Page 31 of The Bully's Dare

I suggest: “Try taking a breath—”

But Jason suddenly rips the stethoscope from me and throws it across the room. “This exercise is stupid!” He snaps. “Twelve-year-olds can play with stethoscopes!”

“Jason!” Dr. Esmerelda is livid. Her eyes are sharp, her mouth is a thin line. “Don’t make me call your father down here, because you know I will. Outside. Now.”

Jason doesn’t look at me. He just snatches up his notebook and leaves, shutting the door hard behind him.

12

Kenzi

I’m too busy to notice Jason the first time he tries to get my attention. I’m belly-down on the bow of the boat reading “Dracula”, and finding that Donovan’s mix provides the perfect background soundtrack to the erotic gothic classic.

Until over the edges of my pages, I see Jason’s bright eyes, cocky grin. His mouth moves and I tug my headphones off my ears with: “What?”

“Sorry for the intrusion, ma’am,” he says. He’s holding a clipboard, which he taps with his pen. “I’ve come with official dock master business.”

He’s wearing a shirt so small, it shows off his midriff (which, I can’t help but notice, is incredibly toned). It takes me a second to recognize the lighthouse logo at his chest—

I squint. “Is that Donovan’s shirt?”

“It’s come to my attention you haven’t filled out the new boat-owner form.”

I roll my eyes at his bizarre roleplay. “How long is this going to take?”

“Longer if you keep interrupting me. Now.” He turns to the clipboard. “Your state of residence?”

“Jupiter.”

He pretends to jot my answer down. “Current age?”

“Eighteen, going on eight-hundred.”

“Have you captained a boat before?”

“Once, but the pirates made me walk the plank when they realized I was a witch.”

“I see.” Scribble, scribble. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

I’m so surprised by that, the sound I make is a hiccupped noise: an incredulous half-scoff, half-laugh. “A…what?”

His eyes finally leave the clipboard and meet mine. Those blues are brighter than the sky itself. “Boyfriend, girlfriend, friend-with-benefits…?”

“I…no!” My face burns. I force my tongue to unknot and throw his question back at him: “What’s it to you?”

That dangerous, crooked smile lifts the edge of his mouth. “Will you come get ice cream with me?”

I blink. I have to piece the words together, like a child learning to speak. “You’re asking me out. To ice cream. You. Jason King.”

He points his pen to himself. “Me, Jason King.” Then he jabs the pen at me. “You, Kenzi Stratton.”

He’s such a dork, and no matter how hard I bite the inside of my cheek, I can’t help the smile that creeps across my lips.

He lights up. “Is that a yes?”

I shake my head. “No!” I say, maybe more forceful than I should. “Absolutely no.”

His smile drops. “What? Why not? You’ve got somewhere better to be?”

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