Truth or Dare Short Story

If given the choice, Pamela would have definitely chosen truth. Because then, instead of daring her to steal, Sarah would have simply tucked her long, straight black hair neatly behind her ear, and asked Pamela: “Have you ever stolen anything from a store?” And then the other girls would have leaned forward and stared at Pamela, waiting and wondering if the shy, new girl from somewhere back east had the guts to do something so brazen.


And, of course, Pamela would have said she had never, ever stolen anything. Because that was the honest truth. And Pamela was honest. Until today.


In this middle-school game of initiation and membership, she had no choice but to accept the dare. Because the reward at the end would be worth it. Really.


Up until now, she had been a good kid with good morals, loving parents, and all the ingredients for a recipe of wholesomeness: church on Sunday, prayers at dinnertime, Girl Scout summer camp in the shade of the Wachusett Mountains. But that was before they moved from the eastern seaboard to the scorching southwestern deserts, far away from family, friends and all things familiar.


Against her better judgment, Pamela accepted dare. And now, as she stared at the drug store across the street, she wondered why. Perhaps it was to prove to them that she was cool despite her peculiar accent and strange vocabulary; words like dungarees, pocketbook and wicked. Perhaps it was to finally fit into this foreign land of stucco houses, blazing sunshine, piercing blue skies and anonymous neighborhoods.


But the reasons really didn’t matter now. The dare was on, everyone was watching, and failing would be far worse than life imprisonment. It would mean forever sitting alone at the lunch table of the friendless and rejected. Being a social outcast was the worst thing possible for a seventh grade girl. Even worse than moving away from the only home she had ever known and loved.


The group’s leader was thirteen-year old Sarah McKenzie. Sarah was oldest, stood taller than the other girls, and walked with the airs of a French model. Pamela quietly dubbed Sarah “Queen Bee” after observing the other girls buzz around her like little worker bees, trying to please Her Highness’ fickle temperament, desperate for her attention and approval. It was the Queen who had dared Pamela. And like the other workers, Pamela was unashamedly anxious to comply.


Pamela tentatively followed behind the group, led by Sarah, as they crossed the street and walked toward Penny’s Drugstore. Passersby smiled at the girls as if remembering their own carefree Saturday afternoons of youth - window shopping while nibbling on melting pistachio ice cream. But a sinister plan was on this group’s agenda. Today, the newbie was about to earn her membership in the hive, and the bees buzzed excitedly at the initiation about to commence.


Pamela fidgeted uncomfortably in her older brother’s sweatshirt, the one Sarah insisted she wear; its loose sleeves and kangaroo pouch perfect for hiding loot.


Sarah grasped the drugstore door handle and pulled it open. A worn metal bell clanged against the glass, announcing their presence. Pamela winced.


A cashier glanced up from her duties. It was Mrs. Anderson, the gray-haired gossip from church.


“Hello, Pammie!” she called as she peered suspiciously from behind the tortoise-shell glasses perched on the end of her nose.


Pamela suddenly felt light-headed and nauseated. The woman had recognized her. Would she tell her mother? A nightmare-scenario played out in Pamela’s head.


That’s right, Maggie-dear. I saw your daughter at Penny’s the other day. She was with that mean Sarah girl and her groupies. I knew they were up to no good. I just knew it.


“Come on,” Sarah ordered. “This way.”


The girls dutifully followed the Queen as she navigated her way through rows of Hallmark birthday cards, chocolate candy bars and fashion magazines. They walked among cardboard displays of pouty-lipped fashion models and shelves of foundation, eye shadow and lipstick. With graceful fingers, Sarah selected a small, clear plastic pot filled with a rosy-tinted lip gloss. She opened the cover and smelled the fragrance.


“Mmmmm. Wild Strawberry. Yummy,” she purred, offering it to the group. “Isn’t it yummy?”


The girls fluttered closely together, taking turns inhaling the nectar’s sweet aroma.


“Yummy,” they buzzed.


Sarah held out the lip gloss to Pamela, her eyes narrowing. “Pamela, what do you think?” Pamela trembled as she leaned forward and sniffed.


“Yummy,” Pamela agreed softly.


“Good,” Sarah said. “Then take it.” She replaced the pot’s cover and placed the lip gloss in Pamela’s hand.


Pamela swallowed hard. “How?” she mouthed dryly.


Sarah rolled her eyes.


“It’s easy. Watch and learn.”


Sarah held the pot of lip gloss in her hand and slowly rolled it between her fingers, then into her palm, and worked it up underneath the cuff of her sleeve. She opened her empty palm.


“Ta-da!” she said, smiling like a magician. “Easy.”


Sarah reached for another pot of Wild Strawberry lip gloss.


“Now,” she said. “You do it.”


“She won’t,” said one of the girls. “She’s chicken.”


Pamela scraped her thumbnail along the edge of the pot. It was such a tiny, inconsequential thing, really. Just one tiny pot was a small price to pay for a whole group of friends.


“She’s not going to do it,” one girl sneered.


“Let’s go,” stung another. “I told you so.”


Pamela watched in desperation as the group retreated.


“Wait…” she cried out. She took a deep breath and began rolling the pot of lip gloss in her trembling hand, just as Sarah had done. The pot was almost under the cuff of her long sleeved shirt when a voice startled her.


“May I help you?” Mrs. Anderson stood in front of the girls, her hands resting on her hips.


Sarah spoke first, her voice as sweet as honey. “Yes, actually, we want to buy some lip gloss, but there’s no more Cotton Candy.”


Mrs. Anderson looked suspiciously at each of the girls and then rested her eyes on Pamela.


“You’re Maggie’s daughter, aren’t you?”


Pamela swallowed, fingering the pot of lip gloss concealed in her sweaty palm. “Yes, ma’am. How are you, Mrs. Anderson?”


“Are these girls your friends?”


“Yes.”


“Does your mother know you’re here? With them?”


“Yes, she does. We’re buying lip gloss. For my sister. But you’re all out of Cotton Candy.”


Mrs. Anderson’s eyes narrowed. “Sorry.” She scrutinized the girls once more. “Well, if you need anything else, let me know.”


“Thank you, Mrs. Anderson,” Pamela said. “We will.”


Pamela’s heart pounded as she watched Mrs. Anderson return to the front of the store.


“Smooth,” Sarah whispered. “Very smooth.”


Sarah quickly snatched two pots of lip gloss from the display, and before Pamela could blink, tucked them neatly up her sleeve. Each of the girls hastily followed Sarah’s lead, grabbing their own pots, tucking them into their sleeves with the finesse of their leader.


“Come on, girls,” Sarah said. “Let’s go.” She turned to Pamela.


“Well?” she said. “Coming?”


Pamela watched the girls dutifully follow their Queen as she navigated her way through the store and out the front door.


Pamela stood in front of the lip gloss display, her heartbeat crushing her chest, the pot of lip gloss digging into the flesh of her palm. With the group of girls gone, the ache of loneliness suddenly suffocated her and, with quiet resolve, she lifted the lip gloss under the cuff of her sleeve.


There.


Done.


It’s over now.


And there’s no turning back.


Pamela made her way through the aisles to the front of the drug store where she saw Mrs. Anderson standing at the door. The pot of lip gloss cut into the skin on Pamela’s forearm. The presence of it in her sleeve sickened her stomach. She resisted the urge to drop it onto the carpet and kick it far under the displays of chewing gum and flashlights.


This was wrong. Terribly wrong. It was against everything she had been taught and believed. But what would Sarah say if she emerged from the store empty-handed?


“Pamela, are you alright?” Mrs. Anderson asked.


“I’m fine,” Pamela said weakly.


Mrs. Anderson frowned. “Those girls outside…they’re not very nice.”


“Really? They seem okay to me.”


“Does your mother know you are associating with them?”


“Sure.”


“And she’s okay with that?”


“Yeah. Sure.” Pamela shrugged.


Mrs. Anderson sighed. “Just be careful. Okay?”


“Yeah. Okay.”


Pamela trembled as she walked through the front door and joined the girls who were waiting around the corner.


“What took you so long?” one girl asked.


“Yeah, we thought you got busted.”


“Busted for what?” another sneered. “She didn’t take anything.”


“Well?” Sarah demanded.


Pamela pulled the pot of lip gloss from her sleeve and held it in the open palm of her hand.


“Good girl,” Sarah smiled. She hooked arms with Pamela. “I think we should get some ice cream to celebrate.”


Pamela blinked away tears.


“We’ll be best friends,” Sarah said.


Together the two girls walked down the street as the others fluttered behind them.

March 3, 2010

"Excuses" poem and "Truth or Dare" short story take first place in staff category of district writing contest.  Yippee!

http://www2.mpsaz.org/bskills/secondary/write_sec/voices/files/10_voices_results_list.pdf