Peer Pressure

“Jenny, where are you taking us?”

I’m not hiding the irritation in my voice anymore. I’ve been following Jenny through tent cities and dark alleys for blocks. Eventually, we’re going to stumble across the wrong person and she’s going to get us mugged with her shiny rings and flashy purse.

Jenny glances over her shoulder, rolls her eyes. “Relax. We’re here.”

I scan the length of the building, covered in graffiti and boarded windows.

“Jenny.” I want to kick myself for letting my voice shake.

She arches her eyebrow. “Just a concert, babe. Don’t back out on me now.”

I swallow hard, hand my license over to the giant of a man blocking the door. His expression is emotionless as he passes the ID back.

Jenny loops her arm through mine as we start down a dark hallway full of damp air and cigarette smoke.

“Place is super underground,” she says. “Took me months to get our names on the list.”

We stop in front of a foldout table and another man with the same stone-cold expression as the guy outside slides a stack of papers over.

“What’s this for?”

Jenny pushes a pen into my hand. “Just sign it. Stop being lame.”

I scan the first few lines, typical liability verbiage, and sign my name at the bottom of the page.

Jenny pulls me toward the double doors where scratchy guitar and pounding bass pours into the hall, but the man pushes to his feet and barks, “wrong door.” My heart is slamming against my ribcage as he extends a beefy arm and points toward a cement staircase I would have guessed was for employees only. To our confused expressions, he says, “VIP entrance.”

Jenny waits until we’re halfway down the stairs to let her excitement bubble over. She takes my hands in hers, lets out a little squeal, and lips VIP before she dances down the stairs.

I chuckle. “Did you pay extra for VIP tickets?”

“No.” She’s floating, she’s so giddy. “Maybe the bouncer thought you were sexy.”

My cheeks go hot. “I don’t think—”

“Come on!” She pulls me through a red door at the end of the staircase.

Just an edgy venue.

I repeat it like a mantra and squeeze Jenny’s hand so tight my fingers begin to hurt. For a moment, I believe the calming voice in my head. It does look like an edgy venue.

The busted leather couch in the corner, the wall-length mirrors, two doors to the left, and one in front of us. It all checks out. Until my eyes find the dark spot in the carpet. The spot looks far too similar to a bloodstain.

“Jenny,” I breathe. “Are you sure we’re supposed to be in here?”

She looks at me, her eyebrows pulling together but before she can answer my question, the other door swings open and a man appears in front of us, adjusting the sleeve on his button-up. His lips stretch into a smile too big for his pale face as he takes a step forward.

“You two here to keep me company for the night?” he asks without looking up from his sleeve rolling. His nametag reads ‘George’ and I wonder if Jenny’s noticed the brownish-red thumbprint smeared across it.

I nudge her, motion to the stain on the ground.

She bites her lip, looks at the man. “I think we actually made a wrong turn.” She giggles. “We’ll just get out of your hair.”

I swallow. My heart is racing a million miles an hour. If Jenny’s worried, it must be bad.

She’s standing in front of me, guarding me with her body as she scoots me toward the door.

The man’s green eyes glint a shade darker as he looks at us. “Aren’t you two the VIP guests for the night?” he asks as he takes long strides closer.

Jenny smiles, motions to the door. “No. I think maybe there was a mistake. We’re just going to go see the band now.”

She moves to push the door open but George slams his palm against it, his face inches from hers as he smiles.

“What’s the rush?”

He reaches behind him and for the first time, I notice the handgun tucked in his belt.

“Jenny!”

Her eyes go wide. She pushes the man hard.

He stumbles, crashes into the light panel and everything goes black.

There’s a loud crashing noise. The man grunts.

Jenny’s voice comes through strangled. “Help me,” she shouts but it’s like my feet are weighted to the ground.

My heart is pounding in my ears. I don’t speak, don’t move. I try to swallow but my mouth is dry.

The room goes silent besides the sound of my shaky breaths.

Is this real?

It takes every ounce of courage I have to will myself toward the place I saw Jenny and the man fighting.

“Jenny?” My voice comes out a whimper.

Nothing.

I slide my hand up the scratchy wallpaper, find the light switch, brace myself for whatever the light might reveal. My breath is hitched in my throat as I flip the switch but besides a small splatter of blood on the ground, there’s nothing.

George and Jenny are gone. A table is overturned where the struggle took place but the gun never fired so maybe I still have a chance to save my best friend and get us out of here.

A voice echoes from behind the door in front of me.

I freeze. I could easily slip out the door we came in and never look back. As long as the guys in the front don’t stop me, I could get to safety, call the police and have them come back for Jenny.

My heart’s lodged in my throat, my eyes fixed on the door bound to swing open and reveal George.

I’ve never been the hero. That’s Jenny’s job. Not mine. Every fiber in my body is pulling me toward the exit.

Do something.

Without thinking, I’m barreling through a door to a supply closet, searching for a bat, a walking stick, anything I can use as a weapon.

“Can’t leave Jenny,” I whisper. “Can’t leave Jenny. Gotta be brave.”

I’m on autopilot, digging through drawers, ripping cupboards open, when finally, I find it. A handgun tucked in the back of a desk drawer.

I grab the weapon, feel the cold metal against my sweaty palm. I don’t know a thing about guns. I’m not even sure it’s loaded but the weight of it gives me the push I need to storm back into the room where Jenny was attacked. I swing the gun around. Nothing. I could have sworn I heard George coming back to collect me.

The gun trembles in my hand as I make my way toward the door where the voices are coming from.

I suck in a shaky breath, push the door open.

George is standing over a desk, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he scribbles in a small black notebook.

“Don’t move,” I order and point the gun at him.

His lips pull into a smile. “Or what? You’re gonna shoot me?”

I swallow, glance at Jenny. Her body is draped over the couch. I can’t tell if she’s breathing or not. Between tears and having to make sure George isn’t pulling anything sneaky, I can’t focus on her long enough to see a rise and fall of her chest.

“Is she… Is she alive?” My voice cracks.

George takes a step toward me, chuckles.

“Don’t move!” I grip the gun tighter for emphasis.

“Or what?”

“I’ll shoot you, I swear to God.”

His too-big smile stretches higher on his face as he takes another slow step.

I know what I have to do. I know but I can’t move. Can’t think.

He lunges forward, reaches for the gun.

I can’t help but close my eyes as I pull the trigger.

Nothing

No deafening gunshot. No recoil. No thud of his body hitting the ground and when I open my eyes again, his hand is clamped around the top of the gun and that clown smile is only inches from my face.

My lips part. I’m ready to beg for my life when the door behind George flings open. A man in a suit runs into the room, followed by a cameraman.

My heart hammers against my chest.

George flashes me a pitying smile and releases the gun as the man in the suit approaches me and shoves a microphone in my face.

“How are you feeling right now?”

I don’t answer, only fumble through half words.

“How would you feel if I told you your friend Jenny signed you up for our show Rigged where ordinary people put their friendships to the test by guessing what their closest friends would do in intense situations?”

I open my mouth, nothing comes out.

He doesn’t wait for a response. “Maybe this will help!” His laugh booms through the room as he puts his arm around Jenny.

My eyes narrow at her as she lips sorry.

“Your friend Jenny knows you! She told us you’d make the choice to save her butt instead of hitting the road when you had the chance. Do you know what that means?” He pauses for emphasis. “You just won Twenty. Thousand. Dollars!”