Love Me If You Dare
[1/1]
I couldn’t believe he’d just left town like that.
I mean, granted, we’d only been dating for a few months, but I’d known the boy almost my whole life. For God’s sake, he used to text me when he left his house to pick me up, and here he was- or, more accurately, there he was, states away, doing God knows what with God knows who.
I suppose I wouldn’t want to talk to me after the fight we’d had either.
But let’s back the story up a little.
My name is Elizabeth Edwards and my best friend is James Carden, a bean pole with brown hair, constantly deemed ‘sex hair’ by our friends, especially when they wanted to bother me.
Like I said, I’d known the boy almost as long as I’d lived. We’d lived next door to each other since we were three, and played together almost as long. We were trouble from day one, when he dared me to drink a “special” drink he made me, which turned out just to be hose water and sandbox sand. I almost puked and our mothers were furious. Ever since then, we were that couple that people just waited for. We were the last to expect it, but then, one day at our friend Pat’s, James was dared to kiss me. Never one to back down from a dare, he did it.. After that kiss, we both felt something, and he dared me to go on a date with him. Dares and pranks were kind of our thing.
I swear, though, if I hadn’t known him for so long, I’d have killed him a long time ago. I hated him in the way only a best friend could.
But, one summer night, he left me at a party he’d brought me to, all alone with his friends, and I walked home.
I was pissed.
So, the next day, when he called me and asked if I was okay, I acted like nothing was wrong. When he asked if I wanted to hang out, I gave him the address of my best girl friend, Julia O’Connor, who knew how mad at him I was, and pretended there was a party there. There was, but not his type of party. Mrs. O’Connor was having friends over for a tupperware party, and he had arrived just in time to help them pack up their cars.
I figured he would call me, angry with me for setting him up, but he never did.
Instead, a few days later when I still hadn’t heard from him, I asked around.
He had gone to California.
I was too angry, too devastated to call.
So I didn’t.
And the next month, at his welcome home party, I showed up in my cutest dress and my highest heels and acted like nothing had happened.
When he came looking for me, I smiled and walked away. But he followed.
Finally, we wound up on the front porch, screaming at each other.
“YOU JUST LEFT ME AT THAT STUPID PARTY WITH ALL YOUR FRIENDS. I DIDN’T KNOW ANYONE! I WALKED HOME. ALONE. AT NIGHT.”
“Jesus Christ, Elizabeth, we live in the suburbs. It’s not that dangerous. Besides, I was only going on a beer run. You intentionally sent me to a house filled with middle aged women ogling me as I carried boxes to their cars!”
“SO CALIFORNIA WAS THE NEXT LOGICAL MOVE?” I yelled back.
“Yeah,” he said, wringing his hands, “it seemed like it.”
“You know what the worst part was?” I asked.
“What?”
“Finding out from a friend that you went to California. I had no idea. I was so embarrassed.”
He didn’t reply.
“Actually, I take it back. The worst part was probably acting like I was fine.”
“It’s always about that, isn’t it?” he sneered. “Always about your image. Even in pre-school, you wanted everyone to like you.”
“Fuck off,” I said. This was not a place I wanted to be. I hated him. I couldn’t stand looking at him. So, I drove away.
About halfway through the drive home, I realized I had made a mess of everything. The worst part wasn’t acting fine, the worst part was not talking to him for a month. I had barely even gone a week without seeing the boy, much less a month without talking to him. The worst part was waiting for a phone call that never came. And then he just showed up. What did he expect to happen?
A few hours later, there was a tap at my window.
I knew it was him.
It was always him, outside my window after shimmying across the tree.
I just glared at the window, not wanting to let him in.
He stuck a post-it to the window.
“I dare you to let me in.”
And just like that, I did.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“I’d dare you to stop fucking up, but I don’t think even you can do that one,” I said back.
He didn’t say anything.
I looked at him.
“I hate you, sometimes, you know?” I asked.
He still didn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry, too, though.”
“We should stop doing this.”
“What?” I asked, in disbelief.
“Stop daring. Stop pranking.”
“I thought you meant we should stop seeing each other,” I said. I was honestly more surprised at his suggestion.
“No, Lizzie. That’s why we should stop fucking around, though, seeing how much the other one can take. Because, in California, I found out I can’t take being without you.”
“I dare you never to leave me again,” I said.
“I’m serious, I’m not letting any of these childish games come between us.”
“And I’m serious when I say that these ‘childish games’ are what I love. Without them, who would we be? We wouldn’t be Lizzie and James,” I said, before adding quickly, “I was serious about my dare, too.”
He sighed, looking at his shoes.
“Lizzie?” he asked.
“Yeah?”
“I dare you to let me kiss you. I dare you to let me sleep in your bed with you, fully clothed... or not,” he said, grinning. “But mostly, I dare you to never let me leave.”
I mean, granted, we’d only been dating for a few months, but I’d known the boy almost my whole life. For God’s sake, he used to text me when he left his house to pick me up, and here he was- or, more accurately, there he was, states away, doing God knows what with God knows who.
I suppose I wouldn’t want to talk to me after the fight we’d had either.
But let’s back the story up a little.
My name is Elizabeth Edwards and my best friend is James Carden, a bean pole with brown hair, constantly deemed ‘sex hair’ by our friends, especially when they wanted to bother me.
Like I said, I’d known the boy almost as long as I’d lived. We’d lived next door to each other since we were three, and played together almost as long. We were trouble from day one, when he dared me to drink a “special” drink he made me, which turned out just to be hose water and sandbox sand. I almost puked and our mothers were furious. Ever since then, we were that couple that people just waited for. We were the last to expect it, but then, one day at our friend Pat’s, James was dared to kiss me. Never one to back down from a dare, he did it.. After that kiss, we both felt something, and he dared me to go on a date with him. Dares and pranks were kind of our thing.
I swear, though, if I hadn’t known him for so long, I’d have killed him a long time ago. I hated him in the way only a best friend could.
But, one summer night, he left me at a party he’d brought me to, all alone with his friends, and I walked home.
I was pissed.
So, the next day, when he called me and asked if I was okay, I acted like nothing was wrong. When he asked if I wanted to hang out, I gave him the address of my best girl friend, Julia O’Connor, who knew how mad at him I was, and pretended there was a party there. There was, but not his type of party. Mrs. O’Connor was having friends over for a tupperware party, and he had arrived just in time to help them pack up their cars.
I figured he would call me, angry with me for setting him up, but he never did.
Instead, a few days later when I still hadn’t heard from him, I asked around.
He had gone to California.
I was too angry, too devastated to call.
So I didn’t.
And the next month, at his welcome home party, I showed up in my cutest dress and my highest heels and acted like nothing had happened.
When he came looking for me, I smiled and walked away. But he followed.
Finally, we wound up on the front porch, screaming at each other.
“YOU JUST LEFT ME AT THAT STUPID PARTY WITH ALL YOUR FRIENDS. I DIDN’T KNOW ANYONE! I WALKED HOME. ALONE. AT NIGHT.”
“Jesus Christ, Elizabeth, we live in the suburbs. It’s not that dangerous. Besides, I was only going on a beer run. You intentionally sent me to a house filled with middle aged women ogling me as I carried boxes to their cars!”
“SO CALIFORNIA WAS THE NEXT LOGICAL MOVE?” I yelled back.
“Yeah,” he said, wringing his hands, “it seemed like it.”
“You know what the worst part was?” I asked.
“What?”
“Finding out from a friend that you went to California. I had no idea. I was so embarrassed.”
He didn’t reply.
“Actually, I take it back. The worst part was probably acting like I was fine.”
“It’s always about that, isn’t it?” he sneered. “Always about your image. Even in pre-school, you wanted everyone to like you.”
“Fuck off,” I said. This was not a place I wanted to be. I hated him. I couldn’t stand looking at him. So, I drove away.
About halfway through the drive home, I realized I had made a mess of everything. The worst part wasn’t acting fine, the worst part was not talking to him for a month. I had barely even gone a week without seeing the boy, much less a month without talking to him. The worst part was waiting for a phone call that never came. And then he just showed up. What did he expect to happen?
A few hours later, there was a tap at my window.
I knew it was him.
It was always him, outside my window after shimmying across the tree.
I just glared at the window, not wanting to let him in.
He stuck a post-it to the window.
“I dare you to let me in.”
And just like that, I did.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“I’d dare you to stop fucking up, but I don’t think even you can do that one,” I said back.
He didn’t say anything.
I looked at him.
“I hate you, sometimes, you know?” I asked.
He still didn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry, too, though.”
“We should stop doing this.”
“What?” I asked, in disbelief.
“Stop daring. Stop pranking.”
“I thought you meant we should stop seeing each other,” I said. I was honestly more surprised at his suggestion.
“No, Lizzie. That’s why we should stop fucking around, though, seeing how much the other one can take. Because, in California, I found out I can’t take being without you.”
“I dare you never to leave me again,” I said.
“I’m serious, I’m not letting any of these childish games come between us.”
“And I’m serious when I say that these ‘childish games’ are what I love. Without them, who would we be? We wouldn’t be Lizzie and James,” I said, before adding quickly, “I was serious about my dare, too.”
He sighed, looking at his shoes.
“Lizzie?” he asked.
“Yeah?”
“I dare you to let me kiss you. I dare you to let me sleep in your bed with you, fully clothed... or not,” he said, grinning. “But mostly, I dare you to never let me leave.”