Date Me, Bryson Keller(2)

“Oh, I like that,” Natalie said. “Girls can totally ask boys out.” She held up her hand for a high five, and Priya happily obliged.

“You also lose if you get tired of dating,” Dustin said. “I know you, dude. I don’t believe you have this in you.” He patted Bryson on the shoulder.

    “And what happens if he loses?” I asked.

Bryson shot me a look like he’d been hoping no one would mention a punishment. I shrugged with a smile. How often would I get to see Bryson Keller squirm?

Dustin knew what would hurt the most. “You have to ride the bus for the rest of senior year.”

Everyone laughed. We all know just how much Bryson Keller loves his white Jeep. It’s arguably the cleanest car at school. He washes it at least once a week—I’ve seen the shirtless pictures on his Instagram feed.

“Shit, okay,” Bryson said. “But there needs to be a time limit on this. I’ll do this for three months and that’s it. If I lose, then after spring break I’ll start taking the bus. But when I win—and I will win—you won’t doubt me ever again.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Priya said. “You will be a legend.”

“Bryson Keller. The man. The myth. The legend. I like that,” Bryson said. He chugged the rest of his beer. “Let the games begin.”

“In that case,” Natalie said, “date me, Bryson Keller!” She burst out laughing.

“Fine, even though it’s not Monday. When school starts, Natalie, you’ll be my first girlfriend.” Bryson smiled. “But this will be the first and last time I ever break the rules. You’ve all been warned.” He bowed gallantly to her.

And that’s how it all started.

    Two months later, the Bryson Keller dare is still going strong. And time is running out. A single school week is all anyone gets.

There have been no exceptions to this.

None.

Until me, that is.

OH SHIT.





1


Mornings in the Sheridan house are known to be loud and chaotic affairs—with Mondays being especially disastrous. Today is no different.

“Yazz, open the door!” I shout. I’ve been standing outside the door to the bathroom I share with my younger sister for the last ten minutes. I’m going to be late.

I love my sister, and aside from weekday mornings, we generally get along. I can’t say that I’d kill for her, but I might be willing to help her bury a body. Right now, though, Yasmine Sheridan is the one I want to murder.

“I swear to God, Yasmine, if you don’t open this door in the next two minutes, I’m going to kick it down.”

“Kai!” Mom shouts from downstairs. “Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain.”

I roll my eyes. As if that’s what’s important right now. I don’t say this, though, because I really don’t have time to get into an argument about religion with Mom—that’s reserved for Sunday mornings, when I refuse to go to church.

    I bang on the door again and it opens midknock. Yazz steps from the steam-filled room and fixes me with an exasperated look.

“If you got up earlier, we wouldn’t have to do this all the time. Time management is key to living a successful life.” Yazz is thirteen years old but has the personality of a middle-aged woman who yells at the neighborhood kids to get off her lawn. “When you head to college in a few months, you won’t have me to help you. So let’s work on that, shall we?”

She taps me on the shoulder as if to encourage me. By the time I think of an appropriate response it’s already too late. She’s closed her bedroom door, and I am left standing there like a scolded child. Who would believe that I’m four years older?

“Breakfast is ready,” Dad shouts.

“I still need to shower!” I call back.

“You’re going to be late, Kai. Donny will be here soon.”

“I know, Mom!” Muttering under my breath, I enter the bathroom. I start the shower and find only lukewarm water waiting for me. I get that it’s spring and this is California, but I like my water like I like my coffee—almost scorching.

Ten minutes later, I emerge a new man. There isn’t time for me to shave, and I can only hope that the teachers won’t punish me for it. With a towel around my waist, I race back to my bedroom and quickly put on my uniform—tan pants and a crisp white button-down shirt. Fairvale Academy is flexible on a great many things, but the dress code is something that the school isn’t willing to budge on.

    I look for my tie. I rifle through the piles of clothes that lie forgotten on my bedroom floor. I’m not the neatest person in the world, which earns me countless lectures from Mom and Dad. But I figure that within the sanctity of my own bedroom, I am allowed to be my true self—which encompasses my sometimes forgetting to put my dirty clothes in the laundry basket.

I find the crimson-and-white-striped tie. It’s odd that the school emblem is two stylized eagles, given that our mascot is the cougar, but this is Fairvale Academy, so we don’t question it…much. I transferred from a public middle school, and the private school uniform took some getting used to. I’d much rather wear jeans and a T-shirt.

I pick up my blazer from where I threw it Friday afternoon. I cringe at the wrinkles and try to smooth them out. But there’s simply no saving this dull navy monstrosity.