The Dare Read Online Free Page A

powers.
    I was sitting in the back row, next to Melody Dawson. She held a pocket mirror in one hand and was brushing her perfect blond hair.
    I had sat next to Melody all year and she had barely said two words to me. Every afternoon she would sit down, arrange her notebook on the desk, then brush her hair.
    What a snob! Melody was always spotless and perfect. She wore French designer jeans that had been dry-cleaned. They had a perfect crease down the front. And almost all of her T-shirts and sweaters had the little Ralph Lauren polo pony on them.
    Once I saw her changing into white sweat socks for gym—and
they
had polo ponies on them! Designer sweat socks! Do you believe it?
    Melody has these perfect little lips and a perfect little upturned nose and perfect, creamy white skin.The boys all think she’s hot stuff. I just think she’s a stuck-up snob.
    Anyway, we were sitting in the back row on another dreary gray afternoon. I was thinking about Dennis. He was probably on a beach in the sun, swimming in sparkling blue water.
    At the front of the room Mr. Northwood clicked on his little tape recorder and set it on the corner of his desk. “Do you know why I record our classes?” he asked. “I listen to them again later, at home.”
    He cleared his throat, his big Adam’s apple bobbing under his gray turtleneck. “The tapes help me remember what we talked about,” he continued in his thin, high voice. “I tape myself at home too. It can be very instructional.”
    Melody looked up from her mirror. “Why doesn’t he get a life?” she said in a low voice.
    Several kids snickered.
    Mr. Northwood turned to Melody. “I heard that, Miss Dawson.”
    Melody stared back defiantly at him.
    I would have turned bright red and shrunk back in my seat. I would have been totally mortified.
    But Melody just glared back at him, almost challenging him.
    â€œMelody, I’d like you to come see me after school,” Mr. Northwood said sternly, scratching a craggy cheek. “You and I need to have a little talk.”
    â€œI can’t,” Melody replied coldly.
    Mr. Northwood turned his watery blue eyes on her. “What did you say?”
    â€œI can’t,” Melody repeated. “I have a tennis lesson.”
    The teacher tapped his long, bony fingers on the desktop. “I’m afraid you’ll be late for your tennis lesson today,” he said quietly.
    â€œI’m afraid I won’t!” I heard Melody mutter to herself.
    Sure enough, as soon as class ended, Melody jumped up and ran out the door, hurrying to her tennis lesson.
    Wow, I thought. That really takes nerve.
    If Mr. Northwood had told
me
to stay after school, I’d obediently stay, no matter what I was missing. I’d be too afraid not to show up.
    But Melody ran out without a second thought.
    I didn’t like Melody. I’d never liked her, actually. But I found myself wishing I had the nerve that she had.
    I stood up and started gathering my books. Some kids were heading out the door to their lockers. I saw Zack Hamilton and Caitlin talking by the chalkboard.
    Then I caught the angry expression on Mr. Northwood’s face. “I don’t care how many banks her father runs,” he was fuming. “She’s just like everybody else in my class!”
    I saw Zack and Caitlin both laugh.
    Mr. Northwood spun around to face them. “What are you two giggling about?” he demanded angrily. “Perhaps you’d like to stay an extra hour and discuss it with me!”
    *   *   *
    After dinner that night—a peanut butter sandwich and a small bag of potato chips—I was sitting cross-legged on the floor of my room, leaning against the bed, talking to Margaret on the phone.
    My homework was spread out on my desk. But I just didn’t feel like dealing with it.
    I was feeling a little weird, a little jumpy. Sometimes living in an old house on