Kiss Me If You Dare

by Nicole Young

  “You wrote your real name in your notebook?” Denton shook his head like he couldn’t believe it. “What were you thinking? You should have told me.”

  “How was I supposed to know someone would snoop? Anyway, I crossed it out.” I kept my voice low.

  He leaned toward me. “Did you write your name so you would be discovered? Is there something in you that can’t bear to live in peace and serenity?”

  I looked at him, flabbergasted. “No. Of course I want peace and serenity.”

  “You’re acting like you have a death wish.”

  Frustration surged through me. “I do not have a death wish. I just want to get home to Brad.”

  At the mention of Brad’s name, Denton gave me a look that resembled hatred. “That is a death wish.” Stony features underlined his derision.

  I stood and slowly backed away, wondering how he could transform from the pleasant man in the parlor last night to this hardened stranger.

  “I’m sorry, Alisha,” he said. “I received some difficult news this morning. I don’t mean to take it out on you.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be leaving town for a few days. Ms. Rigg will be here for your needs.”

  I stared at him, frightened by the pain in his eyes. Where was the pillar, the rock I had come to depend on? I didn’t want to see the swell of emotion on Denton’s face. He was supposed to be the strong one, the protector. I was the weak one. As if to prove it, I grabbed my tote from beside my chair and whirled. “I’ve got to go.”

  I nearly ran over Ms. Rigg on my way out the door.

  Denton returned a few days later, the smile still missing from his voice. I avoided him. The way he looked at me, with something close to contempt, or at least anger, made me nervous. Brad had told me Denton would keep me safe. But with his recent change in attitude, I felt alone in enemy territory.

  It seemed I wasn’t the only one facing hostile forces. Portia had tracked down Gwen and discovered that Team A couldn’t agree on anything. Dagger had dropped the class, citing “Too lame for me.” The pencil-twirling brunette couldn’t remember to show up without a personal phone call and an escort. And Simon Scroll still wouldn’t lift a hammer.

  “Gwen couldn’t stop crying,” Portia said. “If she quits the class now, it’ll show up on her transcript-a big ‘D’ for Dropped. You’d think it was going to kill her. But if they can’t finish the project and she gets less than a 4.0 for the class, I swear she’ll kill herself. That girl is headed over the edge. Sheesh. I remember feeling that way. I’m really worried.”

  We talked as we peeled wallpaper in the one room that escaped our diagnosis for total demolition. I scooped up a pile of shredded remains and dumped them in a bag.

  “Professor Braddock insisted that they’re on their own. He refuses to get involved.” A shake of my head. “I wish there was something we could do to help.” I gave a discouraged sigh. “But we couldn’t if we wanted to. We’ll barely finish on time as it is.” I hated to tell her I could bail out at any moment myself, the instant Brad called me to come home.

  Portia kept scraping. “I’ve been thinking about it. What if Gwen helped us finish our side of the street, then we went over and helped her finish their side of the street? Our team would still finish first and qualify for the award, but the other homes would be completed for the families that are waiting.”

  I gave her a raised eyebrow. “Humanly impossible. Maybe if her entire team hadn’t ditched her… but the way it is, I say no.” I shook my head for emphasis.

  “What if we can talk Dagger back in? The professor can reinstate him if he wants. And I can always walk over and get Maize Martin when her ADD is in overdrive. As for Simon, well, I don’t suppose we’ll get much out of him.” She shrugged. “So what? Not everybody is handy with a hammer.”

  Portia seemed far too generous. I wasn’t about to work my behind off while Simon Scroll lounged from porch to porch just so we could have even teams.

  I soaked a new section with solution. “Why should we help them at all? With their team out of the running, we’ve got a better chance at the Covenant Award. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  Her brows scrunched. “I don’t know. I feel sorry for them now. It’s not even fun winning when the teams are so unevenly matched.”

  “Weird, huh? Denton said he put a lot of consideration into the teams. I don’t know. We definitely got the best members.”

  Portia brooded a moment. “Maybe the professor knew we’d all have to work together if the houses were going to get finished on time. The team thing was just to throw us off, make the project seem real-world. But there’s only one way to earn the Covenant Award.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She paced the room as she explained. “The Covenant is all about serving others. Yes, we’re helping people in the community by fixing up houses. But it’s more than that. Gwen, Maize, Simon, and Dagger can’t do the project alone. They need us. Professor Braddock knows that. And we need them. If we all work together, we’ll get the whole block done on schedule. It’s an exercise in teamwork, not competition.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. I’ve never met a more helpless group of people in my life. They really don’t deserve to finish if they’re not willing to do any work themselves.”

  “Of course they’re helpless. They’ve probably been told their whole lives that they couldn’t do anything right. Let’s give them a chance to find out that they can.”

  I thought for a minute, then nodded. “Okay. But Celia and Koby both have to agree or there’s no deal.”

  We shook on it and headed downstairs. As my foot touched the bottom step, I realized that for the first time in weeks, I’d gone two entire hours without thinking of Brad.

  Over the course of the morning, Portia and I convinced Celia and Koby to go along with our scheme. They agreed to take a shot at accomplishing more than any reasonable human being should even consider. Somewhere in my gut, little doubts screamed in protest. But I shut them down, knowing the busier I stayed, the quicker time would pass-and the less I’d mope about Brad’s continuing silence. He wouldn’t want me piddling away my life in a depression. He’d want me accomplishing great things, in preparation of our new life together.

  I put in extra hours on Rios Buena Suerta over the weekend, happy to work in solitude once again. The rest of the time, I avoided Denton by staying in my room and catching up on my novel.

  Sunday morning I consented to attend church with the professor. I couldn’t explain it, but ever since he came back from that trip, he gave me the heebie-jeebies, like he was mad at me for something. His attitude had to stem from more than just me writing my real name in a notebook, and some sneak finding it. But I certainly wasn’t going to ask him. And apparently, he didn’t plan to clue me in. I tried to quash the feeling while sitting in the quaint, semi-modern sanctuary close to campus. But the sermon, which centered on Abraham’s near-sacrifice of Isaac, seemed only to heighten Denton’s aversion toward me. It was as if a thick, stone wall had been erected between us. I had no idea how it had gotten there, and no idea how to pull it down.

  That week, Gwen and Maize from Team A joined our renovation squad. Portia gave the two women specific tasks and checked their progress throughout the morning. I watched and learned from her leadership skills, grateful she was in the Revamp Program.

  By Thursday, Portia had talked Dagger into rejoining the crew in time to unload the drywall delivery. And the next day, Simon finally caved and picked up a trowel.

  With the two teams working together, the first property was ready for its finishing touches.

  It wasn’t until we’d finished painting the interior that I realized I’d gone an entire day without thinking of Brad.

  The heat of mid-July became stifling as we strove to keep to our schedule. The ocean breezes that kept us comfortable in early summer had departed, leaving a pall of humidity over Del Gloria’s rocky promontory. I couldn’t help but dwell on the fact that I’d b
een away from home more than a month and still hadn’t heard from Brad. Things couldn’t possibly be taking this long to wrap up, could they? Back in Michigan, my old log cabin would be cool in its woodland hidey-hole by the lake. What I wouldn’t give to spend the blistering summer there in the shade. I knew it was impossible, but my fingers itched to pick up the phone, if only to remind Puppa to pay the electric bill. I calmed myself, certain I’d be home any day now.

  Then came August. Still in Del Gloria. Still shriveling in the heat. I’d gotten in the habit of arriving at the project before dawn, while the air was somewhat bearable. The rest of the gang generally arrived around seven, allowing me treasured hours to work in solitude.

  Before I knew it, September came without fanfare, and without a phone call from Brad. With each passing month, it got harder and harder to keep faith that he’d ever contact me.

  Every morning I’d wake up and pretend everything was still okay. To work, to school, then back to Cliffhouse, like that was how things were supposed to be. I would put Brad out of my mind and get through each day, imagining that I could keep it up until the Old Town project was finished and I had my college degree.

  Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my life was like a balloon about to land in a field of needles. I’d aced my exams, the team was on track for completion of house number four, and the longed-for rain showers were holding off until the roof repairs got done. I should have felt blessed. But somehow I knew better.

  I threw on my work clothes, put my hair in a ponytail, and headed to the curb for my date with Dogpatch.

  Headlights came up the road, pulling over to let me board. I took my usual seat one row behind the driver. A few other sleepy riders looked toward me, then back out the window.

  “How are you this morning, Miss Braddock?” the driver asked in his Chinese accent. He put the bus in gear.

  “Could have used a cup of coffee,” I answered, yawning. “You and me both.” His slight frame was made smaller by the immensity of the vehicle he drove.

  “Have you heard the weather?” I set my tote on the floor next to my feet.

  “Old Chinese proverb says when everybody wants rain, nobody gets it.”

  “I don’t want rain. We still have to tar the chimney before it’s allowed to rain.”

  “Good. Then it rains tonight.” He looked in his mirror at me. “Better hurry with that chimney.”

  Daylight sifted slowly over the landscape. Brown lawns and shriveled plants made their plea for water.

  The bus stopped in front of the old depot. The driver opened the door for unloading.

  “Thanks, Mr. Kim. See you later.” I made my walk toward Rios Buena Suerta. The other passengers stayed in the station, waiting to make their daily commute to the city via the Amtrak.

  I shuffled along dim streets thinking about my latest stab at college. I was holding steady with a 3.5 GPA. The four-point in my Non-profit Organizations class was dragged down by the three-point on the Revamp Project.

  I had asked Denton first chance I got why he gave me a B instead of an A.

  “I assigned you to be the leader,” he’d replied. “You’re letting others do your job. You’re skating through. You’re lucky I didn’t give you a C.”

  I paused at the intersection, smiling to myself. Despite Denton’s rebuff, I was proud of my accomplishment. I almost wished I could complete my degree here at Del Gloria. It would reverse the fact that I’d had to drop out of Michigan State. But Brad’s phone call would come any day. I just knew it. And as soon as I hit the disconnect button, I’d be on the first flight out of here and back in Brad’s arms.

  Guilt hit me at the thought of walking out on my teammates. They were counting on me to be here ’til the end. But once I explained the whole situation, they’d understand and wish me the best.

  I turned the corner onto Rios Buena Suerta and covered the distance to our mostly completed House Number Four. I grabbed the hidden key and climbed the ramp that covered the front steps. A swift turn of the handle, and I was in.

  The dining and living rooms still needed paint before the project was complete. And, we were waiting for a friend of a friend of Dagger’s to drop off his extension ladder so we could finish plugging the leak near the chimney. But with no rain in the forecast, there was no hurry.

  I flipped on the lights and stooped over the paint cans. We’d gone with my favorite neutral, a pale ivory, to keep the rooms bright and warm. Rubbery paint separated as I pried the top off and poured a stream into the tray. The roller made a slurping sound as I wet it with color. I stood and turned toward my target wall.

  I froze, staring at the wall and gasping for air.

  PATRICIA AMBLE WAS HERE. The words were sprayed in huge black letters across the smooth surface.

  14

  The letters blurred as I shrank to the floor, instinctively holding the roller away from my clothes. I gave myself a mental kick. Whoever had written it knew I worked alone every morning. That meant they could be watching me right now. Waiting for me.

  Caring more about protecting my secret than avoiding bodily harm, I dragged the roller across the words, painting them out. But the black showed through and I raced to get a fresh supply of paint to blot the letters.

  By the time I was satisfied, tears and sweat had made a mess of my face.

  Outside, the porch creaked.

  I whirled as someone entered the room.

  “Celia! Thank goodness it’s you.” My heart thudded out of control.

  Her chair made a quiet whirring as she steered to me. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded, still gasping.

  “You shouldn’t work so hard this early in the morning.

  You look like you’re ready to pass out.” She took the roller from my grip. “Put your head between your knees.”

  She wheeled over to the wall, emptied the roller over its surface, then maneuvered to the tray for a refill. “When the rest of them get here, we should have these two rooms done in no time.” She painted a patch of drywall.

  “Yeah.” I kept up my pattern of breathing, feeling my brain connections coming back on line. “Who was the last one to leave last night? Do you remember?”

  “Uh oh. Did someone forget to lock the door? Usually I’m the last one out. But Maize, Koby, and Portia were still here when I left.” She finished a lower section and went for more paint.

  We’d started hitting the night shift pretty hard when some of the team members took jobs in addition to classes. Dagger and Simon showed up in the mornings. The rest arrived after supper and stayed until dark. I managed to cover both shifts.

  The chaotic schedules didn’t make it any easier to weed out my antagonist.

  Today, Dagger and Simon pulled in around ten. I watched their behavior to see if either one acted strange around me. They both seemed normal, if they could be called that.

  “Why do you keep staring at me?” Simon asked as we taped off the trim in a back bedroom.

  I figured if I told him his birthmark was fading again, he’d think I was loony. I gave him a shrug of apology and went in search of Dagger.

  “When’s your buddy bringing his ladder?” I found him on the porch, flipping his cell phone closed.

  “Said he’d drop it off tonight. I’m working late at the pizzeria, so I won’t be here. Can you meet him?” When he wasn’t speaking the lingo of his ’hood, Dagger sounded like any other surfer dude.

  I glanced down the street. The heat of a California autumn rose in waves from the pavement. Birds in tree branches sang at the top of their voices. Perhaps they were praying for rain.

  I nodded in Dagger’s direction. “Yeah. I’ll be around.” Inside, I took a last look. One more coat of paint later that afternoon and we’d be done. I tidied up the supplies and went to class, doodling while the youngish prof jotted his points on the whiteboard.

  Godly Decisions in the Secular Corporation had a double underline. Eight steps followed. I dutifully copied them in my noteboo
k, knowing I’d be able to memorize them later and ace a test. As for putting them into action… it seemed too monumental a task for real life. I figured I’d probably keep living the way I always had: react to the slightest situation as if an atom bomb was about to detonate in my hands. That worked well for me as the CEO of Tish International.

  My pen slid to a halt. According to Denton, my atom bomb lifestyle is what had put my mind into cortisol-overdrive in the first place. Maybe I needed to take the processes being presented in class more seriously. More than my grades depended on it.

  The instructor launched into a lecture. As I listened, I tried to imagine life without daily drama. Even in all the years I’d lived completely alone, I’d spent my energy rehashing the past, feeling guilty for the smallest mistakes, and crucifying myself over and over for the big ones. I didn’t need an audience to be a drama queen.

  Then when I met Brad… At the very hint that things could ease into a comfortable, long-term relationship, I was running for cover, ramping up the drama, determined to escape a ho-hum, albeit peaceful, existence as Brad’s wife.

  And I’d nearly succeeded at ruining things for myself. Brad’s patience and forbearance had kept intact the ties that bound us.

  Then just when everything was about to go right… I rubbed at the ache in my arm that flared up every time I thought of Brad. I hadn’t asked for Frank Majestic’s drama in my life. It wasn’t fair that other people’s baggage kept showing up and wrecking things for me. Tuning in to the man at the podium, I wrote down the details that would help me take a deep breath and make better decisions next time around.

  After class, I grabbed a salad at the cafeteria, then took the bus back to Rios Buena Suerta. The team had polished off most of the painting by the time I arrived. “Wow. It looks great.” I marveled at the transformation the once-dilapidated house had undergone. “Some family is going to be proud to call this place home.”