Dare by Hannah Jayne
To those of us who tread water even when it seems easier to sink.
ONE
The moonlight streaked across the water as it lapped over Brynna Chase’s bare shoulders. She spun, feeling the surf against her skin as she breathed in the salt-misted air. She loved the ocean at night—it was dark, like a smoky sapphire that never ended, water blurring into sky, both going on forever. The shore was out there, somewhere over her left shoulder, but she didn’t care.
Erica Shaw popped up next to her, her black hair breaking the surface. She sucked in a lungful of air and grinned. “I love it out here. Hey! Stop daydreaming!” She slapped at the water, sending a spray over Brynna’s head.
“I’m not daydreaming. It’s the middle of the night.” Brynna splashed her best friend back, and Erica reacted by making a smooth dive, her body sinewy and thin as she darted through the surf. She popped up twenty feet from Brynna, her features hidden in the darkness, her head and shoulders outlined against the pale moonlight.
“Seriously, I’d make the perfect mermaid!” Erica yelled, her voice echoing on the waves.
“Yeah, but where are you going to find two clamshells small enough for your flat chest?”
“I’m not listening to you! I’m a mermaid!” Erica dove down again, her head popping up behind Brynna, making her spin in the water.
“You’re so weird!”
“Mermaid!” Erica sang again, head and shoulders going under, the dark water swallowing her whole.
Brynna kept kicking, buoyant on the water, turning, trying to predict where Erica’s grinning mug would pop up next. “Erica!” she called out, spinning toward the dock at Harding Beach. “Stop playing mermaid and face me like a man!” She giggled, her voice trailing off and sounding suddenly ominous, echoing in the cove.
But the surface of the water remained unbroken, the sheer midnight blue of the surf looking darker than Brynna remembered, almost black. She kicked at the water that had suddenly taken on a bone-deep chill. Her teeth chattered. “Er?”
Brynna scanned the surface, but something inside her told her that Erica wasn’t going to pop up, wasn’t playing a prank.
“Erica?” Brynna dove, her strong legs driving her downward, her hands clawing as she dug through the surf. The water pushed her back, squeezing the air out of her lungs in a tight, sizzling burn. She was groping blindly, her fingers sifting through sand, raking over rocks and kelp. Finally, she pushed her eyes open, letting the upturned sand settle.
That’s when she saw Erica.
Her best friend’s brown eyes were wide with terror. She thrashed and flailed, her black hair a matted mess as she struggled. She was clawing at the ground, her feet driving into the sandy ocean floor.
Someone was pushing her down.
Brynna could see Erica’s attacker—the long, slim legs, well-muscled as they calmly pressed through the water, the wave of sandy blond hair that now tangled with Erica’s. Brynna dove for her, grabbing at the woman whose hands were around Erica’s throat. The girl barely bucked, even when Brynna grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking with all her might. Erica thrashed underneath. Every beat of Brynna’s heart was a burning ache, desperate for breath, but still she grabbed at the woman, trying to look into Erica’s eyes, trying to silently implore her to hold on.
That’s when Erica’s legs stopped kicking. Her arms fell in quiet, graceful arcs. Her fingers unclenched, lying open, a few useless grains of sand dancing in her palm. She floated weightlessly, the sand puffing around her as she landed, a perfect specimen, her eyes focused on the snatch of moonlight above her.
Erica’s killer turned, and when she smiled at Brynna, Brynna realized she was looking into her own face.
???
Brynna woke up, coughing, clawing at her throat. She was desperate for breath.
“Bryn, Bryn, hon, are you okay?”
Her mother was there in an instant, rushing into Brynna’s room, ready to shake her out of another murky nightmare.
“I’m okay,” Brynna said, sinking deeper into her blankets. “It was just a bad dream.”
Her mother cocked her head and bit hard on the edge of her lip, her eyes going into that pitiful, helpless sheen that Brynna had grown to hate over the last year.
“It’s nothing, Mom, I’m totally fine.” She pasted on her parent-approved, all-is-well smile.
“How about I make you chocolate-chip pancakes? Chocolate is good for everything from bad dreams to your first day at a new school.”
Brynna flopped down on her pillow. “Ugh, there’s not enough chocolate in the world for that.”
Her mother paused in the doorway, silent for a beat. “Bryn, you promised. Dr. Rother said this won’t work unless we all try. Your father and I are trying.”
“I know, Mom,” Brynna said through clenched teeth. “I was just joking.”