features soften, even Micki’s.
Gayle calls to us from the screen, “Feel a little better, guys?”
I’m the only one who answers. “Not enough.”
She smiles. “Then you haven’t checked out what else is on your phone.”
I look down to find another message. When I read it, I almost drop my phone. They’ve raised my grand prize to include a summer internship with one of the hottest design houses in New York. The rest of the players must have offers that are equally as tempting, because the room erupts in hoots and whistles.
Ian’s face is flushed. “I don’t believe it.”
“What are they trying to bribe you with?”
He whispers, “An emancipation lawyer.”
When I cock my head at him in question, all he says is, “It means total freedom. How about you?”
I tell him about my prize.
He’s almost giddy, as if whatever happened to him in the room didn’t matter. “It’s worth another hour of whatever bullshit they can throw at us, right?”
“I don’t know.” Did NERVE try to gas me? In the light of the room, cuddled next to Ian, the thought seems insane. For one, they’d never get away with it. Right? I’m tired and stressed, and they messed with my head. It’s what they do. But they also offer prizes that no one else can. With that internship and fashion school, I’d have it made.
Ian kisses my cheek. “Nothing can stop us.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, we’re totally invincible.”
Guy claps us all to attention. “Is everyone ready to move on?”
The other players shout “Yes!”
I’m not crazy about the idea, but their bribe has worked. I nod.
He smiles. “Wonderful! Now then, let’s enter the last phase of the grand prize rounds.”
The display fades. We wait for our emcees to reappear.
The techno music fades into the new age stuff you hear at a yoga studio, which puts me on edge way more than the synthesizers on steroids did, even though I’ve made the choice to play on. I try to inhale deeply, but can’t seem to get a decent breath. A bead of sweat rolls slowly down my cheek. The blank display teases us. After a long moment, the letters scroll around our heads.
ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS CHOOSE A VICTIM.
fifteen
The room buzzes with questions, except for Micki, who snickers. My head feels floaty again, like my brain’s escaping. I grit my teeth to rein myself in.
They want a victim.
Why the hell did I fool myself into thinking they’d let me win a full ride to fashion school without driving me completely insane in the process? I try to rise on shaky knees.
Ian grabs my wrist with a gentle squeeze and whispers, “Don’t throw away your tuition yet.” He faces the camera. “You want us to choose a victim? For what?”
Ty laughs. “For fun, bro!”
The rest of us wait, staring at the display, waiting for Guy or Gayle to explain what the “victim” is being chosen for. But the screen remains blank.
Ian rubs his cheek. “Maybe it’s a trick and the victim actually wins something.”
The others smirk. I don’t believe it either.
Micki points a fresh bottle of beer, her fifth, at me. “I vote for her. V stands for victim, right? Or is it virgin?”
Jen nuzzles Micki’s neck. When she comes up for air, she says, “I’m voting for the virgin victim too.”
What? I thought we’d kind of bonded over the chocolate earlier. Please, God, let her get caught on one of the safety pins jutting from her girlfriend’s jaw.
I cross my arms against the hollowness I feel inside, and force myself to speak, although I barely trust that my voice still works. “This is crazy, you guys. Don’t you get it? They’re trying to turn us against each other for their amusement.”
Ty takes a swig of beer. “Duh. But all we’re doing is voting. It’s not like we’re actually going to do anything to you, right, everybody?” He holds his arms out, a beer in each beefy hand, and spins in a slow circle to face the others.
