Dare Truth or Promise

by Boock, Paula

  "How come? Engines, I mean," said Louie, wondering suddenly if Willa had a boyfriend.

  "My father taught me. He's dead," she said, looking at Louie briefly. "He used to be a truckle. He drove them, and he raced them, and he didn't have any sons. So I spent half my childhood under the chassis of the Buffalo. That was his home town," she explained. "Buffalo, New York."

  The car headed up Opoho Road almost by itself. Louie had no idea where she was heading. "American?"

  "Even liked apple pie, and cried at the anthem. He left when he was a teenager. Came to the big time in Dunedin instead."

  Willa laughed and shrugged. "He was a hippie. And he met Jolene."

  The road narrowed and veered steeply uphill, leaving the suburban houses behind. It was perfect. Louie swung the car round a bend to the right and felt the tyres grip beneath her. Everything ahead was blackness and bush.

  Willa opened her window and tucked her legs up onto the seat. The air blew in the cool, deep smells of the native forest. "Faster," she said quietly, almost as if to herself. Louie paused for a moment then put her foot down and something wild shot through her limbs. The engine surged and gravel spat out to each side of the car. They both leaned to the left and right as the car swung up the winding road, its high beam lighting up the bush ahead.

  As they rounded the final corner they saw the road widened into a circle of grass and a carpark, and to the right rose the dark shape of a monument. Louie put on the brakes and some loose stones clattered under the car.

  Beyond the monument were the lights of the city. Everything else was black. As Louie opened her door, it swung beyond her hand with the force of the wind on the hilltop. She got out and was knocked a pace backwards—"Wo!"—then she grabbed the car door and heaved it shut again. Willa let Judas out from the back and he leapt away into the darkness.

  The monument was a big rectangular shape with what looked like a flagpole on top, but there was no flag. On either side sat giant carved figures of pioneers—one male, one female, wrapped in stone robes and sitting cross-legged like Scottish Buddhas. Louie and Willa felt their way along the railings to the front of the monument. Ahead of them was the fabulous view of the city. The harbour was a black space in the middle, and all around it the yellow, white and red lights spread out over the hills like a huge embroidered coverlet. Above, the stars seemed incredibly close, crushed glass flung across the sky. The wind was freezing and roared in Louies ears. She opened her mouth wide and gasped into it. Across from her she could just make out Willa's hair whipping about, and watched her raise a pale hand to hold it.

  Louie found some steps leading below the monument to a gravel path and bushes. "Here!" she yelled at Willa. "Come down here, it's more sheltered."

  There was a rustle in the shrubs beside her and Louie jumped. Judas appeared, his eyes yellow spots momentarily in the blackness, then his breath warm by her hand. Willa was stumbling down the steps.

  "God!" she shouted, a bit too loudly for amongst the bushes, "it's freezing!"

  Just then there was another movement in the undergrowth and something white zig-zagged ahead of them. A rabbit. Judas's paws skidded on the gravel as he took off after the animal and both plunged into the bush.

  "Judas!" yelled Willa, "No! Judas!!" She turned to Louie. "Damn. He thinks he's a great rabbit hunter."

  "Can't trust a Judas," Louie replied, flinging herself after him. "Thirty pieces of silver and all that. He's probably dobbing us in. Come on."

  She ran ahead, not realising Willa had stopped. Then, turning back, Louie saw Willa stumbling after, her hands and face pale against the bush. "Hang on!" Willa grabbed Louie's arm. "I can't see a thing," she explained.

  Louie laughed back, the wind making her feel crazy. She took Willa's hand, and this time it felt good, that small white hand in her own, and they staggered after Judas through the scrub until they reached an open bank of grass that whirred in the wind. Louie spread out her free arm and pulled Willa into a run, and they whooped and laughed, their clothes cracking behind them, until eventually, deliberately really, they fell over in the tussock.

  For a while they lay and caught their breath, and let the wind wash over them. In the grass it was much warmer and seemed quiet.

  "Dare truth or promise," said Willa suddenly.

  "What?"

  "Dare truth or promise. You know."

  Louie knew. "Truth," she answered, looking up into the blackness.

  "Do you believe in God?"

  "I guess so."

  "You guess so." Willa's tone was flat.

  "Don't you?"

  "No."

  Louie sat up on her elbows and looked at the city lights, the huge audience of the hills. "The world is charged with the grandeur of God. Don't you feel it, like electricity? Like now?"

  "That's God?"

  She laughed and lay back down. "I don't know. My turn. Dare truth or promise."

  "Truth."

  "Do you have a boyfriend?"

  There was a slight shift beside her. "No."

  Louie smiled at the sky. "Whose is the ring?"

  "That's two questions. Dare truth or promise."

  "Truth."

  "Don't you ever choose dare?" said Willa. "Okay, have you ever been in love?"

  "Since I was about twelve years old with someone or other." Louie heard her words and felt silly.

  "Yeah," said Willa.

  "Dare truth or promise."

  "Dare!"

  Louie laughed. "Okay. Stand up and take off all your clothes."

  "Get off."

  "What can I dare you to do?"

  "Just sitting up is hard enough." Willa brushed the hair whipping across her face.

  They both sat up, buffeted by the slapping wind. Louie's ears burned but when she put up a hand to touch one it was icy.

  "Isn't it stunning?" Willa said, admiring the view.

  "My ears are freezing," said Louie. "Feel them!" She grabbed Willa's hand and held it to her right ear. It remained there, even though Louie dropped her own and listened to the faraway sound formed inside the cup of Willa's hand. Her father used to tell her it was the sea. She tried to see Willa's face in the dark but could only make out a pale outline, not her expression. Willa's hand stayed there, surely longer than was normal, still longer again. Her palm was warm against Louie's cheek. It's happening she thought, she's going to do it. Her throat tightened and a frantic fizzing rose inside her chest. Willa's hand moved slightly, brushing Louie's neck, then she drew it away. Louie choked silently. Don't, she wanted to say. Don't stop.

  Instead, she turned back to the view and tried to think of something, anything to say. She was conscious of Willa leaning back on her elbows beside her, quiet. After a bit, Willa jumped up and began walking around, calling out to Judas. Louie swore softly, then got up and joined her.

  Judas returned eventually, and hopped happily into the back of the car. It was warm in there, and terribly quiet after the wind, but neither of them spoke. Louie drove carefully down the road this time, wanting the drive to last, wanting to have said something by the time they got back, but the more she tried, the more locked she seemed to be. Willa turned on the stereo and looked out the window. Louies thoughts became more and more manic. Say something! she screamed inwardly, but there it was; not a quote even, a line of Shakespeare, a silly joke within range. Louie Angelo, known as Motormouth to friends and family, every report reminding her that she would do better with a little more attention in class, now, when it felt as if her life depended on it, she simply could not speak. Had she imagined it? Had anything happened at all? Yes. Something had happened, the silence in the car told her that.

  When she drew up outside the Duke it was twenty past twelve. Willa leapt out as soon as the car stopped and released Judas. She smiled quickly and unconvincingly "Thanks," she said in a strained voice. "See ya."

  Louie opened her mouth but the noise that eventually came out sounded like a bagpipe—and anyway, Willa had gone.

 
Willa

  She'd had four notes in the last week. All of them were the same; typed, on a slip of plain paper, in a light blue envelope. The envelope was post marked "Dunedin." The first one said, You're sick, the second one said, I know where you are, the third, Die, hitch. The last one, which had arrived today, Willa held in her hands. Its message had thrown her most of all. I miss you.

  She breathed in and out shakily. Then she looked at her watch. It was four-thirty Thursday. She was probably alone at home, like Willa. She picked up the telephone receiver and dialled a number. Then she put it down, and laid her head in her hands. A minute or two later, she tried again. This time she waited.

  "Hello? Hello? Are you there?"

  "It's me," Willa croaked.

  There was a pause, and Willa pressed a palm against her forehead.

  "What do you want?" came the voice, tight.

  "Cathy, I—I dunno. I just—I thought you might want to hear from me."

  There was a snort. "No. I don't." But she didn't hang up.

  Willa waited for a little. Then, as she expected, Cathy spoke again. "What you did was wrong, Willa. It was wrong. I'm trying to forget it."

  Willa closed her eyes. "We both did it," she said quietly.

  There was a gasp from the other end. "I didn't understand what was happening. You know that."

  "I've been getting these notes," Willa tried.

  "What?"

  "Notes. About us. Are they from you?"

  "No."

  "I thought they might be. I wondered if you were okay. I mean—" Willa held the slip of paper in front of her and stared at it as if it might answer her.

  "I don't know anything about any notes. I have to go. Someone could come home."

  "The last one said I miss you."

  There was another long pause. This time it was Willa who broke it. "How are you?" she asked. "Are you all right?"

  Cathy's voice was cold. "I'm getting better all the time, now you're gone. My parents and Keith and what friends I have left are very supportive. All I want is for you to stay away from me. For good. Okay?"

  Willa screwed up the note in her hand. "Okay," she said, and hung up.

  She hadn't talked to Louie for three days. She'd seen her though; running a netball practice, laughing with Ms. Rosen in the foyer, sitting in the prefects' seats at senior assembly. She saw Louie searching for her in the library, but Willa had ducked behind a display screen to hide. Wednesday lunchtime Willa had sat on a bench among the trees outside the prefects' room and watched Louie eat a filled roll and talk with her mouth full. She realised there was definitely something to worry about when that didn't put her off. It took a wood pigeon pooping on Willa's shoulder to drive her inside. Things were looking bad.

  Willa didn't know what she wanted. She'd planned to get as quietly as possible through her professional cooking course at this new school, then do a chef's course at Polytech. But there was Louie. It felt as if she'd come from nowhere, exploded from outer space into Willa's life. It was worse than with Cathy. She'd promised herself if she felt like that again, she'd just ignore it. But it wasn't the same. It was worse, it was better, it was stronger. "I didn't understand what was happening," rang Cathy's words in her head.

  Willa got changed for work and threw on a jacket. As soon as she touched Judas's lead he whined and tore down the stairs in advance. He seemed to be genetically tuned to notice the slightest scrape of car keys on the bench, the picking up of a jacket or a hand movement within half a metre of the hook his lead hung on. Willa followed him thoughtfully outside, and the walk into town was quiet and cold. Great grey-brown clouds hung about the hills, and the sun had already disappeared from Woodhaugh Valley. Some patches of the footpath were still icy from the morning, and Willa's feet crunched on the frost. Even Judas seemed affected by the weather and he walked soberly at her side, with occasional glances up at his mistress.

  Louie was already at Burger Giant, and she looked up anxiously when Willa came in the door. Willa recognised the look, and squirmed.

  "Hi," she said.

  "Howdy!" answered Louie, cheerfully. She came over to Willa holding a huge pile of trays and rubbish. "Welcome to feeding time. Most of the animals are yet to come, but we've done the elephants," she said, nodding towards a table where an obese family of Mum, Dad and three kids squashed into plastic chairs.

  Willa laughed, despite herself. Louie followed her into the kitchen and continued. "The monkeys have just arrived," she said, indicating a group of young teenage girls who giggled incessantly, "and boy are they excited about their one trip outside their cages for the day, and yes, here they are, the gorillas!" Five guys in rugby jerseys sauntered in and began joking about how many Giant Burgers they could eat at one sitting. One of the teeny-bopper girls fell off her chair, and the others screamed with laughter. "Oh my," continued Louie, as Willa put on her apron and said hello to Deirdre and Kelly, "we sure are in for a treat tonight. The monkeys are going to do all their tricks to get the attention of the gorillas. What fun!"

  Willa joined Deirdre on filling the gorillas' orders (nine Giant Burgers, six large chips, four thickshakes and a large Coke), while Louie washed out her cloths and collected boxes of serviettes for the service bins.

  "Deirdre's a real joy germ tonight," she said to Willa when they were sent out to get more trays of buns. "She told Kevin yesterday to order more tomatoes, and he, superbrain, forgot, what else is new, so Deirdre let fly and told him he was bloody useless and if he spent as much time doing the ordering as he does flirting with the staff he'd be halfway competent, so Kevin took her away and apparently gave her a verbal warning. She's spitting, because some friend of hers told her he reckoned Kevin was paid close to forty grand for that piddly little job. And when she told everyone that, Kelly said she thought having all that responsibility he deserved to be paid forty grand, then she was all over him in her break, grovel grovel grovel..."

  While Louie talked Willa had piled up two stacks of bun trays and handed one to Louie, then picked up the other stack herself. She stood and waited for Louie to take hers back out the door. Louie kept talking furiously.

  "You know Kevin used to go out with Kelly—well when I say go out, he had a one-night stand is as much as we can work out. Kelly talks about their 'relationship' but their dating all seems to revolve around one 'beautiful night in April' when he took her to the wine bar then banged her up at his place. Or that's her story. I wouldn't be surprised if it happened right here. Can't you just see it? Kelly's romantic moment shoved up against the chip warmer? 'Like a piece of breast would you, Kevin?' 'Is this a drumstick I see before me?' Poor Kelly, I don't think he's even looked at her since. Except for the apron routine of course, you know—"

  Willa put her stack of trays down, and Louie stopped. "I didn't know you burbled," Willa said.

  She watched as Louie's neck turned pink again, and her voice stuck. Poor Louie, she thought. It's all or nothing words-wise. Willa wanted to tell her it was all right, there was no need to panic.

  "Probably he was the first guy Kelly had sex with," she said, instead. "It's understandable, isn't it, that she can't let go? If she admits he's a creep, that makes her the fool you obviously think she is, doesn't it?"

  "Well, yeah, I guess," Louie frowned, bright red.

  "They need these buns, Louie."

  After that, Louie stuck to clearing tables, and Willa to filling orders. She could see Louie was upset, and was keeping a wide berth around Willa. Deirdre was in a foul mood, so there wasn't much chance to talk anyway. It got so busy that Kevin took orders out the front with Simone all night. He was making quite an effort, Willa noticed, keeping serious and professional to prove his point to Deirdre. At eleven o'clock it was a relief for Willa to take off her uniform and leave the tense atmosphere.

  She wandered outside to collect Judas. Louie was sitting on a brick wall patting him. She looked up as Willa came over. "Hi."

  Willa nodded. She didn't trust her voice suddenly. Maybe
she'd say something hard and cold and make Louie go away again. She didn't want that. Willa untied Judas and let him trot around the loading dock.

  "I wanted to say I'm sorry," Louie began. "About, you know—burbling." She smiled hopefully at Willa.

  "Hey Louie, don't be silly," said Willa, and put her hand on Louie's arm instinctively. Don't touch her! she screamed at herself, and quickly drew her hand away again. "I was just being smart."

  Louie nodded her head around in a way that Willa was starting to recognise as a sign of embarrassed pleasure. "I do it, I know, sometimes. I just don't know how to stop." And she stopped abruptly, as if she was testing herself out.

  "Yeah, well, at least you're funny."

  "Willa," Louie said, in a soft serious voice, "I wanted to say—since the other night..."

  Suddenly Willa noticed Louie was trembling. It was cold, but not that cold. Shit, she thought. Shit shit shit. This is too quick. "I can't talk, Louie. I have to go."

  But she couldn't go, not while Louie's eyes held hers like that.

  "I've missed you."

  Willa reeled as if she'd been hit. She saw the note from this afternoon in her hand. It was all happening again. No.

  "Just drop it, Louie," she said, standing up. "We hardly even know each other." She called Judas, and picked up her bag. Then, without looking at Louie's face, she marched down the alley as fast as she could.

  Willa

  It might have worked with Cathy. Louie was too direct, and too sure of herself. She caught up with Willa walking home after school the next day.

  "You're right. We hardly know each other. I've got no right to miss you when you're not around. But there it is. I do."

  Willa stared at her. There was no answer to this, only the ecstatic internal battle she knew was not going to go away.