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Dare.

because nobody wants the truth

By Lindsay RaePublished 3 years ago Updated 2 years ago 9 min read
5
image: https://www.toddklassy.com/barn-photos

Dare is the only option.

I don't know who made it a rule, or if anyone ever wrote it down (does anyone write anything down anymore?), but dare is the only acceptable answer when it's your turn.

Why the game's still called "Truth or Dare," I have no idea.

I'd suggested a different game, and my fingers still lazily trace the edge of the vintage glass Coke bottle left abandoned inside the barn. We didn't leave it here. It's from a previous generation in a long line of teenagers who've run away from home, if only for a few hours, to escape.

What were they escaping? Who knows. Probably the same shit we'd normally run away from-- parents, siblings, school, sometimes work. For me, it was my love life. If you can call my clumsy fumblings at a relationship anything close to love.

For me, it was.

This time is different. As we gather around on the floor strewn with dirt, nestled amongst discarded beer cans and liquor bottles, the only source of light emanating from a phone set to flashlight mode in the center, we can all sense that this isn't like the other times.

Usually I come here to escape my love life, but this time I can't. Because she's here. Sitting right across from me. Avoiding eye contact, as usual. She's all I see, the only thing I notice, all my senses and nerve endings drawn to her. It's always been this way, as long as I can remember. The day she moved here and attended her very first day of school, in the middle of November, she'd been all anyone talked about. A small, rural school. A new student showing up in the middle of the semester. Those things added to her allure, her mystery, her charisma. For me it was so much simpler.

She's fucking beautiful.

"Since you're the newby, you go first," Ryker announces, settling his wolfish expression on her perfect face.

The hackles on the back of my neck raise, but I do nothing.

Anya pushes up her glasses with the knuckle of her pointer finger on her left hand, in that adorable way she does. "Okay."

"Truth or Dare?"

She pauses. "Truth."

The collective group moans. "No, truth is lame. You gotta pick dare!"

She glances around. "Why even give the option, then?"

I chuckle, biting my lip. God, she's perfect.

"Just pick dare. Promise, we won't make you do anything stupid," Ryker lies.

Her eyes narrow. Then, her lips part, and she utters the word. "Dare."

Goosebumps rise along my arms. I imagine her whispering that word in my ear, huddled close together, a blanket draped across our lap. I imagine it had followed several iterations of the game, where we'd both chosen 'truth,' where we'd shared all the dark, secret spaces in our minds with one another, cultivated intimacy so close it was like being naked. And now she'd said dare, and I knew what she wanted, and I was going to tell her to--

"I dare you to take off your shirt." Ryker lifts his chin, grinning devilishly.

Sadie, the only other girl present, slaps Ryker's chest with the back of her hand. "Don't dare shit like that."

He shrugs. "What? You dared me to do it last week!"

"That was different."

"How? Whatever happened to 'hashtag free the nipple', 'feminism', all that shit?" Ryker swats Sadie's hands away as she smacks him repeatedly, though her aggression is obviously just masked flirtation. Ryker's tall, and good-looking, and on the football team, so he can get away with pretty much anything.

"Jokes on you," Anya tosses her shoulder-length brown hair back, reaches down, and pulls the hem of her sweater up over her head. We all stare, captivated, not believing that she's actually going through with it. "I'm wearing a tank, asshole." She neatly folds her forest green sweater and sets it beside her, then sets her eyes on Ryker, her left eyebrow raised, mocking.

Ryker is evidently impressed. Anya, having completed her first dare, and a scandalous one at that, has now fulfilled the hazing ritual. She's one of us.

Which means she'll probably be here more often.

Which means I'll have no escape.

What am I talking about? There's not going to be a--

"Connor, truth or dare?" Anya's quiet voice echoes through the darkness, and a sudden chill racks my bones.

I wish she'd chosen me.

Connor says dare. Obviously. She dares him to try and climb the rope hanging several feet over. Who knows how old that thing is, if it can support his weight. Connor gives it a try, though his upper-body strength is the limiting factor in getting anywhere except a few feet off the floor. He gives up a moment later, his attempt fulfilling the requirements of the dare, and the game continues.

All I can see is Anya, sitting across from me, as she ignores me, as she always does. I follow the delicate hollow of her throat with my gaze, down to her collarbones, freckled. Her small breasts rise and fall as she breathes; I've never seen them up close like this before, without at least one additional layer hiding them away from the rest of the world. She dresses like a librarian; knit sweaters, cardigans, thick knee-length skirts, calf-high socks, tortoise-shell glasses. I love it. I love it all.

The walls of the barn shakes and shudders, as if a wind had kicked up suddenly. We all silence, huddling closer in our tight circle, eyes flashing to the door we'd barricaded shut with a rusty old shovel.

A moment later it's over, and it's quiet again.

"Ezra, truth or dare?"

I snap back to attention. Everyone looks to me, hoping I continue to ignore what's going on, hoping I let us stay living in this bubble where nothing matters and the world doesn't exist outside these four walls.

Hell. It might not.

"Let's play something else," I say, unable to stomach whatever gross idea Ryker's come up with this time.

"Don't be a pussy. Promise I won't dare you to lick a dog turd again." The others giggle quietly, lightening the somber mood.

My eyes flash towards Anya, and this time she meets my gaze. "I didn't actually do it," I say, as much to her as everyone else, glad the darkness hides the reddening of my cheeks.

"Course you didn't, 'cuz you're a pussy." Ryker nudges my shoe with his sneakered foot, caked in mud. The sight of his dirty Jordans makes my stomach drop. He always took such good care of his kicks; they were his pride and joy. Another reminder.

I shrug, trying to stay nonchalant, lighthearted, as much for my sake as for theirs. "Fine. Dare."

Dare me to kiss Anya. Dare me to kiss her, please. This may be all I have left, my last opportunity, and, god, I don't even care that everyone else is going to watch.

"I dare you to go outside."

I suck in my breath. Deathly silence settles on us all. Wide eyes look from me, to Ryker, and back.

"You don't have to do it," Sadie says, placing her hand on my knee.

I swallow.

Ryker's tone is serious. "Someone needs to. What if it's over? What if it's safe? If we can all go home?"

Sadie's voice trembles. "There is no home. You know that. You saw what happened."

"I didn't see shit," he says with a shake of his head, but the ghostly pallor to his usually tawny skin suggests otherwise.

"That's a fucking lie," she says through gritted teeth.

He sits up straighter. "Is not."

"Truth or dare," she says, "and I dare you to pick truth."

He blanches. "We don't pick truth. Not here."

"Because you're afraid of the truth."

He doesn't have a comeback.

We all look to Sadie as she exhales a slow, calming breath, before summoning her question. "What did you see in the sky right before it happened?"

Ryker blanches.

She glares. "Truth, Ryker. You have to say it. Tell them what you saw."

He shakes his head, staring at his muddy shoes, shivering despite the summer heat.

I know what he saw. Because I saw it, too.

Arguing is pointless. Gripping the glass bottle tighter in my hand, I stand, walk to the old, beaten berm post holding up the sagging roof of the barn, and smash the end off to produce a sharp, if not neanderthalic, weapon.

I can sense them all staring at me, wondering if I've lost my mind. But this is the most clear-headed I've been in a long time. We can hide out in here, keep pretending everything is okay, or we can go out there and find out. Inhaling a deep breath, I turn and take one last look at my friends. "I'll be back in a minute. Or. You know."

I don't have to finish the sentence. They know.

I strut with all the false confidence I can muster up to the doors and grab the rusty shovel that's been braced across, as if that would help. All it did was give us some semblance of control. Of escape.

"Wait."

I turn, though I don't need to, recognizing her sweet, quiet voice. It sounds the same now as it does in my dreams.

She comes up beside me, a determined, if somewhat feareful, look to her eye. Reaching down, she grasps my free hand, gives me a curt nod.

I manage a smile, despite everything going on. Because none of it matters.

Anya removes the shovel and carries it with her, a blunt instrument that would likely cause her more harm trying to wield it than any damage she could do in a fight. But I don't say that, because her weapon is just as useless as mine. The door swings on rusty hinges outwards into the clear, still night. We step forward, the weight of the open sky heavy upon us. Our eyes dart upwards, searching for something, anything, but finding nothing. Just the stars. We take a few tentative steps out, the tall grass swaying in a nonexistent breeze. The horizon is orange, though she sun set hours ago.

She squeezes my hand, which sends a tingle up my arm, across my neck, and down my spine. I look to her, licking my lips.

Anya's eyes meet mine. Finally. "I think it's okay now," she says, barely above a whisper.

I nod. "Yeah. I think you're right."

Slowly, I lower my face to hers. She raises up on her tiptoes. We draw closer, my heart pounding in my ears, I close my eyes, and--

Blinding green light engulfs us.

The UFO appears out of nowhere, hovering just above us. A sound like frying bacon, the smell of burning hair, a scream I don't recognize, and then nothing.

I didn't even get to kiss her goodbye.

.

.

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You can follow me on Twitter and Instagram, or visit my Website to read about my upcoming novel!

Young Adult
5

About the Creator

Lindsay Rae

I'm a romance and comedy writer from BC, Canada. My debut novel (Not) Your Basic Love Story came out in August, 2022. Now represented by Claire Harris at PS. Literary!

I'm on Twitter, Instagram, and Tiktok

https://lindsaymaple.com

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