Page 9 of The Bully's Dare

Between the cattail reeds, we can see the chaos below. Healing Touch floats around aimlessly and lists towards one of the yachts. There are shouts from the jocks, then shouts from the people on the yacht, and they take out long poles in attempt to push Healing Touch away before the two boats bump. Healing Touch starts drifting away from the yacht then…and straight into a mudbank.

I can feel Kenzi’s warm breath on my neck. Her heart is beating so fast I can feel it, tiny thumps against my bare arm. “Oh my god…” she says. “I’m sorry if you get in trouble for that.”

“You kidding?” I tell her. “This is the best night of my life.”

I could kiss her right now.

It’s an urge, tugging on me, my heart strung like a marionette.

I could kiss her. We’re so close like this. Her eyes meet mine and, for a second, I think she’s thinking the same thing.

And then a splash catches our attention. We look back to the boat. Jason and Nick are in the mud now, water up to their waists, trying to push the boat back out. The boat makes a terrible grinding noise as someone tries to start up the engine. Jason King’s swears can be heard all throughout the marina.

Kenzi puts her hand on her mouth and laughs.

The moment is gone, but we don’t break apart.

We stay like this, locked together, watching the well-earned comedy play out below.

3

Jason

You’ve caught me.

I’m an asshole. A Grade A bully. A jerk in sheep’s clothing.

Meanness is a pin stuck between my shoulder blades and I can’t reach to get it out.

I swim until I can’t feel the pin anymore. Until I can’t feel anything but searing heat in my arms. Cramps in my legs. Lungs that feel like they’re going to burst.

Finally, I pull myself back onto shore. Salt and sand cling to me.

It’s a beautiful goddamn day on Hannsett Island. Like every summer day.

Bayside Beach is packed. Families under huge, multicolored umbrellas. People playing Frisbee. Volleyball. Seagulls fighting over French fries.

Amy lays sprawled across a beach towel, Cosmo magazine in her lap. She’s wearing a bikini that barely covers her and a hat so big, it’s essentially a second umbrella. When I step over her to grab a towel from the bag, she screams: “You’re dripping on me!”

“Bet that’s not the first time,” Nick snickers. Nick sits in the fold-out beach chair, a dollop of sunscreen smeared down his nose, and Amy throws her magazine at him.

I pop open the cooler, but there’s nothing but beers in here. “We have any water?”

Nick looks at Amy, who shrugs. I rummage around until I find a hard seltzer. Close enough. I chug that instead as I towel off water from the back of my neck.

“Hey,” Nick says, “Tell King what you told me.”

Amy holds onto her hat and points across the beach. “That’s the girl.”

My eyes follow her finger. I recognize the girl in question immediately as the newbie from across the dock. She’s sitting with her mother and one of my dad’s friends—Terry. She’s wearing a red one-piece and has headphones on. Big sunglasses on. She’s sprawled across the towel, arm draped over her eyes. Blocking out the world.

The sight of her on full display like that—vulnerable, open—it does something to me. I feel my heartbeat pick up, only it’s got nothing to do with my swim.

“What about her?” I ask.

Amy looks up at me, lips curled, pleased with herself. “She’s the one I saw with Dick Boy. They’re like besties now or whatever. They took the ropes off your dad’s boat and pushed it away or whatever.”

So she’s the source of all my trouble. Anger is a heat, not an emotion. It burns and doesn’t let up. My pin digs a little deeper.

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