In Nashville:
7. Visit the illustrious Delta Tau Beta fraternity at Vanderbilt. Have a beer with Panther alum TJ McNeil and take a picture of the legendary scar he got during a game-winning play against Dawsonville. (One person)
8. Go to LP Field and reenact the “Music City Miracle.” (Everyone)
9. Go to Centennial Park and jump into the pond behind the Parthenon. (Everyone)
10. Go to The Jackrabbit Saloon. Walk to the very middle of the dance floor and attempt to do the worm. (One person)
11. Go up to a girl who is totally out of your league, get down on your knees, and ask her to marry you. (One person)
12. Go up to a fat girl and tell her “You’re so beautiful . . . for a fat chick.” Bonus points if she throws her drink on you. (One person)
13. Hug a biker. Bonus points if he has a mullet. (One person)
14. Get a girl to give you her thong. (One person)
DARES REMAINING: 4
12:35 A.M.
MELANIE JANE
The cheerleader throng is in full party mode. I exchange side hugs with everybody, making a big show of hanging out.
“Hey, girl!” yells Aubrey. Whew. Someone started their night early.
“We didn’t know if you were going to show!” says Chloe.
“Of course!” I try to mimic their excitement. “I wouldn’t miss spending tonight with my girls.”
I can’t stay long though. We need to knock out the rest of these dares and get out of here. Hopefully, they’ll be able to get a couple done without me. I sneak a glance at the friends I just abandoned, my gaze lingering on Ana. She looks up, and it’s like she wants to say something to me, like the words are just waiting to pour out of her mouth, even though I’m on the other side of the bar. And I feel exactly the same way. It’s like this whenever we’re around each other lately. Like this Yaghan word, Mamihlapinatapai—the look that passes between two people when they’re desperate to make something happen, but neither knows where to begin. Greg barrels past me like a drunken rhinoceros, and the connection is broken, and our twin wishes dissolve.
The guys must be feeling pretty cocky about how much of the hunt they’ve finished because they’re mostly just hitting on chicks and hanging out with the older Varsity guys. Better do some recon just to be sure. I snake around the circle to see who’s got the list. It’s Trevor. That makes sense.
“Trevor!” I laugh, and push his shoulder and try to sound more like Aubrey. “Are y’all gonna make it or are you gonna be naked at Homecoming?”
He grins. “Just a few more things to go. I think I get to keep my birthday suit to myself.”
I pretend to teeter on my heels so I can grab his arm and get a good look at the list. He’s been checking it off like a good boy—only the last three items are left.
“Oops, here you go.” He helps me stand straight again.
“Thanks.” I smile sheepishly. “Stupid heels.”
Yeah, right. With all my pageant practice, I could run across a lava field in stilettos.
“What’s up, Trevor?” Chad comes up behind him and squeezes his shoulders in a way that would be friendly if his fingers weren’t digging in like talons. “Did you forget that girls aren’t supposed to see the list?”
“Oh, right.” Trevor folds the list in clumsy creases and shoves it into his pocket.
“Now what are we going to do about your lack of respect?” There’s a boyish grin on Chad’s face, but his eyes are mean. “I’m thinking—”
Before he can dole out any kind of punishment, Greg starts puking into a trashcan. Big Tom yells at Mason, asking him why the hell he let Greg drink so much.
“Sorry,” Trevor says after Chad leaves. He glances around the bar. “Hey, um, is Liv here? She texted me earlier.”
“Yeah, she’s here. I think she’s dancing.”
“Cool. Cool.” He nods, and his eyes find her, and he’s got the most heartbreaking look on his face. “Do you think she’d talk to me?”
I squeeze his shoulder. “I think so. You should at least try.”
My phone buzzes in my purse. A text from Ana.
Michael’s here! We’re in the room with the darts.
“Gotta go. Be right back!” I call to everyone in the general area.
“You just got here!” Chloe yells after me.
I’m already power walking to the dart room though, scooping up Liv on my way. Ana’s there playing darts. Alone.
“Where’s Michael?”
“He went to get us some Cokes.”
“Oh. Well, we need to hurry. The boys only have the last three dares to do, and they could do all of them here. We still have numbers twelve and fourteen, plus eight and nine that we have to drive to, and I did not pee on a rock for nothing!”
Ana puts a hand on each of my shoulders. “Okay, chill. We’ll find a guy to wear a thong, and then we’ll figure out what to do about dare number twelve.”
“Okay.” I take a few deep breaths and say it again because it makes me feel better. “Okay.”
Just as my craziness levels are returning to normal, Michael arrives with the Cokes.
“Hey!” He hands them off so he can hug me without spillage. “You look gorgeous.”
“Hey,” I reply. “I need you to wear a thong.”
Ana spits her Coke, and if Michael had taken a sip of his, I can tell he would be doing the same thing.
He recovers quickly. “I didn’t think we had reached that phase in our relationship.”
“We haven’t. I mean, that’s not something I would like normally. Or ever. I just—” I reach into my purse and pull out the ruffly thong. “I need you to wear this and dance around a little while Ana takes a picture. And I can’t tell you why.”
“Um.” He looks at all three of us like we are the weirdest girls in the universe. “It’s really important?”
“Vitally. It’s vitally important,” says Liv.
He shrugs. “Okay.”
I pass him the thong. He holds it up to the light and grimaces before putting it on.
I’m stuck on what he said earlier about phases in our relationship. What phase are we at? He isn’t my boyfriend. Why hasn’t he asked me yet? Does that mean something’s wrong? That this doesn’t mean as much to him as it does to me? Usually, boys ask me inside of the first couple of weeks.
He coughs, and I realize the thong is in position. Pink lace ruffles cover his crotch, and thin pink bands circle around the back of his jeans.
“So . . . what kind of dance am I supposed to do?”
Liv and Ana are choking back giggles. The camera is at the ready.
“I don’t know. Can you do that really fast butt-cheek-shaking thing that strippers do?”
Michael attempts it. It is every bit as amazing as you might expect.
“You’re done. You’re done.” Liv laughs and gives him a huge hug. “Now take it off or people are going to start stuffing dollar bills in your pockets.”
Michael removes the thong, and I fling my arms around his neck. “Thank you so much. You were wonderful.”
“Anything for you,” he says. “Even the modeling of questionable undergarments.”
The music changes. The band is playing a slow song now.
“Hey, do you want to go dance?” he asks.
“Definitely. You go on ahead. I’ll catch up in one second.”
Ana turns off her camera as he walks away. “Where’s Peyton? Do you think it’s okay that she wasn’t here?”
“Bathroom,” says Liv just as I say, “I think so.”
“It’s a one-person dare. Plus, the rules just say we have to stay together. We’re still all in the same bar.” I don’t take my eyes off Michael. “Do you think he likes me? Like, really likes me? He hasn’t asked me to be his girlfriend yet.”
Liv snorts. “Melanie Jane, the boy just danced around in a thong for you. He likes you.” She pushes me toward the dance floor. “Now go kiss him.”
He’s waitin
g for me on the dance floor, a small smile on his face, and lights streaming down from overhead. I take his hand, and he wraps his other arm around my lower back. I wonder if this is weird for him, slow dancing to country twang in the middle of a bunch of guys in cowboy hats. They probably don’t get much of that in Boston. We dance for the rest of the song, and he turns me until I’m dizzy. I get my wish that the next song will be a slow one too. I feel his eyes on me, and every hair on my arms stands up, like my body knows something’s about to happen even though my mind doesn’t.
“Hey, Melanie Jane?”
“Yes?”
He squeezes my hand in his. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”
“Yes,” I say almost before he finishes the question. “Yes, I would love to be your girlfriend.”
It’s the perfect way to ask. No awkward DTR talk. No “let’s be exclusive.” Just an honest, straightforward question. It’s almost old-fashioned, and it is so Michael. He smiles at my answer, never letting go of my eyes. Jittery, giddy feelings flood my body, make me feel like I have fireworks living inside of me. My legs go wobbly in a way I can’t blame on my heels. I have a boyfriend. Without an expiration date. I lean forward and kiss him impulsively, our noses pressing together, my fingers weaving into his soft hair to pull him closer. I don’t stop until the song ends, and when it does, I can’t help but blush.
“How do I always end up kissing you in the most public settings?”
“I don’t know.”
It’s completely unlike me. I’m the girl who hides everything and thinks public displays of all kinds are unladylike. But somehow, being with Michael has a way of making me forget.
Out of nowhere, Michael’s shoulder catches me in the jaw.
“Ow.”
“Sorry,” he says. “Somebody—”
But I cut him off because I see Weston behind him. “Weston?”
Weston smirks at Michael, who I now realize has a full drink dripping down the back of his pants. “My bad.”
At this point, most of the guys at Ranburne High would start punching. Michael just holds up his hands. “It’s fine. Maybe you could try staying away from me, okay?”
Weston narrows his eyes. “For now,” he says before he goes back to his band of Neanderthals.
“What was that about? Has he been messing with you?”
Michael looks as uncomfortable as I’ve ever seen him. “Kind of. I mean, yeah. He’s pissed we’re together, so he and the other guys keep doing dumb stuff like tripping me in the hallway and whispering ‘Jew-boy’ when I make presentations in history class.”
I am livid. “What?”
“It’s fine. I can take care of myself.”
“That’s not the point.”
I stomp in the direction of the football crew. Grab Weston’s shoulder and whirl him around.
“Oh, hi,” he says. Is it me or did his face go a little pale?
“Yeah. Hi.” I punctuate each word like I’m trying to stab him with it. “I’m only going to say this once: you’re going to leave my new boyfriend alone, and you’re going to call off your dogs too. I’m not about to be the next Charlotte Fisher.”
Weston is working up what I’m sure will be a real winner of a response when Trevor pulls him away from me. “Hey, man. Come over here. You’re not pulling your weight, and I need you to go hug one of those bikers over there.”
I find Michael at the bar near the bikers trying to stuff an entire stack of napkins down the back of his pants. “I’m sorry,” I say. “Are you doing all right?”
He stops stuffing for a second. “I’m good. Actually, I was going to ask you about something before we got interrupted. Do you want to come over next weekend? My parents are going to be in Boston all week.”
“Oh.” And I don’t know what kind of face I’m making, but it must be a bad one because he backtracks.
“Oh, no. I didn’t mean that. I just thought it would be good to spend some time together. Away from people we go to school with.”
“Oh,” I say again, displaying my legendary powers of conversation. “That would actually be really nice. There’s much less danger of getting your pants wet that way.”
“Hey, is everything okay?” Chloe appears with Aubrey at her hip. I wonder if she heard us, and with the way she’s smiling, I’m going to guess yes. “I saw what happened.”
“I saw it too,” says Rat Tail, startling all of us. “That boy did it on purpose. I would have punched him.”
I laugh. “Me too.” And then a glimmer of a wonderful, evil idea hits me. “He’s an awful boy,” I tell Rat Tail and his biker crew. “Do you know he broke up with me just because I don’t want to lose my virginity until I’m married?”
The men are appalled. I guess some things are sacred, even to bikers.
“Yeah, he’s horrible. And he totally deserves to get punched.”
As we walk away, I am the one smiling. Weston is going to have to hug one of those mountain-sized men. And I just made sure it won’t be easy.
8
Thursday, September 10
LIV
“It won’t be easy.”
“I know,” says Peyton.
I check to make sure Coach Tanner isn’t watching because I’d like to make it through at least one practice without getting my name screamed over the bullhorn. Then I whisper, “It might even be impossible.”
“I know.”
“But you still want to try?”
She smiles and begins the next stretch in our warm-up sequence. “Yep.”
“I think you are secretly hiding a honey badger under all that sweetness.”
“Ha.” And then her seemingly endless supply of hope runs out. “But how are we supposed to do it? Ana seems so angry, and she won’t ever talk about anything. How are we supposed to get two people to make up if one of them won’t even admit there’s a problem?”
“We lock them in a room with a bottle of tequila and don’t let them out until they promise to be friends again?”
“Liv Lambros and Peyton Reed! Whatever it is you’re talking about must be pretty important because it just earned you four laps after practice.”
We groan in unison. But when Coach Tanner paces to the other end of the field to yell at somebody else, Peyton turns back to me.
“That’s not really your plan, is it? Sometimes it’s hard to tell with you.”
I stick my tongue out at her. “Do you have a better one?”
“We could talk to Ana.”
“Oh, sure. Well, if you want to do it the easy way.” I walk my fingers out across the grass in front of me until my nose touches the ground and a pleasant kind of burning travels through my leg muscles. “Want to go to Jake’s after practice and see if she’s there?”
Peyton nods. “But we have to be careful, you know? Ana’s so tense, we could mess things up worse. We need to be stealthy.”
“I am nothing if not stealthy.” And then I realize I have no idea where Coach Tanner is, which is a very dangerous thing.
“That’s eight laps, ladies! Do I need to make it twelve?!”
The bullhorn blares right behind us. Peyton and I practically jump out of our skin.
“No, ma’am,” we reply, and it’s the last thing we say for the rest of practice because we’d rather not face death by aerobic exercise.
We trudge to Jake’s when we’re finished. After a grueling practice followed by a two-mile run punctuated with bullhorn heckling, we’ve definitely earned some ice cream. Thankfully, someone else is manning the counter, so we’re able to corner Ana in a lounge that has a couch upholstered with the solar system.
“Hey,” says Peyton. “I really like your shoes.”
“Hey,” I say. “When are you and Melanie Jane going to make up?”
Peyton elbows me. “Nice job, stealth.”
I shrug. “I can’t help it. And anyway, this way saves time. So?” I raise my eyebrows at Ana, who seems to be frozen in place.
“Um.” The sp
ell breaks, and she leans over to pick up some empty ice-cream cups. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“We know something’s going on with you and her.” Peyton leans too, trying to make eye contact, but Ana is having none of this friend-tervention. “We’re not asking you to tell us—”
“Good. Because I’m not.” Ana’s voice is all hard edges. She throws the cups in a trash bag and sighs. “Sorry.”
Peyton smiles. “It’s okay. And I’m sorry if it seemed like we were trying to get in your business. We care about you. Both of you.”
I hate seeing them like this. I can’t keep it inside anymore. “You have to make up. You and Melanie Jane are two of my favorite people!”
“Melanie Jane was one of my favorite people too,” says Ana.
I wince at her use of the word was. “Couldn’t you both just apologize and go back to being friends again?”
Ana slumps into a chair, like even the act of standing is too much for her. “A lot of things happened between us. We can’t undo them. We can’t snap right back to being friends like none of it happened.”
Peyton balances on the chair arm beside her and touches her shoulder. “But maybe you could have a different kind of friendship. If she tries to talk to you, just give her a chance, could you do that?”
Dude. I had no idea Peyton was the friendship whisperer. I’m feeling a sudden urge to apologize to Chloe Baskins for putting gum in her hair in second grade. The magic seems to be working on Ana too.
“Maybe,” she says.
I sure hope she means it.
Thursday, September 10
ANA
I appreciate what Peyton and Liv are trying to do, I really do, but they just don’t get it. Melanie Jane and I will never be friends. Allies against a common enemy, yes, but friends, no. Because when everything happened, I gave her so many chances. I beat my brains out trying to get my friend to talk to me, and she pushed me away. And, okay, yes, she may have eventually tried calling me. And texting me. And driving by my house. And cornering me after class. And even crashing one of the boys’ weekend-long Magic-playing fests. But she should have done it sooner. She should have been there for me when I needed her.
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