Nerve (17 page)

Daniella rises to huddle behind Ty. With a wink at the camera, she gives his butt a squeeze. Samuel turns our way and rolls his eyes, causing me to have some hope for him. At least I dare to imagine that if it comes down to a fistfight, he’ll stay out of the way. Wait a minute, why am I even going there?

The space that the door reveals is lined from top to bottom with cabinet drawers, each a different color. Ty pulls the handle on the red one at the top, which pops open like a refrigerator. I sit up tall, trying to scan what’s inside, groaning inwardly when I see the bottles of beer. If they want us to get drunk, that can’t be good. Of course, Ty and Daniella whoop it up as if they’ve discovered buried treasure. Micki and Jen hop over to join in. Ty opens a few bottles and passes them out. The other players clink them with loud “Cheers!”

A message scrolls across the panels: FOR EACH BEER
YOU CONSUME, ANOTHER FIFTY DOLLARS!

I glance at Ian. “What do you think?” I whisper.

“We should be social,” he says. “But we need to maintain control.”

I nod. “One beer each, max.”

We head toward the cabinet, and as we scoot past Samuel, Ian offers to get one for him too. But he decides to join us, probably not wanting to be the odd man out. At the cabinet, Ian opens a beer and passes it to me. I examine the bottle for signs of tampering.

“There was a tiny hiss when I popped the top off,” he says.

I sniff. Smells like beer. And I’m parched. But, technically, I’d be breaking the law. Not that I’d care in real life, but who wants to be broadcast doing so? I whisper my concern to Ian.

He laughs. “How would anyone prove this isn’t apple juice? It’s whatever we tell them it is.”

Of course. I take a small sip. Ice cold and bitter. Definitely not apple juice. The label’s mostly in German, but I make out that the alcohol content is six percent. Figures they’d give us something strong. So much for keeping the game legal. If NERVE doesn’t care about underage drinking, what else will they ask us to do?

Ty and the other girls cluster in a corner, swigging like they’re at a party, launching into stories of alcohol-induced puking. I’m sure the audience is hanging on their every word.

Ian nudges me toward them. Although I think they’re
obnoxious, I get Ian’s strategy. We don’t need cliques forming, especially if they don’t include us. Even Samuel seems to get the idea, and stands at the edge of the group, looking at his feet.

I examine my fellow players, noting that NERVE has tried to cover as many bases as possible in terms of ethnicity, sexual orientation, body type, and who knows what other categories. All designed to appeal to a huge range of demographics, as Tommy would say.

Would any of us hang out with each other if we went to the same school? Besides Ian and me, of course. My school’s social groups aren’t as cemented as they are in some places, but most people know where they fit. Besides Sydney, Liv, and Eulie, I’m most chatty with girls who know their
Vogue
from their
W
, who seem to respect my vintage-meets-budget-conscious look. I’m comfortable with my friends, yet I’ve always envied how Sydney moves between crowds as though she has a free pass. In the back of my mind, I wonder how friendly people would be if I weren’t her sidekick. Maybe after the fiasco of the last dare, I’ll have to find out.

Micki belches and holds her bottle up to the camera. “German beer rocks.”

Samuel clears his throat. “We probably shouldn’t drink too much. We might need some coordination for the next dares. Just saying.”

Micki laughs. “Thanks nerdboy, but the game is called
NERVE, not CANDY ASS.” Her next gulp is a little smaller, though.

Ian raises his bottle. “I propose a toast. To grand prizes and buckets of bonus money!”

Everyone cheers and clinks bottles as though we’re one big happy family. Maybe this won’t be so bad, even with nasty Micki. The beer goes down smoother with each sip, and a pleasant buzz fills my head. I check my phone, flashing it toward Ian. Two hours and thirty-eight minutes to go. I get a crazy urge to sing the hundred bottles of beer song, but don’t want to give these guys ideas.

Ian takes my hand, which adds to the warm feeling building up in my chest. “We can do this,” he whispers.

I squeeze his fingers. No use pretending we’re just buddies.

Ian tries to include Samuel in a conversation about video games. I don’t have much to add, but I try to keep a non-threatening, beer-happy smile on my face. Not that I’d pose much of a threat even if I grew fangs.

Metallic techno music starts playing, and the other couples dance to it, swinging their bottles. Their second beer each—I’ve been counting.

The music morphs into a beeping that means the black panels are going into action. LOOK WHO’S WATCHING! A screenshot comes up of two really cute guys nestled next to each other on a red velvet couch.

One of them waves. “Hey, players, Houston here! NERVE
will add a hundred dollars to each of your bonuses if y’all dance.” He and the other guy get up and start jumping and fist-pumping along with a crowd of folks behind them.

I don’t mind dancing. Love it, in fact. But something about being paid to do so makes my shoulders stiffen. NERVE acts like we’re trained monkeys who’ll jump every time a banana is dangled in front of us. Okay, that’s kind of the point of the game, but still.

The music in our room is the same stuff that’s playing in Houston, and apparently at a bunch of other Watcher gatherings, because each wall panel displays a different shot of people dancing, as if we’re all at one huge club. Next to me, Ian sways his shoulders and hips, moving as smoothly as a straight guy can. Even Samuel’s arms swish back and forth. Everyone stares at me. Micki’s eyebrows squeeze in toward each other as she says something to Jen. Ian smiles and takes my free hand, pulling me into a spin. I hesitate for a moment. Do I want to be the one who’s seen turning down easy money for myself? What’s a dance anyway? Especially if it keeps the social vibe flowing. I start moving in synch with Ian, surprised when an energy awakens in my spine.

I let the music envelop me, and I laugh when it seems that some of the Watchers are waving directly at me from their screens. The tunes get louder and louder and I dance more and more freely, not really caring about the cameras. Was the beer drugged? I set my empty bottle down next to the wall
and continue moving. Everyone thrashes, laughing when we bump into each other. Even Micki’s scowl disappears. After three or so songs, the music slows and I melt into Ian’s chest. The lights dim to a candle glow and the screen images fade until they’re just a blur, giving the room a sexy feeling. Nice. If the dares go on like this, I can handle them. In the meantime, I nuzzle into Ian.

Of course, NERVE can’t let things remain so cozy. The music clicks off and the familiar beeps alert us. It isn’t until I stop dancing that I realize how warm I’ve become. I lift the hair from the back of my neck and Ian blows on my damp skin, raising goose bumps.

Guy and Gayle reappear overhead. With a grin, she says, “Well, some of our audience members claim that Samuel’s moves weren’t exactly what they’d call dancing. But since this wasn’t one of the mandatory dares, we’re not going to give him any consequences.”

She laughs and continues, “Time for the last icebreaker! On the wall behind the table are four doors, each leading to a private lounge. Enter them in any combination of players you choose for a game of ‘Seven Minutes in Heaven.’ I’m sure we don’t need to explain the rules.” She winks. “The team or player who provides the most entertaining show for the audience earns five hundred dollars. Runner-up wins a hundred. Everyone else just gets some time in heaven. Enjoy!”

Ian nudges me. “Should we?”

He’s kidding, right? As fun as it would be to fool around with him, the closest I’m getting to being a prostitute tonight is the pretend stuff we did earlier. The Watchers got to see us dance, didn’t they?

I flap my hair up and down. “Let’s save it for later.”

He takes my hand and kisses it. “Cool.”

The music resumes with a techno track. Very romantic. Ty and Daniella get started before they even enter a room. I seriously don’t want to see where he’s putting his hands.

But I am curious what the private lounges look like, so I go to the other side of the room and tap on one of the spirals. A door swings open to show a space large enough for a small bed and tiny nightstand, nothing more. Well, except for whatever products live in the nightstand’s single drawer. A dim light shines from overhead, next to a mirror on the ceiling. I move aside so Ian can take a peek. He laughs and says at least we could take a nap. Hah. As if I could lie next to him and get any sleep.

Micki and Jen gnaw at each other and moan as they stumble toward the next cubicle. Before they enter it, Jen calls out to Samuel, “Wanna join us?”

It seems like he’s seriously considering it, despite Micki’s threatening glare over Jen’s shoulder. Finally, caution seems to win out over lust, because he shakes his head. The girls shrug and shut the door.

Ian, Samuel, and I settle back into our bouncy love seats.
Samuel pulls out his phone, poking at it like he’s playing a game. The conversation with Ian must’ve given him the idea that this is a socially acceptable thing to do at a “party.” Well, at least it’s more palatable than what’s going on a few feet away from us. I lean my head against Ian’s shoulder and close my eyes to try for a catnap while my fellow players create real-time porn.

The panels startle us with beeping and up springs a row of what look like mug shots for each player, with captions underneath that read WATCHER APPROVAL RATING. Aw, geez, mine’s the lowest at twenty-two percent. Samuel has a twenty-four rating, and Ian’s groupies must be voting, because he’s at sixty-seven. Micki and Ty lead the board with scores in the nineties, and Jen and Daniella fall somewhere in the middle. It shouldn’t bother me what the pervs watching us think, but my cheeks burn with the feeling of rejection.

Ian tells me to ignore it, easy for him to say. After a few minutes, the doors behind us pop open, but when I take a quick peek, I quickly turn back toward the coffee table, trying to erase the image of Ty’s belly from my brain. The others return to their seats, adjusting their shirts and wiping their mouths with the backs of their hands. They laugh and point to their ratings before the screens go blank again.

Guy announces, “After a close vote by your Watchers, the best use of seven minutes goes to Jen and Micki. Well done, ladies!”

Bet it’s the first and last time that Micki’s referred to as a lady.

Gayle’s head bounces next to Guy’s on the screen. “Okay, gang, the icebreaker dares are over. Now we get to the best part, the grand prize dares, which you all have to complete to win your prizes.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Ready for the first one?”

A few players actually say “Yeah,” as if Gayle or NERVE cares.

She and Guy lean forward and say in unison, “All you have to do is make a phone call.”

A phone call? It hardly seems possible that our first task for such big prizes is a prank call.

Guy shrugs. “It’s easy. We’ll give you the prompt and you make the calls. Each one will only last a few minutes. Who’d like to go first?”

For a moment, no one volunteers, but then Daniella raises her hand. “Why not? I love chatting on the phone.”

Gayle’s smile is wide. “Great! An extra fifty dollars for taking the plunge, Daniella! Your call will be to your ex, Marco. Tell him how all those times he accused you of cheating with his brother, he was right.”

Daniella’s tan loses some of its luster. “How did you—Wait, but, even if I did, Marco and I are over now.”

Gayle’s expression grows stern. “Make the call or forfeit the grand prizes for everyone.”

Ty squeezes Daniella around the shoulder. It doesn’t look like a romantic gesture. Her eyes dart around the room, looking for what, a way out? When it’s clear that NERVE isn’t going to surprise her by changing the dare or popping open one of the closet doors so she can hide under the stained covers, she pulls out her phone. The rest of us bob and sway on the crazy furniture, becoming part of the audience, at least for a few minutes. Even though I feel bad for Daniella, part of me is curious about how the call will play out. God, what’s wrong with me?

Daniella turns away from the rest of us, but somehow NERVE has linked her phone to the sound system, probably through that sneaky app they made us download, so the sound of the phone ringing on Marco’s end comes through clearly over the room’s speakers, as does a close-up of Daniella’s face. After two rings, a guy answers.

“Um, hey, this is Dani.”

There’s the sound of music on the other end of the phone line. “What’s up?”

Is it possible he’s not watching the game? Daniella and Ty must be celebrities in Boise tonight and he isn’t tuned in? Did NERVE know that before coming up with this dare?

Daniella uses a baby-doll voice. “I just wanted to say that when we were together, I was with Nate too. You were right.”

The call seems to go static-y and then explodes with, “I knew it, you skank!”

Daniella holds the phone as far from her body as possible, which does nothing to quiet the insults and swearing on the other end. Crying, she shouts to the camera, “Okay, I did it.” She ends the call and glances up at Ty, who’s scowling as though she’d cheated on him.

A soft-focus image of Gayle appears above. Her voice is gentle. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” She then calls on the rest of the players, making each person phone various exes and friends with messages designed to make the callers and the callees squirm. Ian has to contact an old girlfriend and tell her how breaking up with her was the dumbest thing he’s ever done, and how he’d love to get back together. The girl’s voice is so full of expectation at his words, it gives me a knot in my stomach.

After the call, Ian wipes the sweat from his forehead. “I hope someone tells her the truth before I have to. What an effed-up dare.”

How did NERVE find people to call who weren’t watching the game? Did they arrange for them to be otherwise occupied with free concert tickets or something? I’m beginning to believe their power is unlimited.