Dare You to Lie

by Amber Lynn Natusch

  “Ladies, it’s been a treat, but I’ve got to stop by the front office, since I got derailed there this morning.” He shot me a pointed look, then stood up from the bench and reached his hand out for his water bottle. I tossed it to him and he caught it with ease. “I’ll see you later. Nice to meet you, Tabby.”

  She and I waved goodbye to our would-be rocker companion, then cleaned up our table. We only had a couple of minutes left before next period, and I needed to run to my car to drop off the books I’d been given that morning.

  “Wanna run with me to my car really quick?”

  Tabby nodded enthusiastically and was soon at my side, walking off the terrace and through the side gate of the school. Across the street was the parking lot where students could park. In it was my less-than-glamorous ride.

  “That’s so cool that you have a car. My dad won’t let me have one yet, but I get to drive his sometimes.”

  “You won’t think it’s so cool when you see it.” We reached the row where my baby was parked, in all her rusty glory. I walked up to the 1988 Honda Accord and gave her a pat. “Tabby, meet Heidi. She doesn’t look like much, but she’s family.”

  Tabby did little to hide her dismay at the sight of poor Heidi. Apparently, she didn’t have a filter for her facial expressions, either.

  “Does it actually run?”

  “At least fifty percent of the time,” I told her, yanking the sticky driver’s side door open. When I slammed it shut, it sounded like the whole thing was going to fall off in one spectacular thud. I looked over to find Tabby’s nose scrunched up with mild disgust. “Aw, c’mon, Tabby. I’ll let you drive it. Does that make it look better?”

  “Marginally.”

  “She’ll grow on you. I promise.”

  I smiled and started back through the parking lot toward the school with Tabby at my side. But something made me pause for a moment. A muffled cry made my hair stand on end.

  I looked back beyond where I was parked to find a group of football players hanging out in the far side of the lot by their massive pickup trucks—the kind designed to make up for certain shortcomings, if you know what I mean. It was their usual hangout spot. The one I used to find myself in my freshman year.

  They were all scattered about, leaning on two of their vehicles, eating lunch. I recognized every single one of them. They were all part of the crew accused of taking those pictures of me at the end of our freshman year—The Six, as I liked to call them. Mark Sinclair, Scott (aka Scooter) Brown, Eric Stanton, and Jaime Chavez all stared at me with a mix of expressions ranging from surprise to amusement and everything in between. Only two were missing from the crowd that had been there that night.

  I couldn’t move. Seeing them there, staring at me, paralyzed me for a moment. A wave of unresolved feelings broke through the dam that I’d shored up against them and crashed down on me. I was suffocating in the past as I looked at them in all their carefree glory. They’d taken that from me. That and so much more.

  “Ky?” Tabby said, tugging on my arm.

  “I … I thought I heard something.”

  Right on cue, that same sound echoed toward us from one of the trucks. I sheltered my eyes from the sun so I could better see who was in it. It was still hard to make him out from a distance, but once I focused long enough, I saw him. A mountain of a boy taking up more space in the cab of his truck than he should have hovered over someone in it, shouting at her. Apparently, the guys eating their lunches weren’t too concerned.

  Without thinking, I bolted toward the black pickup. I ran past the others and yanked open the passenger door when I reached it. A waif of a girl practically fell out when I did. She must have been pressed up against it like her life depended on it.

  And judging by the look of fear in her eyes, it might have.

  “Are you okay? I thought I heard a scream.” Her wide eyes darted from me to the hulk in the truck, then back to me. It was then I saw the day-old bruises on her forearms where her long-sleeve shirt had been pushed up in the chaos. She quickly slid the sleeves back down before folding her arms across her stomach.

  Blood hammered in my ears as my rage built.

  “Mind your own business, bitch,” the hulk yelled, making his way out of the truck through the open door. He reached for the girl as if to snatch her up and throw her back in the vehicle, but I scooped her behind me with one sweep of my arm and put myself between him and her.

  “You like hitting girls, do you? You should give me a try. Not sure you’ll like it as much, though. I hit back.”

  His sneer told me he would be more than happy to take me up on my offer. It was only then that I realized I knew him. What was now an overmuscled bully used to be the average-built kid that lived down the street from me. Donovan Shipman had been an okay guy for the most part. Even-tempered and athletic. He’d been on the football team our freshman year.

  He’d also been one of The Six.

  Without pause, he came to tower over me, all six foot six of him and the 250 pounds plus he carried on that frame. I braced myself, sliding my right foot out and back just enough to steady myself—just like Kru Tyson had trained me to. I’d grown up in his Muay Thai gym since I was four. My dad had a great appreciation for martial arts in general and always wanted his only child able to protect herself.

  In that moment, I was immensely grateful for his line of thinking.

  Donovan just loomed there silently, assuming that he could cow me with a menacing stare. Man, did he have another reality headed his way. Truth be told, the last thing I wanted to do was try to go mano a mano with him, but I would not be shut down just because he wanted me to be.

  “You do know there are witnesses out here, right?” I pointed toward the group of players that had slowly come around the truck to see what was going on. Though I was relieved that they were there, I soon realized that their presence didn’t mean a whole lot. Not given how they’d all covered for each other before. Not one of them lifted a finger to help me or said a word.

  Fucking cowards.

  “You think they’ll say anything? You’re dumber than I remember, Danners. You and your dad both, I guess.” He leaned down, thrusting his face in mine. I could feel my heart start to race, but I did what I could to calm it, taking a big breath through my nose and out my mouth. Fighting required control, and I needed to regain mine over the situation—and fast. Usually abusers pick their victims carefully, knowing that they won’t fight back or don’t have a support system in place to leave. I fit neither of those categories, and yet there I was, five seconds away from likely getting my ass kicked.

  “C’mon, Donovan,” Mark Sinclair said, stepping forward from the others. “She’s not worth it.”

  Donovan looked over at his friend, undoubtedly glaring at him to shut him up. He turned back to me and grabbed the front of my shirt to pull me up onto my toes. Out of reflex, I drew my arm back, ready to slice him with an elbow.

  “Say ‘cheese,’” Tabby shouted, startling us both. I saw her holding her phone up, taking either a video or pictures of what was happening. Whichever it was, I didn’t care. That clever little Canuck was getting evidence of Donovan’s attack on me. One that he and his band of asshats couldn’t refute this time.

  The new girl was clutch.

  “Give me that,” Donovan roared, letting go of me to lunge toward Tabby. I used his momentum and a well-placed leg sweep to drop him to the ground.

  “Run!” I shouted to her, grabbing Donovan’s girlfriend by the hand to drag her away.

  “No need,” Tabby said calmly. “I already emailed it to myself. It’s just sitting there, ready to be sent out if he lays a hand on any of us.”

  Donovan was already scrambling to get up, ready to tear us apart like a bull seeing red.

  “Yeah, I’d still run,” I said, grabbing her with my other hand as I hauled ass back to the school. Along the way, I made a point to slam my bag into a fancy silver car—one that would surely have an alarm of some kind. Just
as I expected, a siren started blaring. Seconds later, the windows on that side of the building were filled with witnesses. The three of us were well past the car, leaving Donovan and his hostility standing next to the BMW with the flashing lights.

  He stopped his pursuit, but we kept on running until we reached the school. As my adrenaline rush started to subside, I realized just how close I’d come to fighting Donovan.

  Tabby shot me a sideward glance as we entered the building. I nodded at her once to say thank you, and she smiled. She continued up to the stairs to her classroom, and I took Donovan’s girlfriend into the bathroom with me just as the bell rang.

  “You have no idea what you’ve done,” she said, pacing the floor.

  I ignored her comment, already pretty clear on what I’d just started with Donovan.

  “My name is Kylene,” I said, forcing myself to look calm and kind, when really I was more shaken up than I would have liked to admit.

  “Amy,” she said softly, folding her arms over her stomach again.

  “You want to tell me what I broke up out there?” I asked, doing all I could to contain my anger at what I already knew was going on. Her bruises spoke volumes.

  “It was nothing. I said something I shouldn’t have and he got mad.”

  “I have a feeling you must do that fairly often.” I let my gaze fall to her arms, then back to her face. She said nothing in response. “You don’t really think it’s your fault, do you?”

  “I guess not. I mean, I know he doesn’t like it when I talk to other guys.”

  Red flag number two.

  “Talking isn’t flirting.”

  “He’s just a little jealous, that’s all.”

  “That looked like a lot more than petty jealousy. How long has this been going on?” I asked her bluntly, pointing at her arms.

  “Not long,” she said, unable to hold my gaze. “He wasn’t always this way. He used to be sweet. But now—”

  “Yes?”

  “He’s just on edge a lot. He’s stressed with the pressure of football and training. He doesn’t mean to take it out on me.…”

  Strike three.

  “Whatever the reason, it doesn’t excuse what he’s done to you.”

  Her arms cinched in tighter.

  “You just don’t understand.” That, we could agree on. “He was fine at the beginning of the summer, but it’s just getting worse. The first week of school he picked up this sweet kid from my math class and threw him halfway across the hall just for picking up the pencil I dropped.”

  “Did anyone see him do it?” She nodded. “Who? Who saw?”

  “A few students. A couple teachers.”

  “Did he get suspended?” She shook her head. “You’re telling me that he physically assaulted a kid in front of witnesses and nothing came of it?” She nodded. “Amy, none of this is okay. You need to tell someone who can help.”

  Tears welled in her eyes.

  “I know … but I love him.”

  My hackles raised at her words. He’d really done a number on her. She was young—probably a freshman. She was pretty, but not pretty enough for her to get by on her looks. Judging by her clothes, she wasn’t well off. And if I’d been a betting girl, I’d have put a lot of money on her coming from a fatherless family. She was so desperate for the love of a man that it was painful to see.

  She was the perfect victim for someone like Donovan to prey on.

  “He’s really not a bad guy, Kylene.… He’s just—”

  “An abusive asshole?” She shied away from my question, and I knew I’d gone too far with that one. Then someone walked into the bathroom and entered a stall behind me. “We should go.”

  Amy looked up at me, wiped the tears from her eyes, and straightened her spine. Without another word, she made her way out of the bathroom, leaving me with a moment to think. I collapsed my hands onto the sink’s edge and hung my head, taking a few deep cleansing breaths. When I felt more together, I looked up into the mirror, wondering how in the hell I’d gotten myself into this mess. Then I realized the answer. It was written all over my face.

  I was every bit my father’s daughter.

  And it was likely to get me into just as much trouble.

  FIVE

  The end of the day couldn’t come soon enough. There was an undeniable knot in my stomach, knowing that Donovan wasn’t going to be happier with me when he found out I’d spoken to his little punching bag. I hoped for Amy’s sake she didn’t mention it. If she did, he’d freak out for sure.

  I walked into final period, bummed to be without Garrett or Tabby. Mrs. Stewart, the new Spanish teacher, who knew nothing of my past at the school, smiled widely at me and told me (en Español) to take a seat in the back of the class. The seat next to Jaime Chavez.

  Why the child born of two Mexican immigrants needed to take Spanish was beyond me.

  My disapproval of my seat assignment must have been written all over my face when I sat down beside him. He shrunk down in his seat and trained his gaze on the front of the room.

  “Fancy meeting you here, Chavez. Isn’t there some other language you should be broadening your horizons with right now, or are you just in it for the easy A?” He rattled off his response in Spanish and far too quickly for me to catch it all. I did, however, pick up on some choice phrasing that I was pretty sure Mrs. Stewart hadn’t taught him. “I’ll assume that meant the latter.”

  As the fiftysomething teacher explained our assignment for the day, I stared at Jaime. He’d always been so quiet, even when we were friends back in the day. He’d moved to town our freshman year—along with his parents and twin sister, Maribel. In fairness to him, moving to Jasperville had to have been one hell of a shock, having lived in California his entire life. To say that our school was whitewashed was an understatement. The week he and Maribel showed up, I heard more racial slurs than I could even count. Garrett and a few of the other football players were the first ones to befriend Jaime. After that, it got easier for the twins.

  Maribel and I became close, and we’d all hang out at parties together. Until the night everything went to shit. The next day, when my boobs were plastered all over social media and texted to basically anyone in the county with a cell phone, and it became clear who had been last seen near the hot tub where I’d passed out, our friendships ended. Maribel stood by her brother, turning her back on me. Jaime never said a word to me about it at all. Even if he wasn’t the one who took the pictures or shared them, I always thought he’d try to help me—not tighten the ranks with his buddies against my story.

  “So, still not talking to me after all this time, Jaime?”

  He shot me a sideward glance and exhaled.

  “Not much to talk about.”

  “Well, that sure is one way to look at it. I feel like betraying your friend is kind of a big deal, but really … I shouldn’t be surprised you wouldn’t see it that way.”

  “It’s been over two years, Ky. Being bitter about it doesn’t make it better—it makes you a target.”

  “A target? What the hell does that mean?”

  “Nothing … Can’t you just let it go?”

  I felt my blood pressure rising.

  “Is that your approach to all major problems you face? You just let them go, no matter how unjust?” He didn’t reply, but I could see his features tighten in frustration. “Tell me something, Jaime,” I said, leaning closer to him. “Is that why you were fine standing by while Donovan beat up his girlfriend? Why you’re okay with someone taking naked pics of me?” I pulled away, but his warm brown eyes were boring holes in me, his hand clutching the desk so hard his knuckles turned white. I’d hit a nerve with that question for sure. “Oh! Follow-up question: How would you feel if somebody roughed Maribel up like that? Would that be cool? Would you just let that go? Maybe you’d be cool with them taking some topless pics of her, too?”

  “Shut up!” he snapped. Judging by how his head snapped toward Mrs. Stewart right afterward, he hadn’t
meant to say it quite so loudly.

  “Is there a problem?” she asked, her previously jovial expression replaced by a no-nonsense glare.

  “I just asked if he was willing to help me get caught up on the assignments I missed,” I said, feigning shock.

  “Jaime! I think you should go pay a visit to Principal Thompson. Now.”

  He shot me an angry look before he collected his things and walked out of class.

  Mrs. Stewart, thinking all was now well, turned her back on the class so she could start pointing something out on the screen at the front of the room. Unfortunately, very few kids were paying attention. At least half of them were staring at me, accusation in their eyes. Yeah, I’d lied and gotten Jaime in trouble, but his temper was his own problem. I didn’t make him yell at me. His guilt at my mini interrogation was plain. Jaime seemed too easily rattled by our conversation—like he was trying to hide something about what had happened that night at the party.

  And if he was, I had every intention of finding out what.

  SIX

  I bolted from Spanish the second the bell rang and wove my way through the bodies in the hallway until I reached the front entrance. I caught a glimpse of Donovan escorting Amy out to the truck I’d dragged her from earlier that day, and I knew what that meant. Either Amy was humoring him for the time being to stay safe, or the clichéd apology had happened and she bought it. My guess was it wouldn’t have been the first time, either. With a sigh of frustration, I made my way out of the school to my car, where a little present was waiting for me.

  Shattered glass was strewn all around the ground surrounding poor Heidi.

  “Who needs windows?” I muttered to myself before carefully walking over what had once been my driver’s side window.

  I yanked the door open and cleaned up what I could of the glass that was sprinkled all over the interior of my car. While I did, I weighed my options. I could file a report with Garrett’s dad, but I had no proof of who actually broke the windows, only a possible suspect—maybe six. But the last time I’d gone to the sheriff without ironclad proof of who had committed the crime, it didn’t end so well for me. Garrett Higgins was an amazing human being. His father, not so much. He was gruff and cold at times, and extremely old-school. His knee-jerk reaction to girls having half-naked pictures taken of them seemed to be that “boys would be boys” and all that jazz.