Dare Me (19 page)

The voices gasp and so someone must have stood. Shit. I pull my knees under me and stand as well.

It’s disorienting after the crawling, but I adjust and look around. Ricky and John are wavering like me, but don’t seem injured.

“What the fuck is this?” One of the hunters asks, who I can now clearly see in his orange vest at the opposite end of the woods.

Trevor responds through the bullhorn. “Just a prank.”

The hunter turns to his group and their arms fling wildly. I turn and yell, “Let’s go.”

We all turn and start hightailing it back from where we came. A single shot splits the air and I almost fall to my knees.

“Don’t you go anywhere!” The hunter’s voice is loud and full of authority.

I freeze. John and Ricky do, too.

“Put your weapon down!” Trevor continues to sound like a cop.

The rifle cracks again, and I feel like I might shit my pants.

“Listen, you stupid hick! I am recording you right now. I can see every inch of your bearded, douche-bag face through this lens. I’ve got video of every single one of you shooting at my friends and now firing a threatening shot into the air. If you attack us, I’m going to the police. You want to be charged with attempted murder?”

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

No one moves. Trevor doesn’t even look to us for support. He keeps both the bullhorn and the camera trained on the hunters. The spokesperson rests his rifle on his shoulder.

“We should come haul
your
asses to the authorities. You can’t do this.” He’s grasping, but still, they’ve got firearms and could easily bust up the camera.

“Neither can you. Did you read the
No Hunting
signs everywhere, or was that beyond your literacy level?”

The hunter says something inaudible but is clearly pissed off.

“Exactly. I’ve got that on film, too. So sit tight. We’ll be out of your hair in five minutes, and then you can kill all the turkeys you want.”

Trevor pauses a moment and says, “Happy Thanksgiving.”

CHAPTER 20

M
y hands are still shaking
and it’s been two hours since I was shot.

I was shot.

I let that fact roll over me like the water streaming out of the shower head. It’s all I could think about on the ride home—a
hot shower and my bed. I didn’t even care that it would be in the
yellowed and nasty stall in the condo. I just wanted to get warm and be safe.

We barely spoke after we inspected our decoys. Each was riddled with holes. Our vests and helmets were also puckered and ripped. I felt so disconnected then, couldn’t quite believe that
the gear I was looking at had kept me from getting shot, hurt, or possibly killed.

I was so out of touch I barely heard Trevor’s explanation of how the turkeys were hooked up for wireless transmission and that the video would already be on his computer. How he’d begin editing immediately. It didn’t sound as if he was going to spend any time with his family, but that didn’t strike me as odd.

What did hit me was that he had called us his friends. Sure, it could have been something he said in the moment, trying to get the hunters’ attention. But still, what if it wasn’t? What if he feels that way? Because if he does . . . I guess the feeling’s mutual. He saved our asses today. But it’s more than that. He’s helping Ricky and seems to hate Jesse Holmes almost as much as I do. Friendships have been built on less.

I towel off and dress in pajama pants and a long-sleeve T. Mom appears at my door.

“Where were you so early?”

“John wanted to go running. He’s trying to get back in shape. You know, with missing the beginning of the season and all.”

“That’s so nice of you. I wish you would have left a note, but that’s okay.”

“Sorry.” I sniff the air. “It smells fantastic in here.”

She turns toward the kitchen. “It won’t be like usual. You know in the big old dining room. But we’ll make it work.”

“I’m sure of it, Mom.”

She leaves and I hop online. I’ve put this off long enough. I figured if I died I wouldn’t have to know my score, but since
I’m here.

A knock bumps at my door and before I can say, “Hold up,” Ginny’s pushing her way through.

I minimize the screen and try to act casual. “What’s up?”

“Really, you’re asking me that question?” She sits on the edge of my bed. “You tell me. What have
you
been up to?”

I sigh and look back at the screen. She got home yesterday for Thanksgiving break, and I know what she wants to talk about. Guess this is a great way to stall that conversation. “My SAT score is ready.”

She sits upright. “What are you waiting for?”

Ginny got a 2200 on her SAT. I’ll be lucky to get 1500. I shrug.

“Get out of the way. I’ll do it.”

She shoves me out of my chair, maximizes my email, and clicks the link. “Give me the details.”

“Benny5 and Bigpimpin. Capital Bs on both.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, no
g
at the end, either.”

“That doesn’t make it any better.”

I turn away and listen to her reaction. “Eww.” It’s like she’s removed a Band-Aid and does not like the look of the wound beneath.

“That bad?” Her comment made me slump so far forward I feel like someone’s pulled out my spine.

“Um, yeah. You did awful.”

“I knew it.” I turn and look at the score: 1400.

“What happened, Benny?” Ginny reads through the analysis of the test. “You didn’t even do well on the math.”

Now I flop onto my back. “I know. I wasn’t prepared. I’ve been so busy with the dares and this girl I’m kind of seeing and the move and . . .”

“Jesus, Benny, shut up. Enough with the excuses.” Ginny cuts me off and turns toward the bed. “You have time to take it again. I’ll help you study if you need it.”

I nod, but only because I’m supposed to.

“Just don’t tell Mom and Dad about
this
score. What’d you get last time?”

“Fifteen hundred.”

“So, retake it and beef up the math and you should be fine.” She pats my knee but it brings me no comfort. “So what’s the next dare?”

“Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.” I turn away.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s celebrate how we exploited the Native Americans’ generosity by giving them blankets with smallpox.”

“What?” I have no clue what she’s talking about.

“Never mind. Tell me what you’re doing.” She shoves my shoulder.

I sit up and look at her. “You’ll get to see the video soon enough.”

“You’ve already done it?”

I nod. “This morning?”

“What? What did you do?”

I shake my head and can see this morning, as if it were someone else than me. Maybe I’m suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. “We dressed up as turkeys and got shot.”

“Shut up. No, you didn’t.”

“Yeah, we did. I got lit up, must have been hit five, six times.”

“Jesus Christ, Benny, are you okay?” Ginny’s eyes search me as if I might be bleeding from a gunshot wound.

“I’m fine. We had Kevlar gear and helmets.”

She’s quiet, looking at me as if she doesn’t know who I am. Ginny leans forward and closes the door. “Ben, this is beyond insane. The amount of ways that this could have gone wrong. I don’t even want to consider the probability.” She stops and whispers, “This is too much. How do you top that?”

That’s one question I’ve been thinking about ever since we survived. Along with whether Ricky will write me out of the contract if I don’t agree to it. “I don’t know?”

“What about those guys you had arrested?”

My scalp tightens. I don’t really feel like going into this right now. “It was an anonymous tip.”

“Right. The only one it’s anonymous to is the police.”

She’s right. My gut tells me that Jesse knows. “It’s been quiet. Really. The kid Jesse, who’s like their leader, hasn’t said a word.”

“Didn’t he try to get you guys arrested?”

“Yeah, but that backfired.”

“So you’re screwed.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. There’s no guarantee he knows, and he might be a little concerned about getting caught again, since the three-strike rule is pretty universal.” I skim my hands across my knees convincing myself this is true.

Ginny leans closer to me. “What’s your deal with him, anyway?”

I look at Ginny for a moment, to see what kind of angle she’s working, but she seems 100 percent genuine, concerned. “Long story, but he’s put his hands on his girlfriend. You remember Alexia from down the street?”

Ginny nods, but doesn’t say anything until after she sighs out her nose. “She was cute. Smart, too. But more to the point, he hasn’t said anything, hasn’t done anything to you guys in retribution?”

She says it like a lawyer peeling back the facts of evidence and I’m anxious. “No. Why?”

“That’s not a good sign, Benny. Teen guys are reactive, strike immediately. It’s rare that they calculate their next move, especially with an audience watching. Girls do that. And when they strike, it’s a hundred times worse.”

Like always, she’s spot on. The few girl fights I’ve seen have been all-out brawls with clawing, hair pulling, blood. Still, her arrogance eats at me. “So what’s your point,
Doctor
?”

“You’d better be watching your back.” She’s not offended.

“We’re on top of it.”

She stares up at the ceiling, inhales a chestful of air and lets it out so slowly, I find it oddly comforting. She levels her judgmental glare on me. “Ben, what do you want after high school? Because, seriously, if,
if
you manage to pull off these dares without getting caught, hurt, or killed, what are you going to do? You’ve wasted all your time with this shit. No sports or extracurricular activities, no volunteering. Based on your SAT scores, you’re not that impressive. And your GPA has never been that exciting, either.”

Her words hurt a deep sort of pain, as if someone’s exposed a dark secret. I’m angry and ashamed at the truth. Because that’s what this is. My neck heats up with anger, but the rest of me is limp with regret. “I don’t know, Gin. Wish I was perfect like you.”

“Don’t make this about me. I’m trying to help you see your way through, since no one else is.”

“How could they?” I look up now, snapping.

“You’re right.” Her voice is softer. “But that fact should scare you. The idea that you can’t share this enormous part of who you are. Because like it or not, Benny Bear, this
is
you now. There’s no getting back to who you were before.”

Not that I’d want to. But Ginny’s right. I should be scared. And I am. But that’s part of the thrill. Should I be ashamed of that, of who I am?

“I don’t know. Obviously I need to think.”

“Obviously,” she says sarcastically, but then touches my knee. “Sorry, it’s just that I’m worried. At first it was a great coincidence, but now, I don’t like what I know.”

I sigh. “Yeah. I get what you mean, except I wish I knew more than I did.”

—

“Dinner in five,”
Mom yells from the kitchen. She’s a flurry of pots and pans and dishes that need to be put on the table. Ginny is trying to help, but the kitchen’s so small there’s barely any room. Dad’s on his laptop looking for jobs and drinking beer. His face hasn’t moved from a scowl since he started.

My cell vibrates with a text. Ricky:
The video’s up. Happy Thanksgiving.

I reply:
Same to you
, and consider going up to my room. But it’s too risky. If either of my parents come up to haul me to dinner and find me watching the video, I’ll have to explain. It can wait. I can allow myself not to be wrapped up in these dares for at least an hour.

My cell goes off again. Probably John. No, it’s Chantel.
Happy turkey day, sweetie.

Same to you
, I reply, whatever that means.

“Come to the table, you two.” Mom spreads her hands across the meal steaming before her. I stare at the turkey and can’t help but think of this morning. So weird.

I stand and wave to my dad. His face is animated by whatever he’s reading. “Need some help?”

He doesn’t look up. “Benny, did those guys who don’t work with you do another prank today?”

My veins run cold and I sit back down. “Uh, I don’t know,” is very constricted coming out of my throat.

“Look at this.” He turns the computer toward me and our standard intro rolls, followed by a multi-split screen, one for each of the turkey’s perspective, and one for Trevor’s lens on the hunters. “This is crazy,” Dad says, and I can barely nod.

I watch as the footage alternates to full shots of the field and us slithering across it, to split screens of us and the hunters, and finally, individual frames of us getting pegged off. Because of our masks and all of the gear, I honestly can’t tell which one is me, and it’s unsettling.

Each of us is rolled and then the editing shifts to us standing and waving to the hunters, who, because of their blurred faces, look more dumbfounded than angry. I don’t remember Ricky coming on and narrating at the end, wishing everyone a “Happy Turkey Day” and asking them to share the video with everyone they know. Shit, isn’t Trevor setting the controls to keep just that from happening? What is going on?

The video ends, and I watch as my sister and mother come to us. It feels like slow motion, or like I’m underwater. Dad turns the laptop to them and they watch, Ginny looking at me only once. But she, like my mother, clasps her hands to her mouth.

“Like I told you, these idiots go to Ben’s school.”

I don’t even bother to speak because all I’m thinking about is how he found the video. First he would need to know where to look and then he’d need the password. How can Dad, sitting here looking for a job, find this? It makes no sense.

“I am thankful that my boy wasn’t out there.” Mom’s voice is dry. “Benny, don’t you ever join them if they ask.”

“Okay,” I say.

She nods. “I need a drink. Come and sit.”

I look over at Ginny and she shakes her head at me. I nod and turn back to Dad. “Come on, or Mom will drink the whole bottle without you.” I give him a hand up, and when he’s standing, he claps my shoulder.