The Dare Read online

  I had to ask Mr. Northwood a question about the paper I was writing about Charles Lindbergh. I didn’t know if he wanted me just to write about Lindbergh’s career, or did I have to write about the kidnapping of his baby too?

  I had started to the front when I saw that Dennis Arthur had gotten there first. Mr. Northwood said something to him, and Dennis reacted angrily.

  I stopped short as they started to argue.

  The room had emptied out. I took a step back, then another, lingering against the wall.

  “I told you why I can’t take the midterm exam!” Dennis cried shrilly. He was gesturing excitedly with his hands. Even from the back of the room, I could see his green eyes flash excitedly. I could tell Dennis was really upset.

  “My family always goes to the Bahamas in February,” Dennis said, crossing his arms in front of his navy blue sweatshirt. “What am I supposed to do, Mr. Northwood—stay home so I can take your exam?”

  Mr. Northwood shook his head. The lines in his face seemed to grow deeper. “Have a good trip,” he said dryly. “Send me a postcard, Dennis.”

  “Well, I don’t see why you can’t give me a makeup test when I get back,” Dennis insisted, leaning over the teacher’s desk, challenging him. “Or give me a test I can take along with me.”

  Mr. Northwood shook his head, his colorless lips forming the word no.

  “Why not?” Dennis demanded.

  “It would be unfair to your classmates,” the teacher replied softly, stooping his head, as always, as he gathered his books and papers together.

  I was starting to feel embarrassed listening to this. I mean, I didn’t want Dennis to think I was deliberately eavesdropping or anything.

  But I don’t think Dennis even knew I was in the room. And I really did want to ask Mr. Northwood my question.

  So I stayed, leaning against the wall, thinking about how great-looking Dennis is, imagining what it would be like to be Caitlin, his girlfriend, and listening as the argument grew really intense.

  “If I get an F, do you know what will happen to me?” Dennis cried. He didn’t wait for Mr. Northwood to answer. “I’ll lose my eligibility on the track team.”

  “I feel bad about that,” Mr. Northwood replied. As Dennis got louder, the teacher’s voice became softer. “I really do, Dennis.”

  “But all my other teachers are giving me a break!” Dennis exclaimed. “They know I’m going to be all-state this year. They know I could get an Olympics tryout. I could be a national star, Mr. Northwood. I really could.”

  “I hope so,” Mr. Northwood replied, turning his head to glance up at the clock.

  “Great! Then give me a makeup test. Give me a break, okay?” Dennis pleaded, staring hard into the teacher’s watery eyes.

  “In my opinion, you get too many breaks,” the teacher replied quietly. He began shoving books into his worn leather briefcase. After a few moments he stopped and raised his eyes to Dennis. “Give me one good reason why I should give you special treatment.”

  “Because I asked you to!” Dennis replied without hesitating.

  The room suddenly grew darker as the storm clouds lowered over the sky. One of the overhead fluorescent lights near the door buzzed and flickered.

  “Our discussion is over. I’m really sorry,” Mr. Northwood told Dennis. He clicked his briefcase shut.

  Dennis just gaped at him. His mouth dropped open, but he didn’t say anything. Then Dennis threw up his hands in a gesture of total exasperation. “I—I don’t believe this!” Dennis screamed, losing his temper.

  Suddenly I realized someone was calling my name.

  I turned to the door and saw Margaret motioning to me.

  As I made my way to Margaret, I could hear Dennis shouting furiously at Mr. Northwood.

  “Margaret—what is it?” I whispered, stepping into the doorway.

  And then I heard a loud thud.

  I heard Mr. Northwood let out a cry.

  A heavy feeling of dread shot through my body.

  Without looking, I knew that Dennis had slugged him.

  chapter 3

  My breath caught in my throat. I turned back to the front of the room.

  I was relieved to see that Dennis hadn’t hit Mr. Northwood. He had angrily slammed a heavy textbook to the floor instead.

  Mr. Northwood had been calm and soft-spoken, but now he really lost his cool. He went all white and pointed a shaky finger at Dennis and started sputtering at him about respect for school property.

  Dennis looked totally stunned. I think he was really upset that he lost his temper like that. He was breathing hard, glaring at Mr. Northwood, balling and unballing his fists as the teacher laced into him.

  “What’s going on?” Margaret whispered, peeking in timidly from the hall.

  “World War Three,” I whispered back, picking up my backpack and edging out of the room.

  “Who’s winning?” Margaret asked as I joined her in the hall.

  “Mr. Northwood, I think,” I replied, crossing the empty hall to my locker.

  I could hear Dennis and Mr. Northwood arguing loudly back in the classroom. I realized my knees were kind of shaky. Why am I upset? I wondered. It isn’t my argument.

  No one has offered to take me to the Bahamas this February, I thought bitterly. Why should I care if Dennis gets a makeup test or not?

  “I’m late for my job,” Margaret said, shifting her backpack over her red down jacket. Margaret waitresses at Alma’s Coffeeshop for a few hours after school every day. “I just wanted to ask if you want to come to dinner tonight.”

  “I guess,” I said, twirling the combination lock on my locker and pulling the door open. “My mom won’t be home till after nine. Thanks, Margaret.”

  “Later,” she called, hurrying down the hall, her red hair bouncing as she ran.

  I bent down and started pulling books from my locker and stuffing them into my backpack. A few seconds later, I glanced up to see Dennis angrily stomping out of Mr. Northwood’s room.

  He crossed the hall, shaking his head, muttering to himself. “I could kill that guy,” he said breathlessly to me. “I really could.”

  I laughed. I didn’t know what else to do.

  My heart started pounding. I mean, Dennis’s locker was two down from mine. But he had never said a word to me before.

  I stood up and tried to flash him an encouraging smile. I don’t think he noticed. He slammed his fist into his locker door. The clang echoed down the hall.

  “Ow,” I said. “Didn’t that hurt?”

  “Yeah,” Dennis replied. He grinned at me and shook his hand. “It hurt a lot. Stupid, huh?”

  “Well …” I couldn’t think of a good reply. My mouth had gone all dry. Dennis was just so good-looking. I guess I’d had kind of a crush on him for a long time. But I never really allowed myself to think about it.

  “I just hate that guy,” Dennis grumbled, flexing his hand.

  “He isn’t being very fair,” I said.

  “He’s a jerk,” Dennis replied angrily. “A total jerk.” His green eyes locked on my face. It was as though he were seeing me for the first time.

  “I could kill him. Really,” Dennis repeated. He turned away from me and started fiddling with his combination lock. “You know how?”

  “How?” I asked a little too eagerly.

  “I don’t know,” Dennis said, scowling.

  “Well, let’s see,” I replied, thinking hard. “You could glue that little tape recorder to his ear and make him listen to all the classes he records. That would bore him to death.” I snickered.

  Dennis didn’t smile. “Not painful enough,” he grumbled. He tugged at the locker door, but it wouldn’t open. He let out a frustrated groan and started furiously twirling the lock again.

  Suddenly he stopped and turned to me. “I’d like to stuff him into that briefcase he always carries,” he said. “And lock it shut. And toss it in the trash.”

  “He’s too tall,” I replied. “He wouldn
’t fit.”

  “I’d fold him up,” Dennis said. “That would be the fun part. Folding him.”

  “Yuck!” I made a disgusted face. “You’re really sick.”

  “No. Just angry” Dennis sighed. “He’s going to mess up my life. He really is.”

  “Well, maybe you should just shoot him,” I joked.

  “Not as much fun as folding him up first,” Dennis replied. He wasn’t smiling. I stared at him, trying to determine just how serious he was.

  I mean, I knew he couldn’t really be serious about killing Mr. Northwood.

  “You could fold him up and then shoot him,” I suggested.

  Dennis’s eyes lit up.

  I think Dennis likes me, I thought. He keeps staring at me, studying me with his eyes.

  “I could fold him up, shoot him, then drown him!” Dennis exclaimed.

  “You could fold him up, shoot him, drown him, then hang him!” I added, getting into the game.

  Dennis laughed.

  Hey, I made him laugh! I told myself.

  I suddenly wondered if my hair was messed up. I brushed a hand through it.

  “You could fold him up, shoot him, drown him, then—”

  I stopped when I saw Mr. Northwood standing in the classroom doorway, staring hard at us.

  Oh, no! I thought, feeling my heart leap to my throat.

  How long has he been standing there?

  Has he heard everything?

  chapter 4

  Mr. Northwood glared at Dennis, then at me.

  I let out a choking sound. I was sure he had heard me. I could feel my face grow hot. I knew it must be bright red.

  But then, without saying a word, Mr. Northwood turned and headed away from us down the hall.

  I just stood there, watching his head and shoulders bob as he took his usual long strides. I didn’t start breathing again until he disappeared around the corner.

  “I have to be nice to him,” I whispered to Dennis. “He’s my next-door neighbor. On Fear Street.”

  Dennis’s mouth dropped open. “Huh? You live next door to Northwood?”

  I nodded. “Do you believe it? I see him all the time. He’s always messing around in the backyard, even in winter. It’s like … it’s like having a spy from school next door. I always have the feeling he’s checking up on me. I mean, I know he isn’t. But still—”

  I realized I was running on a bit at the mouth. I guess I was just so relieved that Mr. Northwood hadn’t heard my diabolical plans to bump him off.

  And I liked being able to confide in Dennis.

  I’m usually really shy around boys. The old self-confidence problem. You know. But I suddenly had this feeling that I could talk to Dennis, that he and I were on the same wavelength.

  “Northwood’s neighbor. Weird,” Dennis muttered, zipping his maroon and gray school jacket. “Weird.” He slammed his locker shut and swung his backpack onto his shoulder.

  “Weird enough living on Fear Street,” I muttered.

  Dennis snickered. “You believe all those stories? About ghosts and scary creatures on Fear Street?”

  “Mr. Northwood is the scariest creature I’ve seen there!” I joked.

  We both laughed.

  We were walking side by side toward the parking lot exit. Our shoulders bumped a couple of times.

  I was feeling super-charged. Really excited.

  Dennis is just a great guy, I thought. So great-looking with that black hair over his broad forehead, and those eyes that could burn right into you like green fire.

  I have to admit, it felt really great walking down the hall with one of the most popular guys at Shadyside High. I suddenly wished the school weren’t empty. I wanted the halls to be crowded with kids so that everyone could see that Dennis and I were together.

  We stepped out of the building into the dark gray afternoon. The air was heavy and wet.

  “Looks like snow,” Dennis commented, his eyes on the low clouds. “I’m glad Coach called off practice today.” He headed along the walk to the student parking lot, and I followed.

  Maybe he’d like to go get a Coke with me, I thought. We could just walk to The Corner. The Corner is a small coffee shop a couple of blocks from school, where Shadyside kids hang out.

  A picture flashed into my mind: Dennis and me, sitting across from each other in a booth in The Corner, holding hands over the table, staring dreamily into each other’s eyes.

  What a picture.

  I took a deep breath and worked up my courage to ask him if he wanted to get a Coke. “Uh … Dennis—?”

  I stopped when I saw where Dennis was headed.

  Right to the little red Miata stopped with its engine running at the end of the walk.

  Caitlin’s red Miata.

  I could see her behind the wheel. She smiled and waved at Dennis as we approached.

  Dennis turned to me at the end of the walk. “Sorry,” he said. “I’d offer you a lift, but it’s only a two-seater.” He shrugged, then crossed to the passenger side to get in.

  “That’s okay, Dennis,” I told him with a devilish smile. “I’ll make room.”

  I pulled open the driver’s door and grabbed Caitlin’s arm with both hands. “Get out,” I ordered.

  “Huh?” Caitlin’s dark eyes went wide in shock. “What?”

  “Get out!” I cried.

  I gripped her arm tight with one hand. Then I raised my other hand to her dark brown hair.

  She screamed as I started to tug.

  But I was too strong for her.

  I jerked her out of the car, knocked her to the ground, and gave her a hard kick that sent her sprawling.

  Then I slid behind the wheel, slammed the door, and drove the car away with Dennis beside me.

  I glanced over at him to check out his reaction.

  He was staring back at me with amazement and admiration.

  chapter 5

  After that Dennis realized that he and I belonged together. He dumped Caitlin, and we lived happily ever after.

  Do you believe that?

  No way.

  Of course I didn’t really pull Caitlin from the car.

  Of course that wild little scene was all in my skinny little head.

  What really happened was that I stood and watched as Dennis climbed into the car. Behind the wheel Caitlin stared right through me, as if I weren’t even there.

  Then she drove away with Dennis. Dennis didn’t even look back.

  And I was left standing there, my imagination playing out all kinds of evil scenes.

  Why do I have such violent fantasies?

  Why am I always picturing myself socking people in the jaw, pushing people down stairs or off cliffs, tearing people’s heads off and watching the blood gush up from their necks?

  Why do I always imagine myself doing the most horrible, unspeakable things?

  I guess it’s because in real life I’m such a total mouse.

  A week later there was an empty seat in history class. Dennis had gone to the Bahamas with his family.

  Poor Dennis, I thought bitterly. He’s missing the midterm exam tomorrow—and today he’s missing a fascinating lecture on the separation of powers.

  I was sitting in the back row, next to Melody Dawson. She held a pocket mirror in one hand and was brushing her perfect blond hair.

  I had sat next to Melody all year and she had barely said two words to me. Every afternoon she would sit down, arrange her notebook on the desk, then brush her hair.

  What a snob! Melody was always spotless and perfect. She wore French designer jeans that had been dry-cleaned. They had a perfect crease down the front. And almost all of her T-shirts and sweaters had the little Ralph Lauren polo pony on them.

  Once I saw her changing into white sweat socks for gym—and they had polo ponies on them! Designer sweat socks! Do you believe it?

  Melody has these perfect little lips and a perfect little upturned nose and perfect, creamy white skin. The boys all think she’s hot
stuff. I just think she’s a stuck-up snob.

  Anyway, we were sitting in the back row on another dreary gray afternoon. I was thinking about Dennis. He was probably on a beach in the sun, swimming in sparkling blue water.

  At the front of the room Mr. Northwood clicked on his little tape recorder and set it on the corner of his desk. “Do you know why I record our classes?” he asked. “I listen to them again later, at home.”

  He cleared his throat, his big Adam’s apple bobbing under his gray turtleneck. “The tapes help me remember what we talked about,” he continued in his thin, high voice. “I tape myself at home too. It can be very instructional.”

  Melody looked up from her mirror. “Why doesn’t he get a life?” she said in a low voice.

  Several kids snickered.

  Mr. Northwood turned to Melody. “I heard that, Miss Dawson.”

  Melody stared back defiantly at him.

  I would have turned bright red and shrunk back in my seat. I would have been totally mortified.

  But Melody just glared back at him, almost challenging him.

  “Melody, I’d like you to come see me after school,” Mr. Northwood said sternly, scratching a craggy cheek. “You and I need to have a little talk.”

  “I can’t,” Melody replied coldly.

  Mr. Northwood turned his watery blue eyes on her. “What did you say?”

  “I can’t,” Melody repeated. “I have a tennis lesson.”

  The teacher tapped his long, bony fingers on the desktop. “I’m afraid you’ll be late for your tennis lesson today,” he said quietly.

  “I’m afraid I won’t!” I heard Melody mutter to herself.

  Sure enough, as soon as class ended, Melody jumped up and ran out the door, hurrying to her tennis lesson.

  Wow, I thought. That really takes nerve.

  If Mr. Northwood had told me to stay after school, I’d obediently stay, no matter what I was missing. I’d be too afraid not to show up.

  But Melody ran out without a second thought.

  I didn’t like Melody. I’d never liked her, actually. But I found myself wishing I had the nerve that she had.

  I stood up and started gathering my books. Some kids were heading out the door to their lockers. I saw Zack Hamilton and Caitlin talking by the chalkboard.