Chapter 2: The Dare That Changes Everything

I knew Carter had a little clique—all rich kids who thought they owned the place. Brooke was the only girl in the group. Every night, they played games together. Carter never invited me, but I knew the room number.

It was always the same crew: Carter, Brooke, a couple of guys named Hunter and Chase, and—sometimes—Dylan Monroe. I’d seen them at parties, laughing too loud, acting like they ran the world.

That night, I pretended to sleep, but really I was hiding under the covers, logging into the group chat on Facebook Messenger, hoping Brooke wouldn’t notice.

My heart pounded as I scrolled through their messages, trying not to make a sound. The blue glow from my phone was the only light in the room, painting everything in shadows.

The chat was chaos.

Messages flew by—memes, inside jokes, screenshots. Just bored rich kids showing off.

Someone asked, "Carter, now that you’ve got her, what’s next?"

"Find a time to dump her," Carter shot back, lazy as ever.

It still stung, even though I saw it coming. He didn’t even bother to hide it from his friends.

"Maya’s pretty. You’re really willing to break up?"

"Her family’s broke. I’m not running a charity."

"She’s pretty, and your family isn’t short on money."

"You don’t get it. Being well-matched matters," Brooke chimed in, probably thinking she sounded wise.

I could just picture her, curled up on her bed, phone in hand, acting like she had all the answers.

"Right, Dylan?" She suddenly tagged someone, laying it on thick.

The chat went quiet. Everyone waited for his reply.

"Yeah, it’s important," came a reply. The words were simple, but the effect was electric. My pulse jumped.

Something about Dylan’s words—even in text—hit different. He didn’t talk much, but when he did, people listened.

Brooke sounded satisfied: "So, Dylan, you wouldn’t go for a girl like Maya, right?"

After a pause, Dylan replied, "Probably not."

His words were offhand, almost careless, but they landed harder than he probably knew.

I’d heard about Dylan Monroe. He wasn’t like the other rich kids. His family had money and real power. The group acted cocky, but they all respected Dylan—except maybe Carter. Those two were always trying to one-up each other.

Rumor was, Dylan’s dad was a big-shot attorney downtown, the kind of guy who could make your problems disappear with a phone call. Dylan kept a low profile, but when he walked in, people noticed.

Dylan didn’t say much. After a while, he said he was tired and logged off early.

As soon as he left, the chat died down. Everyone scrambled to fill the silence he left behind.

Carter grumbled:

"If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have bothered chasing Maya!"

"What do you mean?"

"Just because he once said, ‘Maya’s alright,’ I went after her out of spite."

So Dylan was the reason for all this.

Everyone burst out laughing:

"Still holding a grudge?"

"A year ago, the girl you liked only had eyes for Dylan, and you still haven’t gotten over it."

"Stealing someone’s crush—you never forget that."

"It’s not Dylan’s fault."

Carter clicked his tongue. "Whatever. Since I chased her, I might as well sleep with her."

The others egged him on:

"Maya looks like she’d be boring in bed."

"I bet she won’t even sleep with you."

"You doubt Carter’s charm?"

Carter sneered:

"She’s head over heels for me now! Just wait, I’ll livestream the home run for you all!"

After hearing all that, I logged out.

My hands were shaking. Not from sadness, but from adrenaline. I felt almost giddy—like I was finally seeing the game for what it was. I was done playing by their rules. Screw them.

I grinned and sent Carter a message:

"Babe, I’ve changed my mind. I want to go out with you tomorrow."

I could practically hear his whoop of victory through the screen. Let him think he’d won. Let him set up his big finale.

Carter and his friends were heading to the lake house. I changed my mind at the last minute and joined them.

The drive out to Lake Geneva was like something out of Euphoria or Riverdale—windows down, music blasting, everyone pretending their lives were perfect. I watched the trees blur by and reminded myself: I wasn’t here for fun. I was here to end this on my terms.

When we set out, Brooke looked annoyed:

"Didn’t you say you had something to do?"

She crossed her arms, pouting like a kid denied dessert. I just smiled, letting her stew in it.

"I thought it over. You were right—what could be more important than my boyfriend?"

That made Carter beam like he’d just won the lottery. The others teased us, except for Dylan. He hung back, tall and silent, not joining in the show.

Dylan kept his distance, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes on the lake. He didn’t laugh at the jokes or jump into the gossip. I wondered what was going on behind those eyes.

The group rented a lakeside mansion. They started drinking and playing games.

The house was massive. Vaulted ceilings. A fireplace big enough to roast a pig. Windows everywhere, all looking out over the lake. The place smelled like old money and expensive aftershave. I kept my coat on, feeling like I’d wandered into someone else’s movie.

At first, Carter played the doting boyfriend, acting like he cared. But once he got excited, he dropped the act.

He brought me drinks, draped his arm over my shoulders, whispered inside jokes in my ear. But as soon as the party really started, he was gone—lost in a sea of laughter and backslaps.

He drew a dare: kiss someone of the opposite sex through a napkin. He didn’t even hesitate—he picked Brooke.

Brooke glanced at me, all innocent. "It’s just a game, Maya. You don’t mind, right?"

Her eyes sparkled with something that definitely wasn’t innocence. She wanted me to make a scene, to ruin the mood. I just smiled, refusing to play her game.

Carter added, "Relax, if there was something between us, you wouldn’t even matter."

He tried to sound reassuring, but it was a slap in the face. I kept my expression blank, refusing to let him see me flinch.

I smiled, "You guys go ahead."

The napkin was so thin it was basically useless. Their lips pressed together through it anyway.

I watched, face unreadable, as their silhouettes blurred behind the flimsy napkin. Someone snapped a photo. The room erupted in laughter.

In the dim light, Dylan turned to look at me. He didn’t say a word.

His gaze lingered, steady and impossible to read. I met his eyes for a second, then looked away, my heart pounding in my chest.

Soon it was my turn. My dare: send a photo you’d never want made public to a guy here and have him describe it out loud.

The room whooped and hollered, hungry for drama. I pretended to hesitate, then let my eyes drift to Dylan.

Carter immediately whipped out his phone, but I scanned the room and pointed at Dylan.

"I’ll send it to him."

A hush fell over the room. Even the music seemed to pause. All eyes were on me.

"Who are you sending it to?"

"Dylan."

"Maya, are you drunk? I’m your boyfriend!"