Nerve Page 4

  “So which dare did you do?” she asks.

  “Coffeehouse,” I say through my fingers.

  More clicking. Then, “Oh, I see.”

  I lower my hands. “Told you.”

  Her face is serious. “Well, okay, let’s stop and think.” In addition to being blond and beautiful, Syd maintains an A average.

  “No further thinking required. I want to go home.”

  “Uh-uh, running away is only going to make things look worse. Besides, it’s not like the video shows that much. You weren’t naked. Maybe we can turn this around. Tons of celebrities got their start with leaked sex tapes.”

  “Um, my career goals don’t include reality TV.”

  “Okay, but the way those girls got through it was by holding their heads high. So, number one, don’t apologize. Just smile when people mention it and shrug, like aw gee, it could’ve happened to anyone.”

  I take the phone from her and start scrolling through the comments. Sure enough, there’s one from Matthew that says, Little Vee, I didn’t know you had it in you!

  Lovely. I close the link to the site and check my messages, finding a few from my friends with WTF subject lines and a few from acquaintances with lots of exclamation points and question marks. There’s one from a girl I’ve never heard of with a subject line that says SLUT. How did she get my address? I delete it before turning off the phone.

  Syd’s at the door. “You ready?”

  “I guess.” I try to keep my head up as we march inside toward the girls’ dressing room. In my peripheral vision, faces turn my way.

  When we enter the room, Sydney announces, “My best friend had the balls to do a NERVE dare!”

  The other girls seem startled at first, but when they glance at me, I smile and shrug, so they burst into giggles and give me high fives. Really? They ask how nervous I was, if the see-through shirt was on purpose, etc. I answer truthfully, with direct eye contact and no slouching. The more I talk about it, the more okay I feel.

  Matthew comes in with a lusty grin. “Hey, coffee shop girl! Double whipped cream for me.” I let him grab me in a tight embrace, fighting against the embarrassment I feel. In my ear, he whispers, “Told ya, you should be on stage.”

  When he lets me go, he pulls out his phone and plays the clip for everyone to huddle around and watch. I laugh along with the rest of them although I wish he’d turn it off. Head held high, head held high. Hopefully, this fake confidence in the face of calamity gets easier with practice. After the second showing, Tommy comes through the door with a puzzled expression.

  Matthew holds out the phone. “Hey, dude, see Vee’s dare?”

  “That’s Tommy’s voice on the video,” I say to the room.

  Everyone’s eyebrows go up and Matthew slaps Tommy’s back. “Nice job! Yo, the backstage crew is showing up the cast!”

  We all laugh and Matthew plays the video again. Tommy glances at me with a question in his eyes. I just shrug. Thankfully, the overhead lights blink to indicate that intermission will be done in a minute.

  As Matthew leaves the room, I pull him aside. “By the way, how did you find my video?”

  He shrugs. “They sent it to me.” And then he hurries off.

  I stand there in the middle of the dressing room, alone and panting as if I’ve just run a race. Why did NERVE send my video to Matthew of all people? And then it hits me. He was one of my emergency contacts. Weird that they didn’t send it to Syd or Tommy.

  Although I really want to head back out to the fire escape, I do my best to act normal and take my place in the wings to mouth everyone’s lines. The show must go on. And it does, as smoothly as the night before. When it comes to the stage kiss, I imagine that I’m the one Matthew’s taking in his arms. And I’m sure he’s staring straight at me right before their lips meet. One thousand, two thousand, three thousand, and they part. Maybe tomorrow at the party it’ll be my turn.

  After the play, my friends Liv and Eulie come backstage to congratulate everyone and to check on me, I’m sure, since they’ve each sent at least five texts asking about the video that NERVE sent to them during the show. I assure them I was just goofing around and that everything’s fine. Being in the honors program, they’re both more skeptical than the rest of my friends, but they don’t pursue the subject. For now.

  “Wanna hang out with us for a bit before you go home?” Liv asks.

  “Wish I could, but by the time we get to your house, I’d only have like ten minutes before I have to turn around and go home. You’re coming tomorrow though, right?” They created all the posters advertising the show and wrote a glowing preview in the school paper, so that gives them admittance to the closing night party.

  Eulie laughs. “Liv’s dragging me, but yeah.” She crosses her arms over her tall, lean body, dressed in nondescript jeans and a sweater. If there were anyone I’d love to give a makeover to, it would be her. With the right clothes and makeup, she could pass for Syd’s sister. Except for the fact that she’s as shy as Syd is outgoing. She and Liv leave to congratulate everyone else while I straighten costumes.

  Matthew joins me, plopping into the makeup chair and giving me a probing stare. “Feel like missing curfew? I could take some more video of you.”

  “Hah! If I get home late, I’ll never get out of being grounded. But I’ve still got thirty-five minutes before curfew. We could hang out here for twenty of those minutes.”

  He checks his phone. “Damn, that hardly gives us time to get some brews.”

  “We don’t really need any, do we?”

  He wipes his forehead. “Maybe you don’t, little Vee, but I’m thirsty. And twenty minutes, well, that’s not enough time, is it?”

  “I guess not.”

  His friends come to the door, scuffling, and calling, “C’mon, dude!”

  He gets up and kisses the top of my head. “Can’t wait for the party tomorrow. We should hang a Do Not Disturb sign on the dressing room door, huh?”

  Whoa, I wonder if his intentions are a little more action-packed than mine, but all I say is, “See ya.”

  Sydney, who’s changed from her corset into a mini-dress that doesn’t cover up more than her costume, comes back with Liv and Eulie trailing her. “I think you pulled it off.”

  “Thanks to you. Have fun.” Even though there aren’t any cast parties planned, it’s still Friday night.

  She purses her lips. “I’ll be so happy when you’re done being grounded.”

  “Only one more day.”

  She wags her finger. “Then, don’t screw up. No more dares, okay?”

  “Are you kidding? I’ve got to be home soon anyway.”

  She hugs me good-bye and so do Liv and Eulie. Then, like the night before, I’m left alone to finish up. When I’m done, I sit down with my phone to read a couple dozen messages. Most of them are pretty flattering, surprisingly. Whew.

  Near the end of my messages, there’s one from NERVE. I’m tempted to delete it, but what the heck? Maybe they want to congratulate me on getting so much attention for what should’ve been a dumb dare.

  My heart does a little jump when I read the message.

  HEY, VEE!

  YOU’VE GOT TONS OF NEW ADMIRERS!

  WE’D LIKE TO INVITE YOU FOR A FURTHER QUALIFYING DARE AND WE’LL MAKE IT WORTH YOUR WHILE! CHECK THIS OUT.

  I click on a link that shows a still shot from my dare in the coffee shop, only they’ve altered the image so I’m wearing a pair of lust-worthy shoes that I posted on my ThisIsMe page a few weeks ago. Whoa, there’s a three-month waiting list to buy them in brown, and these are the limited edition flamingo ones. NERVE must have some serious connections. How did they know I wanted them? Did someone give them access to my page?

  I read the rest of NERVE’s message.

  TO WIN THE SHOES, GO BACK INTO THE COFFEE SHOP TONIGHT. A GUY NAMED IAN (PICTURE TO FOLLOW) WILL ENTER AT 9:40. DEMAND THAT HE BUY YOU A LATTE. WHILE HE’S IN LINE, YOU MUST STAND IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CAFÉ AND SING “ON
E HUNDRED BOTTLES OF BEER ON THE WALL” WITH YOUR EYES CLOSED UNTIL HE GIVES YOU YOUR DRINK.

  What? Why would NERVE want me to go back into the coffee shop where I made such a fool out of myself? Well duh, where better to embarrass me further? Doesn’t matter, though; I can’t do it. No more dares. I promised Sydney.

  But those shoes.

  And everything turned out okay, didn’t it? Besides, there’s no water involved in this dare. Just singing and meeting some guy. I’m so deep in thought, I don’t notice Tommy’s presence until he’s beside me. I show him my phone.

  “No way,” he says.

  I glance at the time on my phone. “If I leave now, I can just make it.”

  Tommy bounces on the balls of his feet, like he’s having spasms. “If you really want to get involved with NERVE, sign up tomorrow night as a Watcher.”

  “Why should I pay to watch when I can be paid to play? I’ve had enough watching in my life.” Plus, I want those shoes so badly I can smell the leather.

  We stand there staring at each other like two cowboys in a Western. Two skinny cowboys who wouldn’t know how to shoot a gun or ride a horse if our lives depended on it. But the more I consider doing the dare, the more I think, Why not?

  Tommy must sense my intentions. He says, “Well, if I can’t talk you out of it, I’m coming along as your cameraman and bodyguard.”

  I stifle a laugh. I guess a computer-whiz bodyguard is better than no bodyguard at all. Kind of. And I do need someone to video this. We make a good team.

  “But this time we have to take separate cars so I can get home quicker,” I tell him.

  As I scurry toward my car with Tommy alongside me, I click open a link and quickly fill out an additional form that has me agree to a scrolling list of terms and conditions. I scan through and check them off before I put my phone away. My neck is damp.

  Before I get into my car, I ask Tommy, “Think the baristas will call the police when they see me again?”

  He furrows his brow. “Probably not right away.”

  For some reason, his answer makes me giggle. Not right away will just have to be good enough.

  three

  I park the car at 9:36 and, on the way into the coffee shop, check my phone to find a picture of my dare partner, Ian. Dark hair to his chin, intense eyes as dark as the hair, sharp cheekbones. In a word, hot.

  So I have to let cutie buy me some coffee and sing while I wait? The first part I can handle, but singing in public? Going home starts to feel like a better option. No shoes to die for, but no dying of embarrassment either. I remind myself that I actually completed a dare last night. And I’ve got admirers. Okay, probably drunken geeks with nothing better to do than scroll through a thousand videos to check out cleavage shots in slow-mo, but still.

  Inside the shop, no sign of Ian, so I shuffle my feet while Tommy finds a spot to sit center stage. A couple of guys wearing sandals with socks rush inside and seem to scan the room until they see me. Then they find tables nearby, staring my way all the while. To the casual observer, they look like typical Seattle guys, armed with smartphones but no fashion sense. When their phones point my way, I realize they must be Watchers sent by NERVE to capture my dare. Oh, crap. But it makes sense that the gamers would want to see how players respond under the pressure of a live audience. My stomach lurches. That’s my response.

  I wring my hands and bounce on my toes, staring downward. Every few seconds I risk a glance toward the door. Where is Ian? The dare said 9:40. Does NERVE know about my curfew, the way they knew about the shoes? I’m sure I posted complaints about my prison sentence on ThisIsMe, so if they’ve seen my page, they know about that plus a whole lot more. Well, whatever, it’s not like it’s secret.

  I stand and wait for what seems like an hour but is actually two minutes, and then Ian walks in. I can tell he recognizes me right away, but he doesn’t say anything. Behind him a willowy girl pointing a phone hurries to take up a spot a few yards away. Guess he travels with a bodyguard too.

  When he stops in front of me, I cross my arms. The phone pic didn’t capture the smooth olive planes of his cheeks, or the lanky gait in those well-worn jeans. But would it kill him to crack a smile?

  I say, “Hey, you get to buy me a latte. Hazelnut is my favorite.” Is that diva enough?

  He purses his lips. “So?”

  Huh? This is his dare too, isn’t it? Maybe the operational word was demand.

  I rise onto the fronts of my ballet flats and flip my hair. “What do you mean? I want a latte. Now.”

  He steps closer so I have to crane my neck to look at his face. “Who do you think I am?”

  I’m taken aback. “You’re Ian, aren’t you?” My voice sounds like something in a cartoon.

  “Yeah.”

  “So, I’m Vee.”

  His lip curls. “What’s Vee short for?”

  Okay, now that is secret. “What’s it matter?”

  He shrugs. “Guess it doesn’t.” Still no movement toward buying me a latte.

  I exhale loudly. “Fine. I guess we both lose. Unless your dare was to be a jerk.” I move toward the door.

  He grabs at my arm. “What, you giving up already?”

  I cock my head. What’s his game? “You going to buy it for me or not?”

  “What’s it worth to you?”

  A pair of killer shoes, bozo. “What’re you getting at?”

  He leans in close. “Part of my dare depends on you.”

  Hmm. “How so?”

  “You have to announce that I’m an amazing lover.” His voice is so faint, I can barely make out what he’s saying.

  “What?”

  “You need to tell me that I’m an amazing lover. Out loud.”

  Is that really part of his dare? Or is he messing with me? Maybe messing with me is his dare. But what if I tell him he’s a great lover and he still doesn’t get me a latte? Then he’ll complete his dare, but I won’t complete mine. Whoa, preventing me from completing my dare might even be his dare. God, two dares into the game and my mind’s spinning with conspiracies. Does NERVE plan things this way?

  I put one hand on my hip and aim at Ian’s chest with the other, a pose I’ve seen Sydney use a thousand times when she wants to make a point. “Get in line for the latte. After you’ve ordered, I’ll tell the whole coffee shop how great you are in bed.”

  He examines me for a second, maybe dealing with his own trust issues. “Deal.”

  He gets in line. I feel smug until, with a start, I realize that the worst part of my dare begins now. Inhaling deeply, I close my eyes against the snickers around me. My head goes light again and my heart pounds irregularly. Is this what a panic attack feels like? It’s so much worse having to be in the dark. I’ve always hated the dark. My imagination goes wild with possibilities. What if someone else has been dared to smack me upside the head? Or pull my skirt up? Feeling so vulnerable brings tears to my eyes. Oh hell, I’m crying in front of everyone. What a great show for NERVE. I feel a surge of anger toward the game, which sears through the panicky feelings. Good. Hold on to that anger and sing. I open my mouth and, surprisingly, words come out. Trembly, off-key words, but it’s singing.

  I get one verse out when it dawns on me that I have another dilemma. With my eyes closed, I won’t be able to see Ian order. How will I know when to shout out what a great lover he is? If I do it too soon, will he bail on the latte? I keep singing, digging my fingernails into my palms.

  Laughter comes from every direction. Maybe Ian’s been dared to pour an espresso over my head. I flinch when I feel the presence of someone a few inches away.

  “He just ordered your drink,” Tommy whispers as he stuffs a tissue in my hand.

  I could hug him. “Thanks,” I say between lyrics as I wipe my cheeks. It’s only then that I ask myself why I didn’t just peek, and how Tommy knew I wouldn’t.

  A spark of hope ignites in my chest. I’ve almost completed my dare. Although there’s still the matter of helping Ian
finish his. Unless I’m the skunk who bails. But, of course, I won’t. At heart, I’m a Capricorn.

  Squeezing my eyes shut even tighter, I yell, “You’re the best hook-up I’ve ever had, Ian!” Laughter erupts from all sides. With burning cheeks, I go back to the beer song.

  When I’m down to sixty-three bottles on the wall, I feel another presence. Ian’s voice says, “Here’s a latte for the most amazing girlfriend ever.” And then he starts singing “Beautiful Girl” in a smooth tenor voice that would’ve won a starring role in the school play.

  I open my eyes and take the hot cup from him as he serenades me. It’s almost as embarrassing being sung to in public as it is singing. One of the guys videoing gives us a thumbs-up sign. The girl who came into the shop behind Ian laughs to herself as she films us. Nearby, another two girls type into their phones. Are they rating us? I channel my inner Sydney and give them a pageant wave, even though I’m not seriously applying for the live rounds. I just want those shoes. Which I’ve earned.

  Thankfully, the song finally ends. Okay, dare over. Whew.

  I raise the cup to Ian. “Bravo!”

  He bows and poses for the Watchers, especially his model-like camerawoman, who’s probably his girlfriend. And then, he smiles. Wow. What a difference it makes to his face. His teeth are super-white and straight, and his cheeks dimple so deeply you could stick dimes in them.

  Tommy, with a tenseness to his jaw, joins us, eyeing Ian. “It’s nine forty-nine.”

  I turn to Ian. “Gotta run. Thanks for the latte, and the song.”

  He waves at the girls who’re still typing on their phones. “Sorry I had to act like an ass though. Pissing you off before asking you to yell that lover stuff was part of the dare.”

  “Good to hear that isn’t your true personality.”

  He stares at me, as if he’s trying to figure me out, and something doesn’t add up. “You rocked that dare. I’m impressed.”

  My chest swells. I did rock it, didn’t I? “You too.”

  The barista who mopped up yesterday glares at us. Cue to exit stage.