My Life Undecided (22 page)

beds. I grab his arm and yank him down next to me. “Don’t you dare leave me in here.”

He chuckles as he scoots closer to me. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Truth or dare?” Jake launches into the question of the hour.

Seeing that I barely know any of these people, apart from Brian, I take the easy road. “Truth,” I say, prompting a series of disappointed boos.

Brian reaches over and gives my arm a squeeze. “Just ignore them.”

“Okay,” Jake says, rubbing his hands together sinisterly. “Truth.”

“Hey,” Brian warns. “Go easy on her. It’s her first time.”

I turn and give him a grateful look that he acknowledges with a wink.

Jake rol s his eyes, clearly disapproving of his captain’s orders. “Fine. How many guys have you slept with?”

My eyes grow wide. “That’s an easy question?”

Brian laughs. “You probably should have picked dare.”

I slump on the bed and glance around at the nine pairs of inquiring eyes directed right at me. I think about Shayne and al the times she

lectured me about the power of perception. About al the times my experience in the bedroom was al uded to yet never confirmed. This is the way it

was designed. For my personal life to appear shrouded with mystery. Because according to Shayne, mystery is always better than truth. I can hear

her voice in my head now. “Don’t destroy the il usion. Who cares if you lie to these losers?”

But suddenly, I do. I care. I’m tired of lying. Tired of living my life by Shayne’s rules. I’ve spent the last five years trying to fit into her cookie-

cutter mold of popularity. She’s not even my friend anymore and I’m stil listening to her imaginary advice!

And for some reason, I feel like I can trust these people. That I don’t have to lie to them. I don’t have to rely on flattering façades to get their

approval. I mean, here I am sitting in a hotel room with them at eleven o’clock at night with wet hair, sweatpants, and no makeup. As far as I’m

concerned, the façade has already been destroyed. I’ve already been stripped clean.

The room is waiting. Every pair of eyes is on me, including Brian’s, who somehow seems more vested in my response than anyone else. I

take a deep breath and deliver my verdict. “Zero.”

“Zero?” Jake repeats skeptical y. “As in none?”

I confirm with a nod. “As in none.”

Katy echoes the sentiment of disbelief. “Are you tel ing me Brooklyn Pierce, the official co-captain of Queen Kingsley, is a virgin?” It’s

probably the nicest tone she’s ever used to speak to me.

“That’s what I’m tel ing you.”

The room has gone dead silent. I’m honestly surprised. I had no idea my sex life was such a topic of interest for everyone.

“But,” she argues softly, “I thought for sure you’d…At least with Kyle Logue or Mike Paisley, or—”

I shake my head resolutely. “Nope. Never.”

It’s strange how good it feels to say it aloud like that. To shatter the il usion once and for al .

There’s another dead silence and I gaze around the room. Brian looks genuinely confused, Jake looks kind of turned on, and Katy flashes

me a smal , total y unexpected smile, as though she’s final y found something to like about me. I feel extremely uncomfortable under this spotlight so

I clap my hands together in an attempt to break everyone from their stunned trances and exclaim, “Okay! My turn, right? Jake, right back at you.

Truth or dare?”

The focus is instantly shifted, and within minutes everyone is laughing and jeering again as Jake peels off his pants and sets out to fulfil my

dare of running to the end of the hal way and back in only his boxers. And before long, everyone has forgotten about my moment of truth.

That is, everyone but me.

Dancing in the Dark

The game continues into the early hours
of the morning and I can’t remember ever having so much fun. Over the course of the evening, I’ve

learned that Jake has nightly fantasies about his physics teacher; Brian walked in on his parents having sex when he was seven, thought they were

wrestling, and asked if he could play; and during those two weeks when Katy was supposedly on a cruise with her family, she was actual y getting a

boob reduction.

As the night goes on and we al get a little loopier from the lack of sleep, the dares get more and more outrageous, and despite my better

judgment, at about two-thirty a.m., I find myself answering, “Dare,” when the question comes back around to me.

“Ha!” Katy squeals in delight. She appeared to have magical y forgotten about her grudge against me hours ago. “I gotta come up with

something real y good now.”

I watch her face as she plots my demise and I’m ful y expecting to have to shed at least one item of clothing.

“Okay, I’ve got it,” she final y says, tickling her top lip with her tongue. “You have to go into the bathroom, lock the door, and turn out the lights

for a ful five minutes.”

“That’s it?” I ask incredulously, thinking I’ve gotten off easy.

“Oh,” she adds nonchalantly, as if this next detail were just a casual afterthought, “and you have to take Brian with you.”

The room erupts with whistling and catcal s as I look over at Brian and feel my face get hot. “Katy…” I try.

“Nuh-uh,” she stops me. “A dare is a dare.”

So I reluctantly stand up and beckon for Brian to come with me. “Al right, let’s get this over with,” I say, rol ing my eyes and heading for the

bathroom. Brian enters right behind me and closes the door. The tile is cold against my bare feet. “This is so stupid.” I cross my arms and lean

against the counter.

He nods but doesn’t say anything.

“Lights off!” I hear Katy cal from the other room. “We can see the light from under the door.”

Brian looks to me as he rests his hand on the light switch.

“Whatever,” I say with a shrug, and he hits the switch.

Darkness instantly surrounds me. The only sliver of light comes from the crack under the door, not enough to light Brian’s face or any of the

fixtures around the bathroom.

There’s an awkward silence that fal s between us, and for a second I wonder if he’s even stil there. Then I hear a creak in the floor and I

realize that he’s repositioning himself. To where, I have no idea. I can’t see a freaking thing.

“This is so stupid,” I say again, knowing ful wel that I’m just repeating myself. “What do they expect us to do in here?”

Brian chuckles. “Make out, I guess.”

This makes me laugh. Hard. Like I’m seriously keeled over. I’ve never heard of such a crazy notion. Make out with Brian Harris? Heimlich?

Yeah, right. Why would I want to do that? I mean, he’s my debate partner. And…

And…

Wel , that’s enough. Everyone knows you shouldn’t mix business with pleasure.

“Is it real y that funny?” Brian asks. I can’t see his face but from the tone of his voice, it almost sounds like he’s offended. It’s then that I realize

I’m stil laughing. But it’s not like an uncontrol able fit of giggles. It’s more like this nervous, drawn-out stutter of a laugh. An empty sound with absolutely no emotion behind it.

Because in reality, it’s not that funny.

I’m just trying to fil the space.

“This is stupid,” I say for a third time. “I can’t even see you. I don’t even know where you are!”

I reach my hand out into the void and it lands on the soft fabric of Brian’s T-shirt. Evidently, he was closer than I thought. I can feel his loosely

defined chest muscles under the cotton. And despite the fact that I’ve now successful y established exactly where he is, for some reason my hand

doesn’t move. Or rather, I can’t seem to move it. It stays there, planted on the front of his chest, as though it has a mind of its own. The proximity

shoots tingles up my arm, across my shoulder, and right into my heart.

I can’t real y explain what comes over me next. Maybe it’s the darkness. Or maybe the darkness has absolutely nothing to do with it. But I feel

my fingers start to curl, the fabric snagging into my grasp until I’m literal y clinging to his shirt. Then I just pul .

Despite the pitch blackness, his lips land right on mine. Like a magnet to metal. Drawn together by an invisible force. Our mouths are

dancing. A perfectly choreographed routine. And yet it’s our first time performing it. Some things don’t require practice. Some things simply work on

the first try.

I reach up and touch his hair. You would think, from the way it looks, it would feel coarse and wiry, but it’s nothing like that. It’s soft and thick

and amazing.

His hands wrap around my hips and slip under the back of my tank top. His fingers dig into my sides and suddenly I’m in the air, being lifted.

My butt lands on the countertop. I can feel the hard porcelain of the sink basin digging into my left thigh. Al the while, his lips never leave mine. Our

dance never stops.

He leans into me and I wrap my ankles around the back of his legs, pul ing him closer. His hands are stil tightly clasping my exposed waist,

pressing into my skin so hard that I can feel the white imprints of his fingertips start to form.

I am completely lost. I can’t remember where I am or how I got here. My body feels separate from my mind. In fact, I can’t even remember

what my mind is for. Time no longer exists.

I don’t even hear the click of the bathroom door as it opens. I don’t even see the light from the hotel room as it floods the room. I don’t even

feel the eight pairs of eyes on us. That is, until the heckling starts. Fol owed by the catcal s and the whooping sounds and the laughter.

Brian pul s away from me with a chagrined laugh and I untangle my legs from around him and attempt to hide my face behind his shoulder,

mortification paralyzing my entire body.

Meanwhile the jeering never stops. I have a feeling it won’t for a long, long time. I guess I should have known that any good dance routine is

eventual y going to attract an audience.

BFF, WTF

Truth or Dare is not cheating.

It’s only a game. A bunch of people, mil ing around in a hotel room in Colorado Springs with nothing better to do than dare each other to

steal away into darkened bathrooms. Besides, it’s not like Hunter and I are official y a couple or anything. I mean, we haven’t even gone on a first

date! So real y, I have nothing to feel guilty about. Absolutely zilch. Especial y because that little escapade with Brian was completely insignificant. It

didn’t mean a thing. If you place any two people in a darkened room—whether it be a coat closet or a supply room or a hotel bathroom—something

is bound to happen. It’s only natural.

I chalk up the whole thing to simple biology. And peer pressure. Lots and lots of peer pressure. We were practical y expected to make out.

But I do think it’s probably best that I quit the debate team. For everyone.

I know I didn’t pol my blog readers or make an official “choice” about it, but I’m just not sure the debate team is real y what I should be doing

right now. And let’s face it, it’s not like I joined because I was actual y interested in debate. I joined because I was given the choice to join and my

blog readers thought it was a good one. And I fulfil ed my obligation to them. I went for it. I tried it. I had some good times in the process and now

that’s that. I’m grateful for the opportunity but I don’t see why I have to continue doing something I was never real y al that keen on doing in the first

place. There’s nothing wrong with trying new things, but eventual y there comes a time when you have to take a step back and be perfectly honest

with yourself and say, “Yes, that was fun, but it’s real y not for me.”

I have no doubt Brian wil understand. In fact he’l probably even be somewhat relieved. I can’t imagine this has been very fun for him. I mean,

the endless hours of coaching he’s had to do. I’m sure I’ve been quite a burden over the past couple of weeks. He deserves a debate partner who

wil help him move forward, not hold him back.

When I get downstairs on Monday morning, I find a note from my mom explaining that she and my dad both had early meetings and I’m going to

have to take the bus to school. With a frustrated sigh I grab a granola bar from the pantry, sling my bag over my shoulder, and tromp out the door. I

pul my jacket tight around me to stave off the mid-November chil and the smal flurries of snow that have started to fal and brace myself for the long

walk to the bus stop.

But I don’t get very far. In fact, I don’t even make it to the curb. Because idling in the driveway, with the motor running, is a car I’ve never seen

before. A shiny silver SUV (one of those expensive kinds) with tinted windows and dealer license plates that indicate it’s fresh off the lot. I squint