Nerve by Jeanne Ryan Read Free Book Online Page B

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.
    “Good luck, Ian!” I say as I hurry outside with Tommy.
    The cold air rushes past me. But unlike last night, it’s refreshing rather than an assault. I did it! I did it! As we jog to our cars laughing, I almost lose a slipper, which is perfectly in character, since I feel just like Cinderella running from the ball.

four
     
    Tommy shakes his head like he can’t believe I went through with it. “Congratulations.”
    I skip along the sidewalk. When’s the last time I skipped? First grade? “Thanks for being my wingman, Tommy. I couldn’t have done it without you. If you were a girl, I’d lend you my prize shoes.”
    His smile fades a little. “Uh, thanks?”
    “You know what I mean. You’re awesome!” I get into my car. “Wish we could celebrate or something, but you know my parents.”
    “Yeah. See you tomorrow.” He hovers for a moment, as if he’s waiting for me to say something more, and then, with an embarrassed shrug, he helps me close my door.
    On the way home, I turn the radio up loud and sing alongwith a country singer about how she takes revenge on the man who’s done her wrong. Why are songs like that so fun? When I pull into the garage, I even have a minute to spare. Perfect. I waltz through the back hallway, tempted to shout the words to “Everything’s Coming up Roses” from
Gypsy
, but that would invite too many questions from Mom, who’s sitting in the living room pretending to read a book.
    I give her a hug, hoping I don’t smell like coffee. “The show went great.”
    “Wonderful, honey! Dad and I are looking forward to seeing it tomorrow.”
    “Third night’s a charm. You’ll be glad you waited.”
    I dance my way up the stairs, humming as I get ready for bed. With a
West Side Story
tune in my head, I fall asleep smiling. In my happy buzz, I forget to turn off my phone, so it wakes me at eight a.m. I ignore it, rolling over to continue dreaming of Matthew, but also of hot guys in coffee shops.
    The phone buzzes again, and again. Who would want to talk so early? Then my eyes widen. Is this about the dare? I do a quick inventory of last night’s events. There should be nothing embarrassing in the latest video. Nothing.
    Still, I hop up to check my phone.
    The first message is from Sydney.
    H OW COULD YOU ?
     
    Oh. I forgot I’d promised her no more dares. But wait untilshe sees the shoes. Too bad she’s two sizes larger than me; sharing them would quickly calm Syd down.
    The next messages are from her too. They aren’t pretty. But there’s nothing about me being exposed or doing anything embarrassing, unless you count my ho-hum singing voice, so why does she care? Then I realize. She wanted to apply for NERVE. To really apply. My dares probably remind her of what she can’t do, at least not this month. She has nothing to be jealous of, though. It’s not like I plan to play in the live rounds. My dares were just for fun. Well, not fun, exactly—shoes.
    I wait until after breakfast to text her back, including the image NERVE sent of me in the shoes. She responds with an actual call. Uh-oh.
    When I answer, she shouts, “I don’t care about your prize. You said you wouldn’t play again. What if something went wrong? Something that I couldn’t clean