The Dare (6 page)

Or maybe I imagined the whole thing. Maybe he never asked me out at all. Maybe it was all one of my fantasies.

I changed my sweater three times. I don't know why. They were all pretty much the same.

I'd found earrings at the mall that looked like little conch shells. I put them on, studied them in the mirror, took them off, then put them on again.

My clock read 8:03, but it was always a little fast.

I brushed my hair with rapid strokes. Maybe I should cut it short, I thought. Seeing the cleft in my chin made me frown at myself. Why couldn't I have a smooth chin like normal people?

I was still staring unhappily at myself in the mirror when the doorbell rang. I heard Mom's footsteps downstairs. I heard her pull open the door. I heard Dennis's voice.

He's really here! I thought. It isn't a joke.

I took one last look at myself in the mirror, then hurried downstairs to greet him.

Melody's house was big and very modern. The living room furniture was all chrome and soft white leather. The walls were covered with framed movie posters. Track lighting on the ceiling cast pale triangles of light over the room.

“How's it going?” Melody asked me as she led us into the room. She eyed my yellow sweater. I suddenly felt even more self-conscious. Maybe I should've worn the blue one.

“My parents are at the movies,” Melody told Dennis. “The house is all ours!” She didn't seem at all surprised to see me with Dennis instead of Caitlin.

I saw eight or nine kids as Dennis and I followed Melody across the room. They were all from school, but I knew only a few of them. Most of them were seniors.

Lanny and Zack were standing in front of a TV in the corner, staring at a basketball game, taking long
sips from cans of beer. A red-haired girl I didn't know kept asking them to turn down the sound so she could put on music, but they ignored her.

Two couples had squeezed onto the couch and were laughing loudly about something. The two boys slapped each other high-fives.

Two girls were at the table against the wall, helping themselves to sections of an enormous submarine sandwich. The girls both had long, frizzy blond hair that shimmered in the cones of light from overhead.

“You get anywhere with Northwood?” Melody asked Dennis. Before Dennis could reply, the doorbell rang, and Melody hurried to answer it.

“You know these kids?” Dennis asked, turning to me. He was wearing a denim vest over a blue workshirt and faded jeans torn at the knees.

“Some of them,” I replied.

“Most of them live in North Hills,” Dennis told me. He motioned to the red-haired girl who was entering the room with Melody. “You know her? That's Reva Dalby. Her family owns all those department stores.”

“Hey, what's up?” Dennis called to Reva. The two of them talked for a short while about a tennis instructor they both had. I stood close to Dennis, but Reva didn't seem to notice I was there.

Dennis and I got Cokes. Then I followed him as he joined Lanny and Zack in front of the TV. He started teasing Lanny about the red jeans he was wearing. “I dare you to wear those to the dance at the club,” Dennis said.

“Hey—no dares tonight,” Lanny protested.

“Chicken,” Dennis muttered.

Lanny pretended to get angry. They started laughing and playfully shoving each other, and Lanny spilled some of his beer on the white carpet.

“That's okay,” Lanny said, making sure Melody wasn't watching. “Beer is good for the rug.”

Several more kids arrived. They all seemed to know one another. Melody got her CD player going and drowned out the sound of the basketball game. I saw a couple making out on the stairway by the front door.

Since Dennis was busy kidding around with Lanny and Zack, I made my way to the table and took a section of the sub sandwich. I talked with some kids from my English class. “You're Margaret Rivers' friend,” someone said to me. “She's very funny.”

I wondered what Margaret was doing tonight. I wondered what I would tell her about this party, about my date with Dennis.

So far there wasn't much to tell. Dennis was pretty much ignoring me.

Around eleven o'clock, some kids left. The rest of us were sitting on the two couches or sprawled on the floor, eating tortilla chips and salsa and drinking Cokes.

Melody had turned the music off. A conversation started about school.

Dennis and I were sitting close together at an end of a couch. He was leaning forward, picking up handfuls of tortilla chips from the bowl on the glass coffee table. I was leaning back against the cushiony couch, not really part of the conversation.

Actually, I was wondering if Dennis liked me or
not. He hadn't been unfriendly. But he hadn't spent much time talking with me either.

The couch was jammed with kids. Dennis and I sat so close together, our legs were touching. He didn't seem to notice. Or was he just pretending not to notice?

All night I had been trying to relax and have a good time. But it was hard. This just wasn't my crowd. I didn't take private tennis lessons, so I couldn't gossip about the different tennis instructors. And I couldn't compare Jamaica to Bermuda or Aruba.

Everyone had been friendly to me. No one had acted at all snobby. But I could see that they were all better dressed than I was.

And Melody's house was so luxurious compared to my run-down old house on Fear Street. Even though I kept telling myself that it all didn't matter, I just couldn't relax and feel comfortable.

I wasn't really listening to the conversation. But when Dennis suddenly draped an arm around my shoulders, I instantly tuned back in.

And then Dennis totally surprised me by announcing to everyone, “Johanna and I are going to murder Mr. Northwood!” He turned to me, a big smile on his face. “Right?”

“U
h … right,” I reluctantly agreed.

“We're
doing
it!” Dennis proclaimed, squeezing my shoulder.

Everyone laughed and cheered.

What's going on here? I asked myself. Isn't Dennis taking this joke a little too far?

“I want to help!” someone exclaimed.

“Me too!”

“Let's
all
kill him!”

“Tonight!” someone added.

Everyone laughed.

“I dare you!” Lanny cried. “I really dare you!”

“Do it!” someone shouted.

Lanny turned to me. “How are you going to do it?” he demanded.

I formed a gun with my thumb and pointer finger and aimed it at Lanny.

Everyone laughed again.

Climbing to his feet, Zack pulled up his hair until it stood straight up on his head. Then he stooped his shoulders and did a pretty good impression of Mr. Northwood: “I don't like your smiles. You're all staying after school for the rest of the century. We're having a short quiz. Take out a sheet of paper and number from one to three thousand.”

We were all in hysterics. Zack really was a riot. He sounded just like Mr. Northwood, and he kind of looked like him with his hair straight up like that.

“Did you hear what Northwood did to Carter Philips?” Lanny asked, shaking his head. “Northwood took five points off Carter's final exam because she forgot to put her name on top. The five points lowered Carter from a B to a C!”

Everyone groaned.

“He made me stay an hour after school on my birthday!” a girl on the other couch cried.

“What a jerk!” someone said.

“He really hates us all,” Melody murmured.

“Not as much as we hate him,” Lanny said.

“Don't worry,” Dennis told them, grinning. “Johanna and I are going to take care of him. We've been making plans.”

“When?” someone demanded. “Before the next unit test?”

Dennis smiled at me. His arm tightened around me. “It's a secret,” he told them, his green eyes flashing excitedly. “We don't want to spoil the surprise.”

I laughed along with everyone else.

But I felt a sudden chill.

Was Dennis getting serious about this?

The idea of killing Mr. Northwood had started out as a joke.

It was still just a joke—right?

I was so surprised when Dennis kissed me.

When he drove me home, the car radio was on so loud we couldn't talk. He pulled up my driveway, then switched off the engine and the lights.

And he reached across the seat and pulled me close.

The kiss was awkward at first. I was just so startled.

But then I slid my hands behind his head, wrapping my fingers through his silky dark hair, holding his face against mine.

The kiss lasted a long time. When it ended, I was breathless.

He likes me,
I thought.

I can tell. He really likes me.

Waiting for my breathing to return to normal, I glanced up at my house. It was entirely dark except for the light over the front stoop.

The bare branches of the two entwined maple trees in the center of the front yard shivered in the cold breeze. Fat brown leaves scrabbled like dark shadows over the frosted grass.

“I'm glad I asked you out,” Dennis said softly.

“Me too,” I murmured.

He reached out his arms for me again. This time I slid comfortably to him, and we kissed for a long time.

Thoughts about Caitlin forced their way into my mind as I wrapped my arms tighter around Dennis and kissed him. I shut my eyes and willed Caitlin away. Far away.

I opened my eyes when the kiss ended.

What was that tingling feeling on the back of my neck?

Still tasting Dennis's lips on mine, I had the sudden feeling that we were being watched.

I pulled away from him.

“Johanna—what is it?” Dennis whispered.

I gazed out the windshield, my eyes searching the darkness—and gasped in horror.

M
r. Northwood!

He was just standing there in his yard. Like a statue.

He had a large stick in one hand. A fallen tree branch. He was leaning on it like a cane.

Standing in deep shadows a few yards from the driveway. Leaning on the stick. Staring into the car.

Just standing and staring at us.

Dennis turned toward the windshield and followed my gaze. “Hey—” he cried. “What's
he
doing?”

“I—I don't know,” I stammered. “He's watching us, I think.”

Behind us a car rolled quietly down Fear Street. As its headlights played over the still form of Mr. Northwood, I caught the stern, disapproving expression set on his face.

“What a creep!” Dennis declared. “What a total creep.”

“Let's just ignore him,” I suggested, turning to Dennis with a devilish smile.

Dennis scowled in Mr. Northwood's direction. “No. I'd better go, Johanna.”

“Want to come in for a while?” I suggested.

Dennis shook his head. His eyes were still on Mr. Northwood. “I'd better go. See you Monday, okay?”

“Okay.” I pushed open the car door. A burst of cold air greeted me. Waving good-night to Dennis, I climbed out and ran to my front door.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Mr. Northwood still standing there, frozen like a snowman in his long gray overcoat.

Why is he standing there? I wondered angrily.

Is he really
spying
on me?

Dennis's headlights slid over me as he backed down the drive. I was so furious at Mr. Northwood, my hand shook as I tried to slide my key into the front door.

What right does he have to spy on me?

What business is it of his?

What is he
doing
out here?

Finally I got the key in the lock, twisted it, and pushed the door open.

The house was warm and smelled of the roast chicken we'd had for dinner. I was trembling all over as I tossed my coat over the banister.

Mr. Northwood spoiled my date, I thought bitterly.

Dennis and I were feeling so close to each other—and that creep Northwood spoiled it all.

My anger boiled up into a rage.

I realized my hands were balled into tight fists.

Without thinking, I made my way to the little green side table against the living room wall.

The living room was dark. I pulled open the drawer in the table. My hand fumbled around inside it until I found what I was looking for.

The pistol.

The pistol my dad had left us for protection when he moved out.

It felt sleek and cool in my hot, hot hand.

I wasn't thinking clearly. I was too furious to think clearly.

Why was he spying on me?

Why?

Without realizing it, without thinking about what I was doing, I made my way to the window. The pistol was gripped tightly in my hand.

Leaning against the glass, I peered out into the darkness.

There he was. Mr. Northwood hadn't moved. He was leaning on the tree branch, smoking a pipe. I could see the gray smoke swirl up against the purple sky.

Why did you spoil my date, Mr. Northwood?

What right do you have to spy on me and ruin my life?

Don't you know how much tonight meant to me?

I was trembling with anger. With a shaking hand I pulled up the window. The cold air felt good against my face.

My eyes on Mr. Northwood, I pulled back the hammer of the pistol, the way my dad had shown me.

Killing Mr. Northwood is so easy,
I told myself.

So incredibly easy.

Leaning against the windowsill to steady myself, I raised the pistol.

I aimed it at Mr. Northwood.

Steady, steady.

I slid my finger over the trigger.

So incredibly easy. So easy to kill him.

I aimed for his chest.

And suddenly the living room lights flashed on.

“Johanna!” my mother exclaimed, bursting into the room. “What are you doing with that gun?”