It All Started With A Dare

Chapter one

All Fun And Games

So here I am, bawling my eyes out on my bed. I've got mascara streaming down my face, my eyes are red and puffy, I can't breathe, and it feels like my heart is physically breaking inside. I'm looking at sad, crush quotes and, if you can't tell by that clue, this is all over a boy: an annoying, aggravating, caring, sweet, funny, and lovely boy. A guy who I am absolutely head-over-heels for but who will never like me back. He hates me and it all started with a stupid dare.

I should probably start by telling you the story, from the beginning.

It was a dark and stormy night, no just kidding, it was actually a lovely day. The sun beamed down on us and there wasn't a single cloud; not too hot and not too cold. It was the perfect day, at least weather-wise.

My bestie and I were walking into our school as we usually did. We had a basic routine every morning: she picked me up, since I didn't have a car, and then we would head to school. Once we got there, we would play our daily game of truth or dare while we walked around the courtyard.

Our school was huge, the courtyard alone could most likely fit my house inside it. It was a usual hang-out spot for kids at our school.

"Truth or dare?" Victoria, my best friend, asked me, the mischief in her eyes evident. This can't be good.

Victoria and I had always been polar opposites; day and night, bland and spicy, sun and moon. Victoria was adventurous and bold. I, on the other hand, liked to do things the same way every day. I was an extremely routined person, I would have died without my planner; schedules were my life.

Our friendship had a fundamental structure to it: she got us into trouble, I got us out of trouble. It was as simple as that.

We've been best friends ever since first grade after we both sat in the very back seat of the bus. Now, if you've never ridden public school transportation then you wouldn't understand the major uproar this little act would cause in the organization of it all. See, fifth-graders were the only ones who got to sit in the back. They were like the seniors of elementary school.

Victoria and me, being first graders, were definitely not supposed to be in the back. We, of course, did not know this at the time; in all honesty, we probably should have noticed the many glares coming from the students around us.

Emma Greensworth, a fifth-grader at the time, did not find it amusing to discover I had unknowingly stolen her seat.

Emma Greensworth was about four feet and eleven inches. I know that doesn't sound big but, remember, we were first graders: a whopping three feet and five inches. Emma looked like a giant. She immediately rushed over to our seat huffing, her face blazing red, and steam puffing out of her ears. Emma started cussing us out and yelling for us to get out of her seat. The amount of foul language that fifth-grader knew was unimaginable. I was trembling in my seat, ready to start bawling my eyes out, when Victoria stood up, opened her water bottle, and dumped it on Emma's head. Water splashed everywhere, drenching Emma's white shirt and revealing her bright pink, polka dot bra. Absolutely humiliated, she ran off the bus with mascara streaming down her face.

The bus driver went up to question Victoria right away and all she had to say was, "I thought she was overheating."

That was the gutsiest move I had ever seen someone pull. Instead of being impressed, I was even more scared of Victoria than Emma. I had quickly tried to get out of the seat to move to the next one, somewhere farther up on the bus. Thankfully, Victoria wasn't going to have it and yelled at me to sit back down. We'd been best friends ever since.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by Victoria, who stared at me expectantly. Oh right, the game.

Victoria was of a darker complexion and had curly black hair with lavender tips. She wore violet contacts to accentuate her hair and had fourteen piercings, a fact she loved to brag about. Victoria had the classic bad girl look. She loved it; always wearing her leather jacket.