THE FIRST THING I DID when I got into the Carsonville Academy was try to get out.

Namely, expelled and sent to public school.

Mom never once came to visit me. She mothers from afar, sending birthday gifts and calling during the holidays and paying my tuition for one of Massachusetts' largest private schools. When we call, it's torture. She asks about school and my friends as if she has any relation to my classes, any inkling of the people that dot my social landscape. We're pretty much estranged.

So, I don't want anything from her. Especially not her money. She can keep it.

Because I'm on my way out. It's Dare Week.

I've never experienced one before, but I'm dead sure it will become my favourite week of the year. Dare Week is not sanctioned by the Academy. It's a downright nuisance to the higher ups; a week of making trouble—my favourite thing—and escaping punishment—my second favourite thing.

To participate in Dare Week, one pays to play.

Everyone chips in twenty bucks for the prize pot. About twenty people sign up every year, so that's a solid four hundred dollars revenue. Mostly freshmen, like me, or sophomores. The occasional upperclassman participates, but it's common knowledge that when college admissions start being relevant, people are more mindful of keeping their records clean. I don't have that burden.

In homeroom class, teachers stress that participants in Dare Week will be punished harshly. But none of us will let them catch us. That's how the tradition has survived so long, you see. It's every person for themselves.

Jethro, a fellow freshman, pulls out plastic bags labelled with the logo of the dollar store in the Carsonville town centre. "Your masks, peeps."

Inside the bags are twenty balaclavas. Another reason we pay to play.

"How original," I comment.

"Shut up, Hollister." Jethro shoves me with his elbow, eyes cheerful. "I took it upon my generous heart to buy these."

I shove him back, laughing. "Didn't Penelope give you the money?"

"And?" Jethro pulls a face.

Penelope is a junior with an okay face but gorgeous tits. Real gravity-defying stuff. Physicists would marvel and try to decode her secret. I heard she was super competitive about Dare Week the last two years—before my time—but this year she's not competing.

She's returned as the administrator, facilitator, head honcho. Whatever you want to call it. Penelope's running the show. She was the one who gave Jethro cash so he could get us these masks. She's the one who'll lay down the rules for us.

"Thanks kindly, Jethro." Penelope smiles and shushes the crowd of people gathered around her.

We're huddled outside this dilapidated tin shed that the Arts departments use to store old theatre props, music stands, and mascot costumes. It's around the bend from the carpark, pushed into a corner that no-one ever sees or visits.

Once everyone slips into their masks, I feel like we're attending a mass murderer convention. Maybe Serial Killers Anonymous. A support group.

That makes me crack an unseen smile while Penelope starts explaining how Dare Week works. "For the greenhorns, here's the rules. Slips of paper from one to the number of people participating will be drawn. That's the order for making your dares. The last person to complete that dare will be eliminated, even if you made it. The winner is the last man standing."

"Or woman," I pipe up.

"It's a fucking turn of phrase, Hollister."

Because Penelope won't be taking part in any of the dares, there's no chance of punishment. She doesn't wear a balaclava. I can clearly see her roll her eyes at me. How did she even know I made the comment? My smart mouth is not that notorious yet, right?

"If multiple people are still competing at the end of the dare order, we'll go down the line again until only one person remains. Dares must be completed within the lunch break they were made, and completable by everyone."

Penelope looks around the circle sternly.

"No discriminatory dares. No hard crime. No nudity. Nothing that reveals the person's identity. Nothing that hurts bystanders—"

"—so soft crime and hurting participants is fine?" I clarify.

"Yes, Hollister. That's fine. You little sadist." Penelope brings out her Celtics hat, upturned and filled with bits of paper. It's an odd object to see alongside her plaid skirt, navy tie and deep indigo blazer.

"Everyone pick a number, and keep your number until the competition is over. Dare Week begins now."

One after the other, people take turns crawling forward to Penelope so that they can draw their number. I'm number five. That's beneficial. I can make a vicious dare early in the competition and get a slew of my competition eliminated.

Penelope instructs, "Number One, turn over your piece of paper."

Someone reveals the slip of paper with the number one on it. I don't know who; I forgot to note everyone's position in the circle before we all slipped into our masks. Not that I know most people's names anyway. Jethro and I are in gym class together; that's how I know the fucker.

Aside from him, the whole making friends thing has not come easily to me this year. I could find a circle if I tried, but nothing about friendship appeals to me. People are high-maintenance, over-sensitive and always watching you. No, thank you.

"Make your dare."

Number One thinks for several moments. At length, they say, "Break into the staffroom. Bring back something as proof."

I grit my teeth. The staff break room is rife with teachers, student teachers, coaches and other adult authority figures. Number One wants us to walk right into the lion's den, hoping to deter the pansies.

I know what most everyone is thinking; will these costumes be enough to avoid trouble?

Answer: probably not. They'll probably be confused by the first wave of students, then catch on and lock the doors. At which point the stragglers will bust in through the windows.

After they safeguard against that route, anyone left will be unable to complete the dare. Number One knows this. They have the same tactic as me, hitting hard with their one chance.

That's why we are the first two to run, while the rest of the group are still whining about the unfairness of the dare. If you snooze during Dare Week, you really will lose.

The sight of the pair of us sprinting away at full speed must clue the rest of the group into how dire the situation truly is. At first, I hear yelling and screaming as they clamber to get away. Then my competition falls silent while they try to conserve energy.

That, and we've entered the administrative block. It feels like a cloud of caution has muffled all the sounds in the world, save for the squeak of sneakers on linoleum.

Number One silently opens the door to the staffroom. We silently jump in, giving several teachers a fright. They startle and rise from their chairs, getting ready to shoo us out.

But there's no need. We've gotten our proof—lipstick-stained mugs—and are out the door.

It's the ones that are coming they need to worry about.

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I wouldn't be surprised if, from now on, teachers keep the staffroom door perpetually locked.

Many Carsonville Academy rules that have emerged from the detritus of Dare Weeks gone by. Like why the pool has to be covered each time it's not in use, not merely at the end of every day.

And why no student can wear over four layers of clothing. Teachers, if suspicious that a person's clothes are looking too chunky, can request them to count their layers.

I've asked what Dare Week incident got those rules instated, but no-one will answer me.

"Number Twelve and Number Four are eliminated," Penelope announces.

Every participant has made their way back to the shed, albeit sorely winded. Number Twelve and Number Four were the poor stragglers that arrived after the teachers caught on.

"The dare order will skip their numbers. Number Two. Make your dare."

Number Two reveals their slip of paper to the group. They take much less time to think of a dare. Must have had one lined up.

"Bring a Letterman jacket to Penelope."

Number Two, Jethro and I are already sprinting away. As I tail them, I turn over the dare in my head, looking at it from all angles.

The basketballers are in the gymnasium. They commandeer the gym every lunch break. The football players will be on the football field. The Academy also has tennis courts and astroturf for the other athletes who want to practice. Some people might also be kicking a soccer ball or something around on the lawn.

A Letterman jacket.

So we just have to find a varsity athlete and convince them to part with their jacket—

Okay, yeah. That's going to be a problem.

Athletes are possessive and obsessed with their apparel. They will not give it away to someone wearing a balaclava. It's going to come down to who's the best thief.

Jethro and Number Two take the turn for the football field. I keep running to the gym. There's enough competition with two of them in one place, and I want the element of surprise on my side.

I enter the gym and do my best to steady my breathing. Man, I think as I try to catch my breath, I really should have kept up with my childhood basketball lessons.

The mask on my face helps to shield my panting, though it does draw attention. Some basketball players turn their heads towards me, but when I make my way to the bleachers and sit down, they resume their game.

I wait, sliding inches closer to their bags and Letterman jackets every time their attention is diverted.

My patience is well-rewarded. Not long after I took a seat, someone makes a three-pointer and the team bursts into rapturous applause. I leap to my feet, snatch the closest jacket, and make a run for it.

The gym doors are closing behind me before they fully comprehend what's going on.

I hear their frustrated yells alternating between loud and soft in synchronicity with the swinging of the door. "Shit! He ran off with my jacket!"

"Oi! Oi!" A deep voice calls out threateningly. "You're dead meat, man!"

I duck into the first bathroom I can find. I gently pull open the door and slow its close to silence the squeak of the hinges. Pressing my ear to the wood, I heave a sigh of relief when I hear the basketball players run past. That'll throw them off my scent for a couple of minutes. I decide to head back to the gym and take the alternative route back to the shed, round the back of the library.

The first lunch break of Dare Week is always the most tedious because of all the paperwork—literally—that everyone has to do. Completing two dares today is a solid effort. I'll jog to make sure I'm not the last one back.

With the Letterman jacket clutched securely in my hand, the taste of sweet victory—or, at least, non-elimination—tingling on the tip of my tongue. The stone cobbles slap underneath my feet.

Ah. I love Dare Week.

Then something catches my feet, and it feels like the ground is yanked out from under me. Through the eye holes of the balaclava, I see the concrete coming up to meet me.

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A / N :

I'm so excited to get this story started! It's been done for about a year, but I had some details to solidify with the TGR rewrite. One change is that Carsonville High School is now the super prestigious, super private Carsonville Academy. I think the themes fit so well with boarding school and dark academia vibes.

There are still going to be heaps of references to the original story though, so I hope you look forward to that! <3

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