The Text Dare: A First Love Novella (First Love Shorts Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Copyright © 2017 Amy Sparling

  All rights reserved.

  First Edition September 2017

  Cover design by Amy Sparling

  Cover image from BigStockPhoto

  Typography from CreativeFabrica

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems -except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews-without permission in writing from the author at [email protected].

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Chapter 1

  My parents are giving me the exact same look. The eyebrows raised, lips pursed, I’m serious look. It’s a phenomenon, really, how Dad, a crazy tall, tan-skinned man with a shaved head, and Mom, a short, red-haired and paled skinned woman, can make the exact same expression.

  I’m talking exactly the same.

  “I promise,” I say, because I know it’s what they want to hear. “I will stay inside this house all weekend and I will watch Jensen and I won’t let anything bad happen to us.”

  “I’m serious,” Mom says for the millionth time. “Times have changed. These days you can’t just go wandering around by yourself. Bad things happen. Bad people are everywhere.” She glances at my dad, who nods along in agreement. With how in sync they are at being overprotective parents, you’d think they didn’t need marriage counseling at all.

  Dad looks at me and says, “Honey, we need to dedicate one hundred percent of ourselves to this marriage retreat. That means we can’t be worried about you or your little brother. I know we sound like we’re being over cautious, but it’s very important.”

  “I understand,” I say. I hold up my hand like I’m swearing on the Bible in front of a judge or something. “I will take very good care of Jensen while you’re gone, and we won’t go anywhere, and we won’t be kidnapped, and I won’t burn the house down, and any other terrible thing you might think of, I won’t let it happen.”

  Dad smiles. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

  “I love you, Jess,” Mom says, standing from her chair and pulling me into a hug. “We’re so proud of you.”

  It takes everything I have not to roll my eyes. This is my life. Mom and Dad were high school sweethearts who married the second they turned eighteen, and then they promptly had me. Thirteen years later, they had my little brother, Jensen, and now they think they need marriage counseling to keep the spark alive, even though I’ve never seen them fight. So although my parents seem totally normal, I guess they want to make sure they stay normal. That means they get to go on a fun marriage retreat at the beach, and I’m stuck babysitting my brother for forty-eight hours while adhering to a huge list of safety rules to make sure we don’t die.

  When they’re done lecturing me on how very important it is to be safe while we’re home alone, they turn to my brother. He’s sitting on the floor in the living room, a pile of Legos all around him as he scrunches up his face and tries to think of what to build next.

  “Jensen,” Mom says, using her sweet voice. “While we’re gone, Jess is in charge. That means she is the boss. Do you understand?”

  “Yes ma’am,” Jensen says. He actually does roll his eyes. Guess he hasn’t developed enough self-control like I have.

  “Good,” she says, ignoring the eye roll. “You be a good boy and you don’t throw a fit when she tells you it’s time for bed. Okay?”

  “Okay,” he says, but he’s not even paying attention anymore. He grabs a handful of square Legos and starts snapping them together.

  Mom sighs, then forces a smile. “This will be okay, right Jess?”

  “Yes, Mom.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “You and Dad go do your thing and we’ll be fine. I’m sixteen. I’ve got this.”

  Mom smiles and then glances at Dad. “I know you do. We are so lucky to have such great kids.”

  Geez, my parents are weird.

  My best friend, Abigail, texts me a few minutes later, asking if I want to join her in taking her dog for a walk.

  YASSS I write back, then I rush to get dressed. This will be the last time I can leave the house for the next two days, so I need to make it count.

  The dog park is basically an empty field of grass with a gravel trail wandering around it. A few years ago, someone dropped park benches here and there, but for the most part, the park is ugly as hell. But it does its job, I guess, because Abigail’s Golden Retriever loves it.

  We take turns holding the dog’s leash as we walk around the trail. “This is going to be so unbelievably boring,” I say. “An entire weekend stuck at home with Jensen.”

  “At least it’s only two days,” Abigail says, giving me this pitying expression. “But it sucks that you’re going to miss Chase’s party. I hear his older brother is going to be there with all his college friends.”

  She makes goo-goo eyes at me and I laugh. “Good luck with that.”

  “I’ll Snap you the whole night,” She promises. “It’ll be like you’re there with me.”

  “Only I’ll be stuck at home, wearing pajamas instead of a cute outfit, drinking soda instead of whatever cheap liquor Chase can get, and flirting with absolutely zero guys.”

  She frowns. “I’m sorry, Jess. But it’s almost summer. There will be more parties.”

  “I suppose,” I say, even though I know she’s right.

  A gust of wind sends a ripped piece of paper skittering across the gravel pathway. “Ugh,” I groan, bending down to pick it up. “Why do people have to litter all the time? How freaking hard is it to throw away your trash?”

  “Ew, it looks like math homework,” Abigail says, taking the piece of paper. It’s been ripped in half, but sure enough, there are algebra equations on one side of it. She scrunches up her nose, because math is the worst subject ever, then turns it over.

  “What do we have here…” she says curiously.

  I look at the paper. The name Max is written in black pen, followed by the word party, and a phone number.

  “Who is this Max that’s throwing parties?” Abigail says. “I wonder if he’s cute.”

  “Oh my God, you are ridiculous,” I say with a laugh. “The most boy-crazy person ever.”

  “No, I just keep my opportunities open,” she says, grinning. She shoves the paper in my hands. “You should text him.”

  “What? No. I don’t even know him.”

  She shrugs. “So? You have nothing to lose.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m not texting some random number.”

  “I dare you,” she says, giving me a sneaky grin. “I dare you to text him and say: Hey Max, what’s up?”

  I snort. “That’s stupid.”

  She shifts her dog’s leash to her other hand. “I know, but it’ll be fun.”

  “Fine,” I say, rolling my eyes. I take out my phone and type in the number, not because I care, but because I want to prove to Abigail that I’m not a total loser all the time.

  I type: Hi Max, what’s up?

  We both watch my phone screen
as we continue to walk around the park. A few minutes go by, and nothing happens.

  I shove the phone in my pocket. “Well, that was a waste of time.”

  Chapter 2

  In the morning, my parents wake me up at five freaking o’clock to tell me they’re leaving. The beach is only a two hour drive from where we live, but they want to get there early to start whatever it is they’ll be doing to work on their marriage. After they leave, I can’t seem to go back to sleep even though it’s so early. I give up trying, and head into the living room, where I turn on the TV and try to find something to watch.

  An hour later, Jensen shuffles into the room, wearing his Superman pajamas. His hair is all ruffled and sticking up every which way, and he’s wearing one red sock. I don’t know what happened to the other one.

  “Good morning,” he says, yawning as he hops onto the couch to sit next to me. “Are you awake early because you’re scared that Mommy and Daddy are gone?”

  “No,” I say, ruffling his hair.

  “You’re not scared when they leave?” he asks, his eyes wide like he doesn’t believe me.

  “We have nothing to worry about,” I say. “I’m practically a grown up, you know.”

  He nods, and then yawns again. “Can we watch cartoons?”

  “Sure,” I say, handing him the remote. There’s nothing good on TV this early in the morning anyway. I wish I could have slept late, making the time pass as fast as possible, but with my babysitting duties, that’d never work. My brother always wakes up early. Instead, I make us breakfast, and after about five ruined pancakes, I make a few of them that are actually edible.

  It’s around ten in the morning when my phone beeps, which is weird because none of my friends wake up this early on a Saturday.

  I get my phone from my bedroom and check the text. It’s from that weird number I texted yesterday.

  Hi there.

  I stare at it, my heart beating faster. I didn’t expect him to reply, and if he did, I assumed he’d ask who I was. I mean, isn’t that what most people do when a strange number texts them?

  I should just ignore it, but I’m crazy bored and Jensen is happily watching cartons, which are even more boring to me. So I text back.

  How is your Saturday morning going so far?

  He replies a few seconds later. It’s good. I just finished writing an essay for school so now I’m freeeeee all weekend.

  I can’t help myself when I type: what kind of person does homework this early on a Saturday morning?

  He replies: a cool person, that’s who.

  I laugh out loud. Then, I don’t know what comes over me, but I decide to save his number into my phone with the name Max so that I don’t have to keep looking at a random set of numbers in my text log.

  Me: I’m the kind of person who puts off homework until the very last minute.

  Max: That’s no fun.

  Me: Yeah, but is homework ever fun?

  Max: You have a point. But I like to do it as soon as possible – rip it off like a bandaid. Then you’re free to live your life.

  Me: My life is fairly boring, so I don’t think I’m missing much.

  Max: Maybe if you weren’t so pessimistic, your life wouldn’t be so boring.

  Me: Look at you, Max the philosopher.

  He doesn’t respond right away, so I look over at my brother, who is laying on the couch, glued to the television. Then, a minute later, I get another text.

  Max: You know what isn’t fair?

  Me: lots of things?

  Max: true, but I was talking about one particular thing.

  Me: What’s that?

  Max: You know my name and I don’t know yours.

  Me: Ah… I was wondering how long you’d talk to a random person before you started asking questions

  Max: Random? You mean we don’t know each other?

  I grin as I stare at my phone.

  Me: I’m pretty sure we don’t.

  Max: But you have my number…and you know my name…

  Me: Yep.

  Max: How?

  Me: I’m magic.

  Max: If you were magic, I don’t think you’d have to do your homework. You could just make the answers appear on the page, yeah?

  Me: lol… I guess you’re right. Well, if you really want to know the truth…

  Max: I do…

  Me: …. Welllll…. It’s a weird story.

  Max: Did Jason do this?

  Me: Who’s Jason?

  Max: My friend who is always trying to hook me up with girls he meets.

  Me: So this isn’t the first time a random girl has messaged you?

  Max: You’re a girl? Sweet.

  Me: I guess I walked right into that one, huh?

  Max: Yep. What’s your name? Or should I ask Jason?

  Me: I don’t know Jason.

  Max: Okay, this just got interesting.

  Me: lol. So here’s the thing…

  I send the text and then I bite my lip, wondering if I should tell him the truth. The truth makes me sound like a weirdo. Maybe I should have lied and said one of his friends gave me his number. But that’s also stupid because it’s not like I know this guy. He could be ten years old. Or thirty and in college. Or who knows.

  The only thing I do know is that I’m grinning like an idiot and I don’t even understand why.

  Me: So I was walking in the dog park and I found a piece of paper with your number on it.

  He doesn’t always reply right away. Sometimes it takes him a few minutes, and I wonder if he’s busy or if he’s trying to play it cool like every other guy I know. Regardless, I sit here watching cartoons with my brother while I wait for his new text to pop up on my phone.

  Max: Did it also have the word party on it?

  Me: Yep.

  Max: Ah ha… well that explains some things.

  Me: Like what?

  Max: Like why my mom’s friend never called me about the party we were going to throw for her 40th birthday. I gave her my number and then I never heard from her again.

  Me: Oh no.. did your mom still get a party?

  Max: Yeah, but that one lady wasn’t there. I ran into her at school and she said she could make the cake and stuff. But then I thought she was being a bitch and ditching me.

  Me: Nope, she probably just lost it.

  Max: So I have a question for you

  Me: And what is that?

  Max: Do you always go around texting random numbers?

  Jenson calls my name for the third time. “What?” I say, lowering my phone.

  “I’m hungry,” he whines.

  “We just ate pancakes!”

  He shakes his head. “So? I’m hungry.”

  I check the time. Then I check it again. Holy crap. I’ve been texting with Max for two hours and now it’s well past noon.

  “I’ll make you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” I tell my brother, who brightens at the idea.

  “Yay!” he yells as he runs into the kitchen.

  I read Max’s last text again, and then I bite my lip and send him a reply.

  Me: This would be the first time.

  He replies back instantly.

  Max: Guess I’m lucky :)

  Chapter 3

  Max and I talk for the rest of the day. It’s a little annoying because he doesn’t always text right back. Sometimes we’ll go back and forth instantly and then he’ll just disappear for thirty minutes. But he always replies back eventually.

  We talk about silly things, nothing personal. But it’s fun, and it’s distracting me from being stuck at home all weekend.

  While Jensen and I are eating pizza for dinner, Abigail calls me. I almost don’t answer the call because I don’t want to stop texting Max.

  “Hey,” I say, getting up and throwing away my pizza crusts. “What’s up?”

  “I’m having a crisis of outfits,” she says, sounding truly distressed.

  “What exactly does that mean?” I ask.

  �
�Should I wear the black jeans with holes in the knees, or shorts, to the party tonight?”

  I laugh. Typical Abigail, worried about what to wear when she’s so pretty it doesn’t matter if she shows up in a garbage bag. In fact, an ugly outfit might even make her look prettier by comparison.

  “You should check the weather and see if it’ll be warm tonight. If so, wear the shorts. If not, jeans.”

  “You’re so practical and I love you,” she says. “But, ugh, I wish you could come.”

  “Me too,” I say, glancing at my brother. He’s finished eating and has gone back to playing with his Legos in the living room. I talk quietly so he doesn’t overhear, even though he’s probably not even paying attention to me. Still, I don’t want my five year old brother to hear me talking about boys.

  “So guess what? You know that number you made me text last night?”

  “Did he reply?” she says, her voice all excited and full of energy.

  “Yeah. And we’ve kind of been talking all day.”

  “What!” she squeals. “Is he hot? I bet he’s hot!”

  “I have no idea what he looks like.”

  “Jess! What is wrong with you? You’ve been talking all day and you haven’t exchanged pictures?”

  “No,” I say defensively. “That would be weird.”

  “What’s weirder is talking to a guy who could be butt-ugly.”

  I laugh. “It’s not like I’m going to meet him. But he is cool. He’s funny and he’s helping me pass the time of being stuck at home.”

  I can hear what sounds like typing on Abigail’s end of the phone. “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Nothing…” she says in a sing song voice. A few moments later she says, “Oh…my…God…”

  “What?” I press the phone to my ear as if that’ll make her talk faster.

  “I found him. Max Bradford.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I practically yell into the phone. “What are you talking about?”