“Well?” he called out, his voice carrying across the water. “Is it a dare if you don’t go in?”
Inside, it smelled of old wood and damp concrete. He shucked off his t-shirt and trunks. The bikini was absurdly small. He fumbled with the ties, his fingers clumsy. The bottoms were a brief so minimal it felt like a suggestion. The top was two tiny triangles and a series of knots he had to figure out by feel. When he was done, he looked in the cracked mirror. bikini dare
He took a breath. The worst they could do was laugh. And they were already going to do that anyway. “Well
She was standing in the shallows, water lapping at her shins. Her carefully constructed cool had shattered. Her eyes were wide, not with the mockery he expected, but with a raw, naked wonder. She looked at him—not at the suit, but at him —as if she was seeing him for the very first time. The bikini was absurdly small
The Neon Nemesis was a bikini that lived in local legend. A shockingly bright, electric lime green triangle held together by dental-floss-thin strings. No one had actually worn it. It had been passed from trunk to trunk for three summers, a symbol of ultimate, unhinged bravery.
“And?” he said, his heart hammering against his ribs. “A dare’s a dare. You said ‘wear the Neon Nemesis.’ You didn’t specify who.”