Dare You To--A Life Changing Teen Love Story

by Katie McGarry

  “Breathe!” I yell.

  Lacy tilts the head back and blows into the mouth. The chest moves up, then back down. Lacy begins to pull away.

  “No, Lacy, check the vitals.” She puts her ear near the mouth and nose. I wait. She places her fingers against the artery in the neck. I wait again. Lacy shakes her head. Nothing.

  “Your turn,” I tell her. I’m frightened that I won’t be able to give the heart enough pressure if I go another round. Lacy scrambles toward his chest and I slide my body near the head. She counts out loud with each compression.

  A long beeping noise comes from the team next to us. “Flat line,” says Mr. Knox.

  “Yes!” says Chris. “This is ours!”

  Of our entire health class, it’s down to me and Lacy against the combo of Ryan and Chris. With his hands clasped together, Ryan pumps his dummy’s chest.

  “Breathe!” says Lacy.

  I blow air into the mouth, check vitals, and freeze. With my fingers against the neck, I feel something. It’s faint, but there. Lacy gestures for me to pump, but I shake my head. Our dummy—he’s alive!

  The boys start compressions again and a wretched noise blares from their machine. Mr. Knox unplugs it. “You boys forgot to check vitals.”

  Chris swears and Ryan falls onto his ass. Suck it up, boys. Get used to losing.

  Mr. Knox glances my way. “Congratulations, Lacy and Beth. You’re the only two who kept your patient alive. Good call on the vitals, Beth.”

  Good call on the vitals. Mr. Knox walks away as if this isn’t the most amazing moment of my life. I did something. I saved a life. Well, not really, but I saved the dummy. But I did something right. This unspeakable, overwhelming sense of… I don’t know… I’ve not experienced it before…this feeling of…joy? Anyhow…it floods me. Every part of me.

  I—Beth Risk—did something good.

  Lacy points at Chris, then at Logan standing over his dead dummy. “We won.” In her sitting position she moves her shoulders in a crazy little dance. “We won. We won. We won.”

  “Your girl is a sore winner.” Logan edges closer to us.

  “It’s kinda hot though,” says Chris. “Now that you experienced the rush, are you going to take on more dares from us, baby?”

  Lacy laughs. “I didn’t take the dare. Beth did.”

  Logan and Chris nod at me in appreciation. I shrug in return. For the past week, we’ve been feeling each other out. Lacy talks to me. Ryan talks to me. Sometimes, I talk back. On Monday, I caved to their brow-beating and began sitting with them at lunch. When Ryan’s feeling bold, he takes my hand. When I’m feeling bolder, I hold his hand back.

  At the mention of the dare, I fish a black marker out of my pack. Ryan’s last words before we started CPR were that Lacy and I couldn’t hold out; that we were too weak to outlast the combination of him and Chris. I write the four most beautiful letters on my palm and turn it for Ryan to see: can’t.

  As he leans against the wall, that brilliant smile spreads across Ryan’s face and he shakes his head. Warm fuzzies race through my bloodstream. I love that smile. Maybe a little too much.

  “I’m not wowed,” I say to him. It’s been four days since our agreement and Ryan’s done nothing to “wow” me.

  His smile turns cocky and, I have to admit, I like that smile too. “I’ve got time.”

  * * *

  From the opposite side of the island, Scott watches as I scoop another spoonful of Lucky Charms into my mouth. I talk through the crunches. “And then I felt a pulse and Lacy thought we should pump again and I shook my head no.”

  “Then what happened?” asks Scott.

  I feel like I’m going to burst out of my skin. “We won. I mean, we saved the dummy and Mr. Knox said I did good.” I did something right. I still can’t get over it.

  “That’s fantastic. Isn’t it, Allison?”

  It’s eight o’clock at night. Allison sits at the opposite end of the bar and doesn’t bother glancing up from the latest toy Scott bought her last week: an e-reader. “Fantastic,” she echoes in a voice that tells me she doesn’t actually think so.

  Shoving another spoonful of cereal into my mouth keeps me from muttering my exact thoughts. I should have waited to tell Scott the story over breakfast, when it’s just the two of us, but I was too excited.

  “Is that what it’s like to be a nurse?” I ask Scott. “To feel all powerful and in control.” And to have someone tell me that I did good? My mind races with the possibilities. Maybe I could be a nurse. Blood doesn’t bother me. Neither does puke. Too worked up to sit still, I drum my hands on the counter—I could really do this.

  “You need to excel at science to be a nurse,” says Allison in her bored voice. “And your grades on your last progress report suggest that might be a problem for you.”

  My face reddens as if she slapped me. I wish I could think of something wittier, but at times, the plain truth is good enough. “You really are a bitch.”

  “Stop it, Elisabeth,” says Scott. “And, Allison, her grades are improving.”

  Well, screw me, Scott reprimanded the wench. Huh. Allison tears her eyes from the e-reader. I could bask in the glory of this moment, but I decided weeks ago that she’s not worth my time. I turn to Scott. Daydreaming is over. I have real problems. “I need black hair dye.”

  “For what?” Scott asks.

  Is he blind? I shake my hair and lower my head so he can see my roots. My roots. The blond pokes out from my jet-black hair like annoying rays of sun. I flip my hair back over my shoulder. “Will you buy me some?”

  If I buy anything with the cash Isaiah gave me, Scott would be all over me like flies to crap. I’m not ready to tip my hand that I have cash. Besides, he’s always wanting to do something for me—now he can.

  “No,” he says.

  Um…did I misunderstand him? “No?”

  “No.”

  “I’m not going to be a blonde.”

  “It’s who you are. Why do you have to change something so beautiful?”

  “So only blondes are beautiful?”

  Scott closes his eyes. “I never said that.”

  “Then buy me the dye.”

  He reopens them and studies me during one of his patented long silences. “I’ll buy you something that will match your original hair color.”

  “I don’t want to be blond.”

  “Give me a good reason why not.”

  “I prefer black.”

  “Not good enough.”

  I purposefully gawk at Allison. “I hate blondes.”

  “Still not good enough.”

  I cross my arms over my chest and redirect my gaze to him. I can also do long silences.

  “That’s it, Elisabeth? You want to have black hair. Just because. You have no reason. You want what you want.”

  “Yeah.” I don’t like his tone or the way his blue eyes look right through me.

  “When did you first dye it?” he asks.

  “Eighth grade.” My instincts yell at me to run.

  “Why?”

  My throat becomes tight and I glance away. “Because.”

  “Because why, Elisabeth?”

  Because one of Mom’s boyfriends thought I was her in the middle of the night.

  “Tell me.” Scott keeps staring right through me. “Tell me why you dyed your hair.”

  Isaiah knows. I told him once when I was too high to keep secrets. Mom’s boyfriend stumbled out of our only bedroom in the middle of the night. He sat on the floor next to where I slept on the couch. He lifted my hand, kissed it, and called me my mother’s name. He smacked me when I screamed and he smacked me again when he realized I wasn’t my mother.

  The memories rush forward and I can’t shove them away. They need
to go away. I need someone to ground me. I need someone to erase the bad memories. I haven’t forgiven Isaiah yet for betraying me. I haven’t talked to him in weeks and I’m not sure I’m ready to.

  Even if there wasn’t our recent past between us, I’m not sure that I’d want Isaiah. For some reason, I crave someone else…and that scares me, and being scared only gives power to the memories.

  In my head, I can hear the bastard’s voice. I can feel the bastard’s touch. My fingers claw at my head. Get out, get out, get out! I stand so abruptly the stool wobbles, then crashes to the floor. “Fuck you, Scott. I’ll buy the dye myself.”

  RYAN

  …and George looked at the girl with new eyes. No—not with new eyes, but maybe with eyes he had possessed in another life. With eyes that belonged not to his head, but to his heart.

  Her smile caressed him as if her fingers had slid up his arm. She constantly amazed him—a human willingly befriending a zombie. The opposite of him somehow gave this horrifying new life meaning. But what really amazed George was that she granted him the grace of a second chance.

  Pleased with myself, I lean back in the chair and fold my hands over my stomach. Turns out George’s life was more confusing than he could have imagined. First he wakes up a zombie. Then he discovers that the other zombies expect him to be a leader, and then he shocks himself by loving his newfound power.

  And then comes the girl.

  Girls always complicate things. My lips turn up as I think of Beth. Yeah, they do, but in a good way.

  My phone vibrates and I glance at the caller ID. It’s an unknown number so I let it go to voice mail. Seconds later the phone chimes, telling me I have a text. I grab the phone and smile: Friends, right?—Beth

  Me: Yes

  “Then let me in.” Beth’s sexy voice drifts from the other side of my open window.

  I check the clock—eleven. Mom and Dad would be in bed. To be safe, I lock the door to my bedroom before I raise the pane and pop the screen out. “What are you doing here?”

  Beth swings one leg into my room, followed by the other, with such ease that I believe she’s done this before. “I got bored.”

  “You could have called.” Popping the screen in isn’t nearly as easy as popping it out.

  “I did.” Beth assesses my room. She picks up a baseball on my dresser, tosses it into the air, and barely makes the catch. “You didn’t answer.”

  “You called thirty seconds ago.”

  She drops the ball back onto my dresser. “But I did call.”

  The reality of the moment smacks me when she leans over and taps the lava lamp that stopped working a year ago. Her smooth skin and tattoo peek out when her top rides up. I inhale and focus on anything but touching her. “Does your uncle know you’re here?”

  “No.” Beth walks over to the computer. “What are you working on?”

  “A creative writing assignment.”

  She pinches her lips as her head falls back. “Damn. Do we have one? When is it due? Ah hell, Scott is going to rip me on this. And here I thought I was finally keeping up.”

  Crap. Until now, I didn’t have to tell anyone. “No, it’s not a class assignment. It’s something…extra…yeah. Something Mrs. Rowe asked me to do.”

  Beth’s shoulders relax like she received a pardon from a death sentence. “Can I read it?”

  Besides my teacher, no one’s asked to read my stuff before and I pause…long enough that Beth raises her eyebrows. If anyone’s going to read this, I’d prefer it to be her. Something tells me she’d understand. “Sure.”

  “Print it out for me.” Beth plops on my bed and curls up around the pillows.

  Her blue eyes survey me as she teases me with a slumberous look. My jeans get tight and I want to join her on the bed, badly, but I’ll show restraint even though she’s going to kill me in the process. “Plan on staying for a while?”

  “Did you have other plans?”

  No. “I’m going to sleep soon. We do have school tomorrow.”

  “I’ve shared a bed way smaller than this for the past two years. Trust me, I’m the queen of not touching if that’s what you’re concerned about. Go on, print it out.”

  “Not touching and sharing with who?”

  Beth chuckles and shakes her head at the same time. “Jealous much? I think you were printing something out for me.”

  Just go with it, Ryan. Like other predators, Beth can smell fear. Without another word, I print out the pages and she snatches them from my hand. I stare at her. She stares at me. “I’m not going to read it with you watching me. That’s weird.”

  “You’re in my room, Beth. You walked a half mile to get here. On a Wednesday. In the middle of the night. Uninvited.” I should define for her what weird is.

  “Do you want me to go?”

  “No.” I don’t. Somehow nothing has ever felt more right.

  That evil smile slips onto her face. “Am I the first girl to be in your bed?”

  Yes. I take a deep breath and return to the computer. I’ve dated girls. Been exclusive with a few and I’ve been respectful enough to proceed slowly to each base. There are some bases I have yet to reach. A girl in my bed being one of them. If she’s determined to be here, I’m determined to be okay with it and not let the nerves show. I guess my zombie found a girl he likes and wants to throttle at the same time.

  * * *

  “This is good, Ryan.” Beth’s distant voice snaps me out of the story and my hands stop tapping on the keyboard.

  “Thanks,” I say. Beth lies on her stomach, propped up on her elbows. Her cleavage is beautifully exposed. My eyes avert to the floor.

  “No, really. It’s good. Like this could be in a bookstore good. I totally get this guy.”

  Yeah, so do I. “I finaled in a state writing competition.” The words come out naturally, as if I normally tell the world this sort of thing.

  Beth flips through the pages. “I can see why. Whoever judged the winner must have been on meth not to choose you.”

  I glance around the room, waiting for the lightning to hit. Did she pay me a compliment? “The winner hasn’t been announced. There’s another round of competition in a couple of weeks.”

  “Oh,” she says. “Then I’m sure you’ll win.”

  My stomach hollows out as I turn off my computer. Yeah, I’m writing the short story, but I still haven’t signed up for the competition. How can I? I’ve got games that day and Dad…

  My thoughts trail off. I’m bowing out of a competition—an event I could win. Would the rush of winning the writing competition be the same as winning a baseball game or a dare? Guess I’ll never know.

  When I turn back, Beth is stretched out on her back with her head against the pillows. She’s kicked her shoes off and folded her hands on her stomach. The belly button ring sparkles in the light. She stacked my story neatly on the bedside table.

  We’re dating. Friends who are dating and who will eventually kiss. Four days could be considered eventually…yeah, I’m not stupid enough to believe that.

  “I’m going to bed,” I say, giving her the opportunity to leave.

  “Do you normally sleep in all your clothes?” she asks.

  No. I usually take off my shirt. “This is safer.”

  “Okay.”

  Okay. I flip off the light and climb into bed. Taking a cue from Beth, I stay on top of the covers. The heat from her body warms mine. She’s right. She can lie in bed without touching. I inhale and her sweet scent envelops me.

  Last year, our science teacher dispelled the myth that sex crosses the minds of guys every seven seconds. I’m going to have to disagree with him on that. My fingers itch with the need to caress Beth’s soft skin. I want my lips whispering against hers.

  “So, I have this friend,” she sa
ys into the darkness. “Isaiah. You’ve met him.”

  “Yeah.” My muscles tense and the images of her body moving against mine disappear. I understand that dating means I’m leaving open the possibility that she can see other guys, but I’m not fond of her discussing said guys while she’s lying in my bed.

  “He betrayed me and I don’t know what to do. In Louisville, he was the only friend I had and when I came here he bought me my phone. We talked every night or texted or both and he still calls every day and texts me a million times. I refuse to answer him and I think our friendship is over and then I talked to Scott tonight and the conversation didn’t go as I planned and I don’t know….”

  My skin prickles. It’s more than Beth being so close to me. It’s more than the need and attraction raging in my body. Beth is on the verge of telling me something. On the verge of stepping outside her wall. I urge her on. “You don’t know what?”

  “Everything was so much easier in Louisville,” she says softly. The sadness in her voice is hard to miss. “I miss easy.”

  “After my game, I’ll drop you off.” I hate the thought of it, but I’m determined to win her over. “Then afterward, we’ll go to dinner and then maybe a movie. What do you think?”

  I hear her swallow. “I think I’d like that.”

  I inhale. The clean, full intake of air feels as if it’s the first breath I’ve taken in days.

  “Sometimes,” she says, then pauses. It’s a heavy pause and her struggle for words makes me want to comfort her. “Sometimes I just want…”

  What does she want? I know what I want: for her to trust me, for her to feel what I feel. But what I really want right now is for her to be okay. I extend my arm across the bed in Beth’s direction, careful not to touch her. “I’m here if you need me.”

  One heartbeat. Another. Beth stays so perfectly still in the darkness that part of me wonders if this entire evening was a dream.

  Her body scratches against the comforter as she moves. One inch in my direction. A hesitation. Then another inch. My blood tingles with anticipation. This moment is huge—no doubt. I’m asking her to lean on me and Beth is actually considering it.