MY HANDS SHOOT OUT OF their own accord to slow my fall, but it feels like I've scraped them slightly.

"Ow," I gasp, winded from my fall.

A quick inspection reveals that only the top layer of skin broke. No blood, for now.

I whip around, getting to my feet. It's a girl.

"What the fuck?"

She will not be the reason I am eliminated. I refuse to let her be. Here I was, peacefully fleeing from a group of basketball players, when she stuck her foot into my path and tripped me. What gives? I've never even seen her before in my life.

The girl probably can't see me doing this, but I'm glaring daggers at her through my mask. And, in fact, her deep brown eyes are returning the expression.

Her hair is sleek, black, and cropped just above her shoulders. The Carsonville Academy blazer, so navy it's almost black, accentuates her petite frame like she's the perfect mannequin for private school attire. She's holding a Percy Jackson book in one hand.

What a geek.

Her other hand pulls out from behind her, clutching the Letterman jacket.

I lunge for it, but she takes a backward step onto the concrete ledge and holds it away from me. "Hey, give me that!" 

It disappears behind her back once more.

"That's mine."

"That's not yours," she says calmly.

Her voice is scratchy underneath the high tones, like both a fall breeze and the leaves it rustles. Like nothing I've ever heard. She arches an eyebrow, daring me to contradict her.

"It belongs to those basketball players who are chasing you right now."

"Still, give it here. I'm only borrowing it."

While I talk, hoping to distract her, I lunge around her for the jacket. She angles the garment away and keeps her body between it and me. Argh, I could wring her neck right now. The clock is ticking.

"I'll return it to him, promise."

"I know you will." She rolls her eyes. "It's Dare Week. I've heard kids running back and forth, into rooms, out of rooms, into rooms again, screaming, yelling and making other people run, scream and yell after them!"

When her voice raises, the scratch disappears. It's pure wind. She collects herself with a pause. "I'm reading here— at least, I'm trying to."

My eyes glance at the Percy Jackson novel again.

Okay. I get it. All this Dare Week ruckus has majorly pissed her off, and she's trying to put an end to it.

I bow my head in apology. "I'm sorry for disturbing you. If I could just get the jacket—"

"No. It seems my reading time is going to be disrupted every day this week, so I want compensation," she says adamantly.

"Come again?"

"I'll give you the ball back if you win Dare Week—"

My voice overflows with relief. "Oh, I intend to—"

"—and if you split your winnings with me. Fifty-fifty."

"Fifty-fifty? Are you kidding me?" I protest, "I'm the one with my ass on the line here!"

Halfway through that sentence, I lunge the other way for the Letterman jacket, but this infuriating girl reads me easily. She quickly steps further away and presses her back into stone the wall of the library building. I'm pretty sure a violently boiling kettle would accurately depict my brain right now.

"Fifty percent of the winnings is more than you'll get if you don't take this deal. Because then this jacket goes back to its owner, and lunch ends in six minutes," she informs, glancing at her watch. "Could you find another in that time? Care to tell me if the rules allow for delayed completion of dares?"

They don't.

I have no choice. "Fine! Fine. Fifty-fifty."

Thundering footsteps approach from around the end of the building. Accompanying those are male voices, more than a little pissed off. Fuck.

I glance between the girl and the corner where I'm sure the basketball players will soon emerge.

A rock and a hard place. I pace frantically, taking only a step in each direction and never getting far. "Oh, crap, oh, crap, oh—"

Suddenly, the girl grips my collar and pulls me close. My chest bumps against hers as she leans back against the wall, the Letterman jacket pinned out of sight. I feel cool air on my face. I don't even register that she's swiftly swept the balaclava off my face before she speaks.

"Kiss me."

What—

"What?"

Then her mouth gently presses against mine.

Every cell in my body freezes. What the heck is happening? Is she kissing me? She's kissing me. What? What? What?

My eyes fall shut out of instinct, though I've never kissed a girl before. Her lips are smooth, dry, and warm. When she leaned in, she did so with a certain amount of pressure that hasn't yet changed. She's not sucking my face off at all, like I saw in the movies.

She's just... still, and soft, and there in front of me.

I think we're motionless for five whole seconds, which is, like, long in kiss-seconds. Then she does this thing. I am short-circuiting—fireworks going off in the motherboard of my mind. But it's like she... tilted her jaw to the side, at a slight angle. Her bottom lip catches between mine and melds to me like she's made of pillows.

My head mirrors the way hers slanted, bringing our lips a fraction closer. I pull away ever-so-slightly, but when she follows my retreat, I surge back.

Something innate takes over.

I press my mouth to hers, more confident now about the way our lips intersect. When I suck lightly on her bottom lip, she gasps against me. My tongue sweeps into her mouth carefully, deliberately, and a shiver races the length of me when I taste her.

Plums.

But maybe that's her smell, not her taste. I can't distinguish the difference. The way she smells, the way she tastes, the way she feels. It's all just at the tip of my tongue.

Her hand slides up into my hair and pulls me hard against her. Somewhere far away, beyond the wall of misty bliss insulating me from everything but her, I hear a deep voice.

"Oi, notice how the freshers are already getting more action than you?"

"Fuck you, man."

"Guys, we've still got to find my jacket before lunch ends," a third guy snaps. "Come on."

The basketball players' footsteps fade. Only then, the girl's hand slides slowly from my hair, down my neck and to my chest. She gives me a slight push, and I pop away from her with my entire face tingling like I touched a live wire.

Whoa.

The hand that was holding the Percy Jackson book is empty; I notice it discarded at her feet. She presses her fingertips lightly against her lips, flushed a deep pink. Did she instantly get ten times prettier? I mean, she was always pretty, but now those dark, analytical eyes searching my face are doing something to me. And not something infuriating, like before.

Now she looks just about like the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

"Oh, my gosh." Her eyes shine with shock and remorse. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I thought that if they caught you now, you wouldn't get the dare completed in time—"

I shake my head instantly, cutting her off. "N-no. It's— it's okay." Thank you, kind stranger. That was a great first kiss. "Um. It's good."

"Oh." Her eyes remain wide, stunned. At length, she nods numbly. "Okay. Good."

Her other hand retrieves the Letterman jacket from behind her, which she kept pressed into the wall with the weight of her body. The basketball players must not have seen it. Nor did they recognise me, wearing the same uniform as everyone else, without my mask on.

I sling the garment over my left forearm, extending my right hand to her.

"I'm Terrence," I introduce myself, heart hammering against my ribcage.

"Oh. Nice to meet you, Terrence," the black-haired girl replies softly, giving me a really weak handshake.

Seriously, her wrist was so limp it was like sweeping my hand through the ocean. Dad always told me weak handshakes indicate weak characters, but somehow I like the gentleness about hers.

"Yeah. Um. Nice to meet you, too," I fumble. "I'll— um... see you around."

A spark returns to her brown irises. She smiles wider, full of colour. "You'd better. And bring my money." Her hand pats me twice on the shoulder. "Good luck with Dare Week."

What's Dare Week?

Oh, shit. Dare Week!

With one lingering glance over my shoulder, I sprint away from the girl with piercing eyes. Two minutes before lunch ends. Jacket in my hands. That's totally doable.

I'm still in the game.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

I thought about that mystery girl all throughout Dare Week.

As the number of competitors dwindled, including Jethro on the Tuesday because he wouldn't climb and jump off of the library building—hey, nothing in the rules forbade making dares that would hurt other participants, I checked—I thought about finding her.

Firstly, it was only to dissect who the hell she was. I forgot to get her name after that... friendly introduction we had. I get she had a financial investment in me winning Dare Week. But was kissing me the only way to deflect the basketball players? She didn't even know who I was. Did she not care if I had mono?

Unless she knew who I was. Did she put herself in my way so that she could kiss me? Is she a secret admirer or a stalker? There is a fine line between those two things. But I have only been at Carsonville High School for a month. That's hardly enough time for anyone to develop a burning infatuation.

No, I shake my head, that's just wishful thinking.

More likely, she's neither a stalker nor an admirer, and instead hates me, using her feminine wiles to bamboozle me into giving her money.

Secondly, once I know who she is, I kind of want to kiss her again. Or maybe ask her on a date. Or just be friends. She seemed cool. It's not often I talk to girls. Let alone kiss them. I just want to find out what's going on in that head of hers.

And therein lies the problem.

She kissed me, and then she disappeared. I haven't seen her the whole week—and believe me, I really tried to find her. Now it's midway through the following week, a particularly rainy fall day, which is thoroughly boring, and I'm not sure about my next move.

I have no name to go on, just what she looks like. And I don't exactly have an extensive network of friends to consult.

That girl has taken away all the joy of winning Dare Week from me. Not because my winnings split down the middle; in fact, the money is a non-issue. There's nothing binding me to the promise I made. If I wanted to, I could have visited the Carsonville Mall or a tech website to blow my winnings in one afternoon. I have plenty of time and options. I could burn through the whole prize pot before the girl ever finds me and demands her cut.

But I want her to demand her cut. I want her to find me.

I want to see her again.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

A / N :

Yes, Terry was young, dumb, easily flustered and adorably innocent once. As this chapter explains, we are only in his very first months as a freshman at Carsonville. Many years still to go, and many twists still to experience. ;)

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Aimee x