Dare You To (Pushing the Limits 2)

I tear a biscuit apart and slather on some butter. Beth embarrassed me in front of Scott Risk and I lost a dare because of her. I drop the biscuit—the dare. A spark ignites in my brain.

Chris and I never set a time limit on it, which means I can still win.

Mom straightens the napkin on her lap, disrupting my thoughts. “You should be friendly with her, Ryan, but maintain your distance. The Risks had a reputation years ago. ”

Dad’s chair scrapes against the new tile and he makes a disgusted noise in his throat.

“What?” Mom demands.

Dad rolls his shoulders back and focuses on his beef instead of answering.

“You have something to say,” prods Mom, “say it. ”

Dad tosses his fork onto his plate. “Scott Risk has some valuable contacts. I say get close to her, Ryan. Show her around. If you do a favor for him, I’m sure he’d do one for you. ”

“Of course,” says Mom. “Give him advice that goes directly against mine. ”

Dad begins talking over her and their combined raised voices cause my head to throb. Losing my appetite, I slide my chair away from the table. It’s gut-wrenching, listening to the ongoing annihilation of my family. There is absolutely no worse sound on the face of the planet.

Until the phone rings. My parents fall silent as all three of us look over at the counter and see Mark’s name appear on the caller ID. A rocky combination of hope and hurt creates a heaviness in my throat and stomach.

“Let it go,” Dad murmurs.

Mom stands on the second ring and my heart beats in my ears. Come on, Mom, answer.

Please.

“We could talk to him,” she says as she stares at the phone. “Tell him that as long as he keeps it a secret he can come home. ”

“Yeah,” I say, hoping that one of them will change their minds. Maybe this time Mark would choose to stay and fight instead of leaving me behind. “We should answer. ”

The phone rings a fourth time.

“Not in my house. ” Dad never stops glaring at his plate.

And the answering machine picks up.

Mom’s cheerful voice announces that we’re away at the moment, but to please leave a message. Then there’s a beep.

Nothing. No message. No static. Nothing.

My brother doesn’t have the balls to leave me a message.

And I’m not stupid. If he wanted to talk to me, he could have called my cell. This was a test. I invited him to dinner and he was calling to see if I was the only one who wanted him home. I guess we all failed.

Mom clutches the pearls around her neck and the hope within me fades into an angry clawing. Mark left. He left me to deal with this destruction on my own.

I jerk out of my seat and my mother turns to face me. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got homework. ”

The corkboard over my computer desk vibrates when I slam my bedroom door shut. I pace the room and press my hands against my head. I’ve got a damn homework assignment and the clarity and calm of a boat being tossed by the waves. What I need to do is run off the anger, lift weights until my muscles burn, throw pitches until my shoulder falls off.

I shouldn’t be writing a damn four-page English paper on anything “I want. ”

The chair in front of my desk rolls back as I fling myself into the seat. With one press of a button the monitor brightens to life. The cursor mockingly blinks at me from the blank page.

Four pages. Single spaced. One-inch margins. My teacher’s expectations are too high. Especially since it’s still technically summer vacation.