Dare You To (Pushing the Limits, #2)(40)

My mouth opens to respond, but absolutely nothing comes out and      that shocks me into closing it. My mind’s blank. I’m a ballplayer. A damn good      one. Isn’t that enough?

“Did you even read the information I gave you about the state      competition? For three years I’ve watched you obsess over winning. Aren’t you      interested in winning this too?”

I say nothing as my face reddens. Mrs. Rowe just called me out      and she has a right to. I didn’t read the paperwork. I haven’t even considered      the competition since the other night when she first told me I finaled.

“I have a feeling you enjoyed writing this. It’s too good for      you not to have.”

She’s right again. I did enjoy it. Finding those words, being      in George’s head...I stare down at the printed-out pages...it felt freeing. Just      like when I step on the pitcher’s mound before the game and the pressure begins.      The moment when it’s just me, a ball, and a mitt to throw into.





And he wondered what happened to the world       around him. Did it also collapse into chaos? Had everything ceased to exist       as it was, just like how his life spiraled into nothingness? Or had the rest       of the world continued on like normal, because in the end his position       within it never really mattered?





The words I wrote glare at me in accusation. A nagging ache      pulls at my insides. I’m proud of those words and denying the competition is      like denying part of me. In front of my computer, there were no secrets, no      complications—just a world that I could control.

“In order to be considered for the award,” Mrs. Rowe continues,      “you need to complete a short story and turn it in a week prior to the event.      Your attendance is still required that day, however, as that’s when you’ll get      critiques of your work and meet with faculty members from universities across      the state. It’s one day. Just one Saturday.”

I hear my dad in my head. “I have games Saturdays.” And I      glance over at Chris, who’s eyeing me warily. How much of this conversation can      he hear? “My team’s depending on me.”

She pats the pages resting in front of me. “Let’s start off      small, okay? Turn this four-page beginning into a true short story. I can yank      you out of every weight training, or you can promise me that you’ll write it in      your free time at home. The choice is yours.”

And it’s a no-brainer. “I’ll do it in my free time.”

“Good.” Her eyes light up. “But I’m still keeping you for the      next hour. I want you to get started now.”





Chapter 22

Beth

ALLISON OWNS A       MERCEDES. Leather interior. Jet-black on the outside. Isaiah would      get all hot and bothered about the junk under the hood. She drives fast on the      backcountry roads and a couple of times my stomach drops like we’re on a roller      coaster.

“You smell like smoke.” Allison wears a red business suit      and black stilettos. She’s slicked her blond hair into a painfully tight bun.      Maybe that’s why she’s uptight.

While waiting for Allison to drag herself away from the      Ladies’ Planning Committee, I smoked one of the cigarettes I bummed from a      stoner boy before the incident in Calculus. I hoped it would help me get over      the fight I had with Ryan. I don’t know why, but yelling at him made me feel      like crap. Kind of like I do after I fight with Isaiah. “Must be in your      head.”

“You smell like smoke when you come home from school. Scott      may choose to ignore it, but he’s not ignoring your little stunt in class.”      Allison pulls into the massive driveway surrounded by woods and notices when I      glance at her. “That’s right. Your teacher called.”

Crap. I don’t have any idea how to get myself out of      this.

Scott and Allison live in a two-story white house with a      wraparound porch. It resembles something you’d see in a Civil War movie full of      rich plantation owners. Part of the house is surrounded by woods. The other part      faces an open pasture with a barn.

Allison parks the car outside the four-car garage and grabs      my wrist before I have a chance to bolt. “Do you have any idea how embarrassed I      was to leave the meeting because you called? This is a small town. Your teachers      belong to our church. How long do you think it will be before everyone knows      what a menace you are? I won’t permit you to ruin our life.”