Rolling Dice (23 page)

The evening of the party, the four of us are getting ready in Tiffany’s room. She’s got some dance/pop music blasting and they’re all drinking from bottles of wine. I have a bottle of cider in my bag; not a big one, though. Mom said it was in case I wanted a drink; she wanted me to drink responsibly and safely.

The others are tipsy and giggling and dancing around the room. Tiffany’s standing on her bed swaying like someone at a rock concert, which makes me laugh. I sit on a chair, swinging my legs.

None of the girls could find a fault with my outfit; they thought it was sheer genius.

Except for when Tiffany sighed and said, “Well, it’s not much, is it?”

Black leggings that are artfully torn all the way from my thigh to my ankles, paired with a fluorescent green tutu; my top is torn and black, and I found a green cami almost as bright as the tutu to wear underneath. I wear a pair of black strappy sandals that Summer lent me for the party. I’ve miraculously managed to obey the how-to guide that I found online to get my hair to flick out, and I went totally overboard with my eyeliner, so my eyes are dark and hooded and mysterious.

The pixie look is definitely a win.

I couldn’t help but pair it with my old purple headphones, which I wear around my neck with the end of the wire tucked into my tutu. The girls thought it was a nice touch.

Truthfully, I need the headphones as an emergency resort if the party gets too much for me to handle. Even if they aren’t plugged into anything, they’re great at muffling the rest of the world.

Tiffany’s dad gives us a ride to Bryce’s. If I could drive, I’d have offered; but the girls aren’t planning on staying sober and I don’t have my license. By the time we get to the party, just before nine, everything is just beginning, and the girls are happily abuzz with alcohol, but not so much that they’re slurring or tripping over.

Bass thrums through the house, resonating in my bones. I like the adrenaline rush it gives me, like it’s lending me some sort of courage to not be a complete dork at this party. The last one was different; smaller, for one thing, but I didn’t know so many people then. Now, I hear people calling my name, and I don’t know which way to look.

“Hello, ladies. You’re all looking very
fine
this evening,” Kyle says with a wink at us all, drawing out the “fine.” He and Adam are with Bryce, who’s hanging in the hallway so that he’s there to greet people as they come in.

“Hey,” I say, sidling up to Bryce. I push myself up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Even when I’m wearing three-inch heels, he’s much taller than me.

I notice how none of the boys are dressed up quite as much as the girls—a couple of cool outfits, some superheroes, one guy I spot disappearing into the kitchen in a penguin suit. Bryce has gone for the (shirtless) Roman look. And I have to admit it: he does look hot.

He swivels away from the guys toward me, his eyes slowly trailing down me and then back up to my face, where I know my blush is obvious. His hands are on my waist.

“Well,” he says in a low voice in my ear, “you look absolutely
un
believable.”

“You know, every time someone says they don’t believe in fairies, a fairy dies.”
Or something like that
, I think, not quite remembering the quote from
Peter Pan
.

Bryce chuckles. “If I applaud you, will that help?”

I laugh too, giggling like a little girl.

“Give us a twirl, Tinker Bell.” I do, and when I’m back facing him, he pulls me in close and kisses me, and I think that this is probably a much more effective way of obliterating the party around me than the earphones that sit snugly around my neck.

I’m first to pull away, remembering that we’re on full display here.

He slings an arm around me and says, “You do look incredibly hot tonight, Mainstream.”

“And you make a highly attractive gladiator,” I reply. “I might have to borrow that deadly plastic sword to fend off all the girls who are checking you out.”

He laughs, and so do the guys, since they heard me.

“You don’t need to worry about that, Mads,” he laughs. “It’s me who’s going to need to fight the guys off you all night.”

“He’s right,” Adam pitches in, winking at me and taking a gulp from his can of beer. “If he’s not careful, I may just have to steal you away.”

I laugh, knowing he’s being silly, because that’s what Adam does. But still—I’m flattered, and bite my lower lip slightly, feeling shy all of a sudden.

“You’re sexy when you bite your lip like that,” Bryce murmurs in my ear. He kisses my temple. “Why don’t you go find the girls? I’ll come get you in a while, after I’ve finished playing host.” He gives me a look as if to say he’s less than pleased about having to play that role, but I know he’s basking in the glory of throwing such a great Halloween party.

“Sure,” I say, and kiss him briefly. “See you guys later!”

Even though I’m not really a party person, I can tell it’s a good one. There isn’t too much drinking—nobody’s completely wasted like they were at Tiffany’s. Even at ten o’clock everyone’s still just tipsy. The music’s not half bad, and everyone’s having a great time.

I see Bryce at intervals—never for very long because one of us is always distracted by someone else. Mostly, it’s Bryce, but I’m amazed to find people vying for my attention too. I’m not used to it.

It must be around eleven o’clock, but it feels more like three in the morning to me, when Bryce finally grabs my arm and says to Tiffany and Melissa, “Mind if I steal her away from you for a bit?”

“No, sure, go for it,” they answer him, and wave us away, carrying on dancing with everyone else.

He guides me through the teeming throngs of people and weaves through the kissing couples on the staircase. Bryce pushes open his bedroom door and closes it behind him with a sigh.

“Just needed to get away from it for a while?” I guess quietly, giving him a smile when he looks up at me.

“Just a bit,” he confesses as he leans back against the door. “But I wanted to see you. I know you’re not the most comfortable with PDA.”

I laugh, nodding, and let him pull me close. I put my arms around his neck and kiss him. I wriggle my feet out of Summer’s sandals, which have been killing me, but before I can step out of them properly, Bryce picks me up, wrapping my legs around him. One of the sandals is still dangling from my toes; it falls off with a soft thud. He pulls me a little closer as the kiss becomes more passionate. His bare chest is warm and strong against me, rising and falling steadily.

All of a sudden I’m lying on his bed and he’s on top of me, his warm hands sliding up underneath my tops.

It takes me a moment to realize, and another moment to disentangle myself from the kiss, turning away. I grab his arms, but by then he’s already started pulling my top off. I push his hands away, pull my T-shirts back down and keep my face out of reach when he tries to pull me into another kiss.

I’m comfortable around Bryce; but I’m not
that
comfortable just yet. I can’t even get changed in the locker rooms at gym class without feeling awkward and self-conscious.

“Don’t,” I tell him.

He pauses and sits up, rolling off me. “Shit,” he whispers to himself. “Madison, I didn’t—I wasn’t—” He looks so ashamed of himself all of a sudden; so torn up.

I reach for his arm, but he stands up and steps away. “Crap, I’m sorry, I didn’t—I thought you … Never mind. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I say quietly. “Don’t worry.”

He shakes his head stubbornly. “No, it’s not fine, I’m—”

Before he can stop me, I scramble off the bed and shut him up by putting my lips against his. Then I take a half-step back and take his adorable face in my hands. “It’s fine. Just … maybe don’t do it again for a while, okay?”

His eyes, which are wide and sad and can only be described as puppy-dog, search my face for any sign that it’s not fine, but he must not find anything since he nods. “Okay.”

I smile and kiss him again to reassure him, and he kisses me just as hungrily as he was moments before, but this time he’s holding my body as though I’m the most delicate piece of glass, and I try to find a smile.

We spend a while up there, just making out, and I can tell that Bryce is making a conscious effort to be careful where his hands go. I’m so tired that I crash out on his bed at some point or other, and only stir when he shakes me gently awake.

I have no notion of what the time is; I can only assume it’s early morning. I mumble a string of words, trying to find out what time it is … what’s going on. I rub my eyes tiredly.

“Tiff and the girls are leaving in a couple of minutes,” Bryce tells me softly.

“Mm, okay,” I say, the words slurring together. I leave the comfort of his super-soft pillows and stand up, stretching my limbs out.

“You’re really cute when you sleep, you know,” he says with an affectionate smile. “If it’s not completely creepy that I watched you sleep for a while.”

I laugh. “Sorry I fell asleep.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He waves it off with his easy, hundred-watt smile. Then he opens his mouth, closes it, and finally says, “I’m sorry about … about before. You know.” He clears his throat.

“Oh.” I smile and touch his arm. “Don’t worry about it. Forget it happened.”

“Yeah, but—”

“No, no buts,” I insist. “It’s in the past. Seriously. Just forget about it.”

He nods, but doesn’t look happy with himself. He couldn’t look more sincerely torn
up about it if he tried, which is why I was so quick to forgive him. I don’t think Bryce would push me or anything, so I put his actions down to the heat of the moment.

I pick up my shoes and we head downstairs, where the girls are waiting. They look tired, coming down from the buzz of whatever they’ve been drinking, but are still gossiping and giggling like always. They grin at me as I drop a shoe, my reactions still too slow to try and catch it.

“Here, I got it.” Bryce leans down and picks it up for me. I smile sleepily and take it from him.

Tiffany’s phone bleeps and she cries, “Ooh! That’s my dad!” She glides over to Bryce and gives him a kiss on the cheek, saying, “This party was awesome, Bryce.”

“Thanks.”

“Totally fantastic,” Summer agrees, giving him a quick hug. Melissa does the same, telling him with a slur that she “had a shit good night.”

The girls start to leave, and I follow them; I only stop when Bryce catches my arm. I look up at him over my shoulder.

“I don’t get a goodbye kiss?” he teases, and I laugh before craning my neck up to kiss him. I only plan on a brief one, but Bryce’s lips have other intentions, and he’s kissing me all over my face before I finally push him away, laughing.

“I had a good night,” I say. “You know, when I was awake.”

He brushes my hair back from my face, his hand lingering there before he bends to kiss my forehead. “Goodnight, Tinker Bell.”

“Goodnight.”

I don’t tell the girls about the almost-topless incident with Bryce—partly because I forget about it until I’m back home. Really, it isn’t that big a deal, since a) nothing actually happened, and b) he apologized and nothing was going to happen after that.

Sunday appears to be uneventful once my mom picks me up from Tiffany’s house.

At least, it remains uneventful until Dwight drops by—a surprise visit, completely out of the blue.

I open the door when I’m in the middle of lunch, and he’s there looking flustered and excited and somewhat crazy. I stare at him for a moment, wondering why he’s here, and he watches me, breathing heavily and grinning.

“I had a breakthrough,” he declares. “On the project. I need to see that presentation
quick.”

“Uh, sure.” I step aside so he can come in, and then I gesture for him to follow me upstairs, where my laptop’s on my desk.

I open my door and he zones straight in on it, opening up the file, knowing exactly where to find it on my hard drive. I sit on the end of my bed watching as he searches through the slides, reads, types maniacally, and then saves and closes the whole thing.

Then, with a huge gush of air leaving his lungs, he leans back in my chair and stretches his arms above his head.

I saw him typing in equations. I don’t even want to ask what he was doing.

“Okay?” I ask, laughter in my voice.

“Sorry. I was on my way to the beach and I was thinking about something and—well, I didn’t have any paper on me, so I thought I’d just come straight here. Sorry for intruding.”

“It’s fine—don’t worry about it.”

“How was the party?” he asks amicably.

“Good …” I remember to smile, like I had an awesome time. I mean, I did have a good time, but parties clearly aren’t my thing.

“What’s up?” he asks; there must be something in my face.

“Nothing,” I tell him. “Nothing’s wrong.”

He keeps his eyes on my face another few seconds before saying, “All right, if you insist.”

That’s when I remember something I’ve been meaning to tell him since yesterday morning, and I jump a little on the bed, snapping my fingers. “Ike!”

For a second after my random outburst, I see something flicker across his face. Something that makes him look sullen and dark. But then the most baffled look comes over his face—a look that scrunches his nose up in the cutest way and makes me want to smile—and I think I must have imagined the other expression.

“What?”

I keep my gaze steadily on him, barely able to contain my smile. “You said it’s hard to get a nickname from Dwight, remember? Well, I’ve got one: Ike.”

Dwight just looks at me, his expression of confusion smoothing out and his dark eyebrows arching a little higher on his forehead, an unspoken question.

“Like Eisenhower,” I elaborate. “President Dwight—”

“—D. Eisenhower,” he finishes, talking over me.

“Exactly.” I was going through my History homework yesterday morning, and there
was a question comparing various posters from presidential campaigns, and Eisenhower’s was one of them. His slogan was
I like Ike
.

Dwight’s face has become a closed book. He leans back in my desk chair and splays his fingers out on either side of my laptop. Not sure what could be going through his mind, I adopt my own poker face.