Free Dare by Hannah Jayne

trying to keep her voice even. “I wasn’t doing anything. I just—” She thought of telling her father about the tweet but just as quickly dismissed the idea. Her parents would probably move Dr. Rother in with them and give Brynna a drug test with her Cheerios every morning and a breathalyzer check at lunch. “I was just,” she thought fast, “watching the swim team practice.”
    There was a long pause, and Brynna imagined her father, pushed back in his enormous leather office chair, pulling out his legal pad and writing himself a message: Brynna—late—on drugs?
    â€œI’m really sorry. I guess I just got caught up. The team is doing heats.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to stave off the headache that was already starting. “I’m helping the coach keep time.”
    â€œThe swim team, huh?” Her father’s voice took on a note of interest, and Brynna envisioned him scrawling a second note: swim team—better?
    â€œIt’s over in twenty minutes. And Evan’s here. He could drive me home.”
    Another pause. “You’re still in trouble, young lady. Your mother will be waiting outside the gym when the swim team is through.”
    â€¢â€¢â€¢
    After a “we’re all trying to learn together” lecture from her parents and a grounding, Brynna retired to her bedroom and braved a hot shower that was more panic-inducing than relaxing. Wrapped in her robe, she crossed her room, her fingers brushing over her iPad. Should she check?
    She swiped the thing on, and when she got to her mailbox, she let out the breath she didn’t know she had been holding. The only tweets were from Lauren with a few responses from Teddy and Darcy. Nothing serious.
    Nothing from Erica.
    She glanced down at the phone and scrolled to the call log, finding the number with the Point Lobos area code. She hit the send button without waiting for her heart rate to climb or that little inner voice to tell her to stop. There was an odd crackle as if her call was going through actual wires and being connected, and then she heard the first ring. It shot a chill straight through her.
    What would I say to Erica?
    I’m sorry.
    I should have let the dare go.
    I miss you.
    Is it really you?
    Images of Erica pinballed through Brynna’s head while a second ring sounded. She remembered Erica with pigtails when they step-touched on their first day of dance class. Erica licking her greasy, salt-covered fingers after she ate all Brynna’s fries when Brynna never even offered. The way Erica’s eyes looked when Brynna said, “I dare you.” Wide. Round. Scared.
    There was a click on the other end, and someone sucked all the air out of the room.
    â€œErica, is that you?” she stuttered into the phone.
    There was more static and then, “Phillips Mortuary, may I help you?”
    Brynna felt the phone as it left her fingers. The gentle sound of it thudding on carpet seemed to reverberate through her skull as if it was the loudest sound on earth. She wanted to scream—but she was paralyzed, the cloying scent of thousands of white lilies stinging her nostrils.
    â€œHello? Phillips Mortuary?”
    There were flowers everywhere. White lilies, which Erica hated, and piped-in classical music, which Erica hated even more. Would have hated, Brynna corrected herself. Erica was dead—that’s what they kept telling her. Erica—caught in a black-and-white toothy grin from the cover of the Phillips Mortuary Memorial program—glared up at Brynna, her dark eyes smoldering, accusing.
    â€œIt should have been you…”
    It was Erica’s voice, barely a whisper, but Brynna would almost swear she felt her best friend’s breath tickling her ear.
    People started to file in then, uncomfortably silent, holding their breaths as they took their seats in front of an empty casket that was supposed to represent Erica. Brynna