Rolling Dice (11 page)

“Don’t I always look happy to see you?”

He laughs and shrugs. “I knew you’d fall for my charm eventually.”

“Sure. I’m practically swooning all over you.”

“Honey, you can swoon over me any time you want,” he says in a low, slow, suggestive voice, waggling his eyebrows. I don’t know how he manages to joke around and keep such a straight face. I burst out laughing (being careful not to snort), but feel my cheeks have grown slightly flushed.

“Not drinking?”

I shake my head.

Ricky arches an eyebrow, but smiles. “I’m sure Tiff won’t complain—one less person likely to upchuck.”

And that’s when someone smacks my butt, hard.

I stand there for a moment, unable to react.

Then, when it registers that, yes, someone
did
actually smack my butt, my mouth falls open and I whirl around. I don’t know what I’m going to say, but I’m sure as heck going to say
something
to them, and it’s not going to be anything nice.

But whatever sharp retort I was about to blurt dies on my tongue before I say it, and I freeze.

Tiffany cracks up, giggling hysterically, and relief floods through me, deflating my chest and making me laugh too.

“You should’ve seen your face!” she giggles. She dabs a finger at the corner of her eye, wiping away any smudges of mascara or eyeliner. “Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry, but that was funny.”

I don’t say anything at first, because we’re both still laughing.

Then she jumps in, asking, “Where’ve you been all night? I haven’t seen you! Don’t you know you’re supposed to greet the host?”

“I tried to find you, I swear.”

“Not very hard.”

“You’re right, I
have
been completely ignoring you all night, actually. Totally avoiding you.”

She laughs again, and then puts a hand on her hip. “Nice dress. And you didn’t want to wear it why?”

I shrug, smiling. “Thanks.”

“Seen Bryce yet?” She waggles her perfectly sculpted eyebrows at me teasingly, and I shake my head, feeling a little embarrassed. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it all planned.”

She drags me off, linking her arm tightly through mine. I trail after her, doing my best not to fall over.

We go into Tiffany’s room, where a few people are sitting around. There’s Ricky and Kyle, and Owen from my Algebra II class. Melissa’s there too, and a couple of girls Tiffany introduced me to earlier, Nicole and Ann. There’s another guy slumped next to the bed. I think his name’s Jay, but it could be John. And there, giving me his hundred-watt smile, is
Bryce.

“Awesome—this’ll do!” Tiffany exclaims excitedly. “Great!” She takes a swig from a bottle of wine, draining the last of it.

“Truth. Or. Dare.”
She enunciates every word like it deserves its own sentence, and we’re all silent for a few moments—no sound except for the distant hubbub of the party and the dulled thump of the music.

“Cool, I’m in!” says Nicole, and drops gracefully down to a spot on the floor near the empty wine bottle.

There are a few more mumbles of “Sure, cool, okay, I’m in,” and then we’re all sitting in the circle, and I find myself next to Bryce. I’m hesitant, not sure whether I really like the idea of truth or dare. I don’t know what kind of dares these people will come up with, but I’m more scared of having a truth.

“No, Madison, you’re sitting with me and Summer!” Tiffany instructs me. I get up again and walk around the circle to a spot that’s almost exactly opposite Bryce, and take my place next to them.

“I’ll start off,” Ann announces, and leans over to spin the bottle.

It lands on Marcus.

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he says.

“If you had to kiss one guy here, who’d it be?”

He sighs slightly, and looks around at the guys for a few moments. Raising a finger, he points at Jay/John. “Let’s go with Jay.”

Noted
.

Marcus spins the bottle. This time it lands on Kyle. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“Hmm,” Marcus says thoughtfully, thinking up a good dare for him, and we all wait patiently. “Hey, Tiffany, mind if Kyle tries on some clothes?”

“Not at all.” A sly smile slips over Tiffany’s face; then she hiccups.

“Wait—
what?
” Kyle’s eyes bulge.

“I dare you,” Marcus says slowly, as though he’s savoring the words, “to wear some of Tiffany’s clothes. There will be photographic evidence taken.”

We all start to laugh—either at the horrified look on Kyle’s face or the thought of him dressed up in girl’s clothes.

But he doesn’t back down. He goes into Tiffany’s walk-in closet with an old miniskirt
and woolen sweater she finds him, and dresses up. Ann leaps up, crying, “Wait! You need lipstick!”

My sides ache from laughing: Kyle looks arrogant; he’s tall and lean, with short spiky hair and a soccer player’s build—and he’s wearing a denim miniskirt.

When Summer gets out her phone to take a photo of it, Kyle strikes a pose, his hand on his hip, and pouts at the camera, a caricature of a model. It’s hilarious.

“Now get out of my clothes,” Tiffany demands, once Summer’s taken the photos.

The game carries on. A couple of people pick truths, which surprises me—I’d have thought all the guys would go for dares. There’s nothing too bad, though. Owen is dared to kiss Ann; we find out that Summer’s celebrity girl-crush is Megan Fox; and that of all the girls at the party, Ricky would make out with Tiffany.

I’ve been lucky so far: the bottle hasn’t landed on me.

“My turn,” Tiffany announces loudly, and leans forward to spin the bottle. As she straightens again, she nudges my side. It’s so slight, I’m not sure if it’s an accident, so I look at her. She catches my eye and winks.

Slowly I turn my gaze back to the wine bottle, which spins slower, and slower … and slower … and stops.

And it’s pointing at me.

I don’t know how she managed it, but she’s done it deliberately.

“Ooh, Madison!” she trills. She doesn’t even ask me whether I pick truth or dare. I mean, I’d have picked dare anyway, but she steamrollers ahead. “Um, let’s see … Oh, I know! Madison, you have got to … ready for this? You have to spend seven minutes in heaven … with Bryce.”

I stare at her for a moment that stretches out so long and silent it feels like an eternity. I don’t know what to feel—annoyed, surprised, or happy. Actually, all three. But mostly annoyed at Tiffany for putting me under pressure like this.

Then again … even if her plan is going to work, there’s the indisputable fact that I have to kiss him. I have to kiss a guy. I’ve never kissed a guy before. This isn’t how I imagined my first kiss. What if I’m a terrible kisser?

She interrupts my thoughts, saying, “Well, go on—what’re you waiting for?” and gives me a shove, prompting me to get to my feet. I do, but it’s a hesitant and awkward movement, and I’m unsteady. A hand catches my elbow—Bryce’s hand, of course. He smiles at me easily, like this is no big deal.

No big deal?
I want to yell at him.
I’m freaking out over here!

I gulp, and then Ricky says, slurring only a little, “Hang on—if you’re gonna do this dare, you’re gonna do it right. Tiffany, do you happen to have one single closet in this house which is not a walk-in one?”

She laughs. “Come with me.” She gets to her feet, sways a little, hiccups, and then drags Bryce after her. He takes hold of my wrist to pull me along too. I look over my shoulder. Melissa winks at me, and Summer gives an excited little smile, looking like she wants to squeal.

Tiffany pauses partway down the hall, and throws open a white door. It’s dark inside, but I can see stacks of towels, and pipes running behind the shelves.

“In you go!” she cries, pushing us into the closet. The door shuts behind us, and we hear the key turning on the other side; my heart beats nauseatingly fast. I feel just like I did at the start of the party, when I hid out in the bathroom—scared and nervous, with sweaty palms and a racing pulse roaring in my ears—though the butterflies in my stomach are different.

This definitely isn’t how I imagined my first kiss.
But it could be a lot worse
, I tell myself.

“Isn’t there a light switch anywhere?” I ask. My eyes haven’t quite adjusted to the darkness yet, and the only light is the thin band spilling in through the crack under the door.

“No idea,” Bryce says. His voice is closer than I expected, and his breath tickles my face a little. His fingers are still closed around my wrist, and as I remember they’re there, my hand twitches involuntarily. Instead of letting go, Bryce just loosens his grip so his fingers brush against mine.

“What, you’re not even going to try and look for one?”

“I wasn’t planning on it, no.”

I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see me doing it. “I don’t suppose there’s a way to unlock this door from the inside, either, huh? I don’t—”

“Madison,” Bryce says, talking over me a little. His voice is hushed, though, and I feel him moving toward me. I don’t know why I do it, but as he steps closer, I step back—not that I can go very far. The closet is so small, my back immediately hits the shelves.

My eyes are still adjusting, but I can make out Bryce looking at me. He’s standing right up close to me now.

“If we’re going to be in here for the next seven minutes,” he says, his voice still quiet, “I’ll just do what I’ve been waiting to do all night.”

And then he kisses me.

It’s a cheesy line, and I roll my eyes at it—but it almost makes me blush, and I
wonder if it’s true, if he actually
has
been waiting all night to kiss me.

It’s kind of a weird feeling, being kissed. But a good kind of weird. I don’t know what I’m doing at all, but I just follow Bryce’s lead and press my lips back against his. He puts one hand on my waist and the other twines our fingers together.

His lips are soft and warm against mine, and the kiss is kind of tentative at first. But once I start to kiss him back, he kisses me harder, and his hand slides around to the small of my back, so he can pull me closer.

At first my arms just hang there, because I don’t know what to do with them. When I’m kissing him back, though, I forget all about how awkward and inexperienced I am, and my arms snake up around his neck, my hands resting on his broad shoulders.

I’m the one to pull away first.

“Don’t tell me kissing is too mainstream for you,” he says teasingly.

I laugh. “No.”

“Good,” he replies, and then he’s kissing me again.

We decide, once we’re all up the next morning, to go shopping for a while, and have some lunch. Melissa’s still complaining of a hangover that Advil hasn’t cured, but she still looks better than me; I have huge bags under my eyes from a sleepless night.

I couldn’t stop thinking about my kiss with Bryce. Once the party was over I’d spent ages with the girls analyzing the entire seven minutes with him, and we’d come to the conclusion that he definitely liked me. Or, at least,
they’d
drawn that conclusion—I’m still not totally convinced. And then I was annoyed with myself: maybe he didn’t want to date me—I didn’t turn into one of those girls who kissed random guys at parties. That was not who I wanted to be.

We’re in some pretty pricey Italian restaurant at the mall when my cell phone trills with what I’m slowly coming to recognize as my text message tone. “Oh!” I exclaim when I suddenly remember that, oh yeah, that annoying chirping noise is my cell. I apologize, thinking I must seem rude answering it when we’re out at lunch. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry ’bout it,” Melissa says.

Wiggling my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans, I tap the screen to bring it to life again.

One new message: Bryce Higgins
, it reads.

I actually drop my phone, I’m so shocked that he’s texted me. I mean, I hoped he would, and the girls said he would, but … I guess I just didn’t expect him to. My cell makes a clatter as it tumbles to the floor. I hope it’s not damaged—and I really, really hope I’m imagining everyone looking at me. It wouldn’t surprise me if they’re shaking their heads at me, the foolish klutz on table nine.

Hoping for the best but expecting the worst doesn’t seem like the best way to live, but it’s worked for me so far.

My cell phone has fallen underneath the table, and I reach for it. When I come back up, I whack my head on the table. Of course I do. “Ouch!”

If I wasn’t making a scene before, I sure as heck am now. Wonderful.

“Shoot,” I mumble to myself, rubbing my temple as I sit back up. I smooth my hair out.

“You okay?” Tiffany asks, biting back a laugh.

“Mm.” I turn my cell phone over, inspecting it. It doesn’t look scratched or broken. That’s good. Then I bring the screen back to life again. I let out a sigh of relief when I see I haven’t just killed it.

It’s still there on the screen:
One new message: Bryce Higgins
. Like it’s teasing me or something. My breath catches in my throat as I open the message.

“Who is it?” Summer asks me.

I don’t answer at first. I can’t. I can see the message Bryce has sent me, but I can’t seem to read it. I see the words, but they’re not making any sense to me. I shake my head to clear it.

“Madison, who is it? Is it Bryce?” Tiffany prompts.

I nod. “It’s Bryce, yeah.”

I tune out their excited babbling and try to focus on the screen. Eventually the words make sense:

Hey there, Mainstream. How was your night? XXXX

“Um, does it mean anything if he put kisses at the end of his text?” I ask, feeling totally stupid, looking up at the girls helplessly.

“How many?” Melissa asks.

“Four.”

“What did he say?” Summer demands, grinning.

I read out the text and add, “You know, ’cause he calls me Mainstream sometimes?” The girls nod. “What do I say?”

“Pass it here,” Tiffany tells me. Which just makes me clutch my cell phone a little tighter in my sweating palms. She sighs when she sees I don’t want to give it up. “Ask how his night was and put a wink face.” She demonstrates the wink face as she says it.