Free Heart Shaped Rock by Laura Roppe

to feel light-headed. His face is turning red. If I can just hang in there a little bit longer, I know I can beat this guy. But I’m starting to feel like I’m going to die. I can’t stand it any longer. My lungs are burning. I gasp and inhale a large swallow of breath. He remains focused on me, still holding his breath.
    “Okay, cheater, you can breathe now,” I shout at him. “You’re such a cheater.”
    He exhales. “I didn’t cheat, I promise. I should have told you, though. Holding my breath happens to be my superpower, too. I sing in a band. I’ve got big ol’ singer’s lungs.”
    He’s a singer, too? Damn. I feel duped. Why didn’t I ask him a little bit about himself before I agreed to this stupid bet? And now—oh my God!—I’m at this guy’s sick and twisted mercy. Who knows what bizarre and contorted “wish” he’s going to demand of me? I feel like I’m going to pass out from panic. Or throw up.
    “Don’t worry, Shaynee,” he says, soothingly, like he’s talking a cat down from a tree. My face must betray my anxiety. “Remember, you put your faith in me? I’d never abuse that. Never. Not even in jest.”
    Who is this guy?
    I take a deep breath. His eyes are so alluring they’re almost painful to look at. “What’s your wish?”
    “It’s reasonable, I promise. And painless. I want you to come see me play with my band on Wednesday night. Well, with one of my bands.”
    “I... can’t,” I say. “I have to work on Wednesday.”
    “After work,” he says. “We play at 7:00. You’re done with work by then, aren’t you?”
    “Well, actually, yeah.”
    “Okay, then, that’s my wish. The place is in Normal Heights. Not too far. That qualifies as a reasonable wish, right?”
    I think for a moment. I have to admit, I’m intrigued. What kind of emo-screamer-thrasher-ska-punk band will my ears be feasting on here? “Is it an all-ages club?” I ask, scrunching up my face with concern.
    He laughs out loud.
    I’m offended. “It’s a reasonable question. I’m sixteen.”
    “I’m sorry.” He chuckles. “You’re right, it’s a totally reasonable question. It’s just, well, wait ‘til you see the place.” He recovers himself and looks at me with solemnity. “It is most definitely an all-ages club.”
    I sniff the air, not sure I accept his apology. “And it’s safe for me to go there at night?”
    “Yes. Very, very safe. I promise.” He puts his hand on his heart to emphasize the sincerity of his promise.
    I squint my eyes at him, trying to read between the lines. His expression is clearly one of utter amusement, but I don’t understand the joke.
    “You wouldn’t welch on our bet, would you, Shaynee?” His face suddenly reflects genuine anxiety.
    I pause, intentionally letting him wonder if he’s caught this particular fish on his line. “You’ve put your faith in me,” I finally declare. “I won’t abuse it.” This last part elicits a huge, toothy grin from him that makes my cheeks burn.
    “Excellent,” he says. “So, listen, admission is five dollars, so I’ll put you on the guest list. Make sure you tell the guy at the door your name, okay?”
    I smile. I’ve never been on a guest list before.
    “Let me give you the address.”
    I stand up and grab my phone out of my bag. “Shoot.”
    He stands up and brushes the sand off his jeans as he recites the street address. “Hey, as long as you’ve got your phone out, lemme get your number—”
    “Hey, Shaynee.” It’s Jared. Oh my God. Crap.
    Jared puts a cup in my hand. “I brought you a soda. Oh, Dean. Hey.”
    They know each other?
    “Jared.” Dean’s tone is polite, but not particularly warm. “You know Shaynee?”
    “Oh yeah,” Jared says. “We go way back. Right, Shaynee?” He bumps my shoulder with his.
    I look to Dean. “We just met fifteen minutes ago.” I look down at the cup of soda. I never drink soda.
    “Dean.” A guy with strawberry blonde hair, a goatee, large stud-earrings