Truth & Dare (27 page)

“Leave it to me,” I say.

I am not a mouse.

There’s a group of men by a scruffy car on the other side of the road. The car looks like one of the junkyard ones from Pixar’s
Cars
movie—the little yellow one called Luigi—but it will do.

I dart across the road, leaving Andy where he is. I force out my best Italian—which isn’t very good—for the longest time, and punctuate my persuasive argument by waving wads of my Dad’s euros around. Eventually I cross back to Andy, who’s at one with a lamppost.

I’m triumphant.

But Andy looks more worried than before, if that’s possible.
“Ellie, what was all that about? I shouldn’t have let you go over there—”

“You couldn’t have stopped me. Here. We have a car.” I hand him the keys to Luigi. A skeletal cat prowls past me. I stare right at it, but it ignores me.

Andy drives Luigi through the moonlit darkness,
phutt-phutt
-phutt. “Your dad’s so right about you,” he says after a while. He smiles a tiny smile, like he’s just allowing it to creep through.

I eye him suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

“At the cafe. When he told his girlfriend—”

“Adelina?”

“Adelina. He told her you were fiercely independent. So much so that he didn’t know how to be your dad.”

I nearly gasp. “He never said that! Are you sure? Your Italian isn’t that good.”

His smile broadens. “Oh, thanks,” he says sarcastically. “Well, okay, I understood the word ‘independent,’ and I know he was talking about you, and he was trying to field Adelina’s accusations. She said he should have invited you sooner.” He gives me a quick, shy look. “And I know you probably terrify him, because you’re a force to be reckoned with.”

I doubt it, but I have to change the subject now because we seem to be approaching a wide stretch of beach.

“Um, Andy, are we going the right way?” I ask.

“It was signposted here,” he says.

“Okay.” I pause. “It’s just … we live in
central
Italy, and if we go any further now we might fall right off the edge of the country. So it doesn’t seem very, you know, central, right now.”

Andy grips the steering wheel tightly and pulls over to the beachfront with the engine still running. He groans. “You’re
right!” He stares at the dashboard. “And there’s worse. There’s a red light on here.”

“Let me see.” I crane my neck.

“It’s the gas!”

“The what?”

“We’re out of gas.”

“Okay.” I’m still feeling capable, even though I’m kicking myself that I didn’t think to ask those Italian men whether there was any petrol in the tank before I gave them all my money. “So we’ll get more.”

“In the country that never sleeps?” He gives me a sideways look.

I look around. The streets are deserted. Metal doors cover the nearby shopfronts—they don’t just look closed, they look fortified against nuclear attack. I have to admit Andy has a point. “Well, possibly I was wrong about that.”

Andy grimaces.

“Okay. So we’ll find a hotel.”Wow, a hotel. Me and Andy in a hotel. A thrill runs through me. I could do anything tonight.

“Do you have any money left?”

I could do anything that costs nothing. “Um, no.”

He takes out his wallet. “I have two euros.”

I think. We could sleep in the car. We could figure something out in the morning.

Luigi is tiny.

But Luigi’s headlights show that there’s a whole beach in front of us. Rows of empty black-and-white deckchairs on a stretch of black and empty sand. We have our windows open and the night is balmy.

“Andy?”

He taps his fingers on the steering wheel.

“When Sofia went to Ibiza last year, she slept on the beach.”

He looks out. “Isn’t there a law against that?”

“I think she got moved on a couple of times. But that was in Spain.”

He turns off the engine.

“If we get arrested, I’ll tell them I’m Professor Minghelli’s daughter. That’s got to be good for something.”

“Maybe in Perugia. You’re not in Perugia any more, Dorothy. This is a one-fish town.”

We wait a while.

Neither of us have any other ideas.

“Come on,” I say. We head for our free Sands resort hotel.

Andy and I walk past the deckchairs, listening to the sea churn and hiss. This sound, combined with the oddly pleasant smell of seaweed and fish, is the only signal of where we are. The rest is pure, deep darkness, with just a hint of moonlight.

We head for the roar of the sea and stop when we feel the texture of the sand change under our combat boots. Behind us is a cluster of tall rocks, blocking the beach and the road from view, so we’re completely cut off from the man-made world. The air is warm and damp. I’ve adjusted to the darkness now so I shut my eyes to get it back. I hear the repetitive whoosh of the waves. I hear Andy breathing.

“So … you never wanted to date Yoshi?” I ask. The night sky and the car bribery have made me bold.

Andy laughs. “Did you think I
did
?”

“No … yes.” I take a deep breath. “I thought tonight was your first date with her.”

“You have to be kidding me, Ellie!” He plays with my hair, rubbing the ends between his fingers. “Why would you think I wanted to date Yoshi?”

“Um.” Where do I start? “She’s gorgeous? She has an amazing sense of style?”

“Okay,” he says. “That’s true.”

My heart doesn’t even sink. I mean, it is true. But now, Andy is stroking my face.

“She’s great,” he adds. “But you’re … you.”

Oh?

“I can’t stop thinking about you, Ellie.”

OHHHH.

I open my eyes. A sliver of moon shines on us as he reaches for me. He wraps an arm carefully across my shoulders. It’s like that comfortable warmth I felt when he put his hand on mine at the cafe, but it’s combined with something else. I feel strong. Better still, I realize this feeling isn’t new. I’ve always felt strong like this; I’ve just been stifling it, letting other people get to me. Getting at myself.

I put my arm around his waist.

He says, “Ellie?”

Instead of answering, I pull him close. It makes his T-shirt ride up slightly and I reach under it, let my hand touch his skin.

“Ellie …” His voice is croaky now.

I wrap my other arm around him and turn so we’re face-
to-face
in the dark.

I press my body against his. I find his mouth with my mouth, just for a second. He seems tentative. Nervous. I kiss him until he relaxes into me and we kiss and kiss and kiss until we fold back, grasping at each other on the sand.

We don’t exactly stop, but we do slow down. Or rather he does, and I follow because I’m glued to him. We kiss as much as possible as we unravel. Then we sit on the sand, or rather
in
the sand—our clothes are filled with enough gritty stuff to make our own private beach. I lean my head on his shoulder and he strokes my hair. It makes me tingle all over again.

I kiss his neck. “What philosophical thoughts are you thinking now?” I joke.

His voice is low. “You make it kinda difficult for me to think at all.” He leans his head on top of mine. “That day I first met you? In the bathroom?” A laugh creeps into his voice. “I thought you’d never leave.”

“You wanted me to leave?”

“No, I wanted you to stay and I wanted to do this.” He kisses my lips and my world spins. “I had to recite philosophical theory in my head to stop myself.”

“Seriously? In my teddy-bear pajamas?”

“They were super-cute. And you’re beautiful.”

“This boy at school calls me Minger-Ellie.” Even as I tell him, I realize the nickname has completely lost its power. It says more about Mo than it does about me. “Minger is British for ‘ugly,’” I explain. “I had a crush on him. Before.”

Andy sounds angry. “Sorry, but that guy’s an idiot.”

“Yeah,” I say, and then I add, “What guy?” and I kiss him.

He pulls away and says, “Listen, about the tattoo, Ellie …”

“Oh,” I say, but I’m just so sure of this—of him, of us, of me, that I add, “It doesn’t matter.”

“It really doesn’t,” he says. “But just in case. It’s henna. It’s fading. I got it done before we broke up. Last-ditch attempt to save the relationship. It didn’t work, and it hadn’t worked for the longest time. The relationship, I mean.” He sits up. “Jenna was seeing other guys. Our feelings for each other faded a long time ago. She just needed to give me a final push.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I take his hand.

“What about?” he asks lightly.

“About your girlf—”

“What girl?” he laughs, and he kisses me.

The sun rises, an orange ball over a shimmering gray-blue, and wakes us up even though we didn’t know we’d gone to
sleep. I walk back to Luigi holding hands with Andy and floating on air. Well, crunching on it, really, seeing as my boots are filled with sand, but I don’t care.

“So what’s next, Ellie El-raiser?” Andy asks, and I think he can call me whatever he likes and it will be okay, coming from him. “What’s your plan for getting us out of here alive?”

“I thought I’d call my dad,” I say. I check my watch. “I’ll get the number for the university from Directory Enquiries, or whatever. I’ll call him there. It must be possible. Besides, he
wants
me to ask him for help, doesn’t he?” I realize it’s true the second I say it. “He’s been waiting. That’s why he didn’t invite me over until Adelina suggested it. He was waiting for
me
to ask
him
.”

“I wondered about that,” says Andy. “But I knew you didn’t want to talk about it. You mean you’ve never even been downstairs?”

What? “I’ve never been
where
?”

“Downstairs. To your dad’s place, I mean. In our building.”

“Wait a minute.” I look at him. “My dad lives in our building? You
know
he lives there?” Maybe that’s how Dad knew about the dripping tap. Maybe he heard it.

“Sure,” says Andy. “Wait, you
don’t
?” He sounds amazed.

I shake my head. “He didn’t tell me.” And actually, “How did
you
know?”

“I guess the real-estate agency mentioned it. I didn’t think you didn’t
know
, Ellie! He always says you should call him if you need him.”

“Well, yeah, but he meant I should phone him.” Even though I don’t have his number. “Didn’t he?”

“I always thought he meant yell. You know. Like shout, ‘
Dad
!’ down the stairs. Like you would at home, if you lived in the same house.”

I seem to remember he rarely answered, when we lived in the same house.

“Or at least call at his door. He lost his phone, didn’t he? He’s the very cliché of an absent-minded professor.” Andy laughs.

“He’s hopeless. He can’t manage to be my dad without an instruction manual. Written by me.”

“I think he’s trying, Ellie. In his own, imperfect way.”

So then I think about imperfection. The mess we all make, living our lives. The way we call each other hurtful names and put each other down and ignore each other and make each other feel bad, and it’s all so stupid, because we’re all human. We’re all as bad as each other.

And as good.

And as attached and alone at the same time. Prowling around each other like cats.

Andy takes my other hand and I melt into our chocolate kisses and it feels perfect, but I know it’s not, not really. It’s awesome, but we’re just two people powered by a delicious moment. Embracing imperfection and making it shine.

In our case, though?

For the longest time.   

I
HAVE ONLY
been at Mayflower Middle School for three weeks and I already know a few things: Shoshanna and Brooke are the twin princesses of seventh grade and I am lucky to be their friend; on Thursdays Mrs. Gabriel our seventh grade homeroom teacher gives us treats; and I am in love with Kenny Kamil.

Today is the first time one of Kenny’s friends, Eddie, passes me a note in class. He’s always smiled at me before and nodded in my direction, but we had never made contact. When the note comes my way I don’t think that it could possibly be for me, so I pass it to the girl next to me.

“Uh, this note is for you,” the girl next to me whispers.

“What?”

“It says
Donna
on it,” she says, pointing to the very clear, underlined and in capital letters name on the folded piece of loose-leaf paper. “That’s your name, not mine.”

“Oh,” I say and I take it from her, put it on my lap, and open it up.

Donna
,

Kenny, Jonathan and I were wondering if you wore colored panties? Also, do you wear a bra?

Please tick what style you wear
.

___
Thong

___
Bikini

___
Grandma

___
I don’t wear underwear

We are perverts
.
Ha. Ha. Ha.

For a guy that gets a 99 percent on every algebra quiz, Eddie could sound pretty stupid sometimes.

Shoshanna and Brooke meet me outside after school by the gymnasium entrance.

Shoshanna always looks so pretty. Today she’s wearing her pale pink shirt, the one I love, with a cool-looking fairy on it outlined in glitter. Her hair, a honey-golden blonde, is woven into tight little braids, and her skin is a coffee-with-milk shade of brown, like she’s been in the sun all day. I wonder if her mother takes her to a salon to get the braids done so perfectly, or if her mother does it for her at home.

I love braids. I wish I had the kind of hair that stayed in braids. But I don’t.

We have the sweets Mrs. Gabriel gave us in homeroom today in a brown paper bag Brooke saved from lunch. I notice her name in cursive in light-blue pen on the fold.
BROOKE
. It’s not her handwriting, it’s her mother’s. I know it to be impossible to forge. All of us have tried to copy Mrs. Farley’s handwriting. All of us have failed. Brooke can never be counted on for an authentic-looking, adult-like note. That’s the one thing Shoshanna doesn’t like about her.

Even though it’s the end of October, it’s hot outside, so I take off my sweater.

“Oh, look, Donna’s finally at the button stage,” Shoshanna says to Brooke, pointing atmy non-existent boobs. Even Brooke has tits. They are small—speed tits, she calls them—but, she always points out, at least she can wear a bra.

“They are an A cup,” she says.

I look down at my flat chest and see what Shoshanna’s talking about. My nipples have kind of puffed out and they are poking through my T-shirt like two sewn-on buttons.

I’m embarrassed, so I put my sweater back on.

“You should get a training bra, even though they’re for babies,” Brooke says.

“Boys like boobs. They like big ones. Like mine,” Shoshanna says. Then she thrusts out her chest a little more to show me her boobs. Like everything about Shoshanna, even her boobs seem perfect to me.

We are hanging out at the basketball courts after school with one thing on our minds: Kenny and the boys and when they will get here. We all know that they’ll be here soon to play their pick-up game and that we’ll watch them, because they are the cool boys and we are the cool girls, and that is what we do.

We hang out and watch them.

“I heard Eddie passed you a note today and you didn’t respond,” Shoshanna says.

“It was a stupid note,” I say.

“No, Donna,” Shoshanna says. “No note a boy passes you is ever stupid.”

“Yeah,” Brooke says. “They might want to be your boyfriend.”

“I don’t want Eddie to be my boyfriend,” I say.

“Oh,” Shoshanna says. “I know you like Kenny, but Kenny is out of your league, Donna. No offense.”

I have a sneaking suspicion that she is right. Kenny is out of my league.

“Probably he’s going to ask me to go to the Halloween dance,” Shoshanna says.

“Probably Shoshanna is going to be his girlfriend,” Brooke says.

“Probably I’m going to let him feel me up. Or finger me,” Shoshanna says. “I haven’t decided yet.”

I think about Kenny’s hand snaking up Shoshanna’s shirt and cupping her breast. I bet it would fill his hand and then he would squeeze it a little. I wish I had a breast that he could squeeze, instead of a button. I think about him sticking his hand up my shirt and feeling my button nipple. Then I get depressed.

“You should maybe settle for Eddie,” Shoshanna says. “He’s a brain, like you.”

“I don’t want to date a brain,” I say.

“Me, neither,” Brooke says. “That’s why I’m going to go for Jonathan.”

“Look, here they come,” Shoshanna says, poking Brooke with her elbow. “Pretend you don’t care.”

Shoshanna and Brooke start pretending that they are very interested in something on the ground by their feet. Maybe they are looking at something, like an anthill. Or a special rock. Or some fall leaves that are a pretty color. I don’t know, because I’m not looking at the ground with them. I’m looking at the boys.

I’m not a good pretender.

“Donna’s peeking,” Brooke says.

“Look busy,” Shoshanna commands.

I take out a hairband and put my hair up in a ponytail so that it doesn’t fall in my face. That way I look busy and I can see the boys better.

Once I asked my mom to make me tight little braids like Shoshanna has but she didn’t know how to do it very well and when I came to school they were already falling out. I knew that I had made a big mistake and that everyone was going to laugh at me, the new girl with the bad braids.

I tried to pretend that I didn’t care that I looked terrible.
But I couldn’t. Instead of going to homeroom, I went straight to the bathroom to try to save the day.

That’s where I met Shoshanna. In the bathroom, right after she had taken a poop. I knew it was a poop because of the smell and the noise. She came out and was surprised that she wasn’t alone. She gave me a look while she was washing her hands, trying to see if I would tell anyone that she had pooped.

I tried to look like I didn’t smell anything, even though I did, and that I wouldn’t say a word. It must have worked because the next thing I knew her face softened as she took in the mess of my hair.

“You know, the problem is your hair is too fine for braids,” Shoshanna said, coming over to me and then helping me take them out. The bell rang and we were going to be late for third period but we both didn’t care.

I was hiding, because most of the hair had already slipped out of the braids and I was crying from the pinching of the tiny rubber bands.

“You’re the new girl, right?” she asked.

I nodded while her hands methodically unbraided my hair.

“You could come and get pizza with me and Brooke after school if you like,” she said.

I could tell that she felt sorry for me, but I didn’t really care. I was new and miserable and lonely for friends.

Brooke was Shoshanna’s best friend. They had been best friends since fourth grade. Brooke was small, but she was quick and sporty. The boys always came and talked to her because she played little league with them. She played on the same team as Kenny.

Shoshanna and I went to every game.

After that day in the bathroom, Shoshanna pretty much
always asked me to hang out with them. Except when she and Brooke were hanging out alone, which sometimes still happened. But I didn’t care about that or feel left out or anything. I was just happy to be one of their closest friends. Even if I knew I was just the hanger-on.

Kenny, Eddie and Jonathan started paying attention to me after that, because I was friends with the cool girls and I was new.

Eddie was in almost all of my classes. But he wasn’t cute. I didn’t like his nose. It was like a potato. We were in all the smart classes together, although we didn’t make a big deal out of it. Because that would be bragging.

At least that’s what Shoshanna always said.

The boys still haven’t come out on the court. I can see them lingering at the sports locker checking out a ball. There must be a cute high school girl working today. Or at least an eighth grader.

“Hey,” Kenny yells across at me, because he catches my eye. “Go save us a court.”

Now that we have been spotted first, Shoshanna and Brooke are done pretending that the ground is interesting, because really, they wanted to be paying attention to the boys. We go over to the best court, the one in the corner, and take our places against the fence while we wait for the boys.

The boys don’t even thank us for saving them the court, even though we had to chase away some younger kids. The boys just put their backpacks down next to us for us to keep watch over and they start their game.

We’re sitting on the sidelines, with the sun in our faces and our backs up against the fence, which gives a little under our combined weight.

“I think it’s treat time,” Shoshanna says. “I think we deserve it.”

“Here, take one.” Brooke violently shakes the brown paper bag that holds our Tootsie Pops in front of my face.

I want to pick the cherry one, or the grape. I don’t want the orange.

Earlier, after homeroom, Shoshanna had said, “It’s only fair to put our pops in the bag and pick at random. One of us might get a better flavor than what was left on their desk.”

Brooke made the agreeing face, the one that you can’t protest against and just have to go along with. Like if you didn’t, you’d be toast.

On Thursdays, when Mrs. Gabriel gives us treats, we all come into homeroom in the morning and find a sweet lying on our desk. She always gives us the candy but then tells us to put it away.

“All I hear is sucking,” Mrs. Gabriel says. “You can’t suck on things while I’m calling roll. I can’t stand the sound of your lips smacking! It’s worse than when you’re talking.”

Maybe it turns her on.

Or, maybe she’s just a bitch.

Most kids wait till the bell rings and then pull the wrapper off their treats and shove it quickly into their mouths while walking down the too-crowded hall and try to hurriedly finish it before they get to their first class of the day. Usually, they enter the room with chipmunk cheeks and have to swallow it before the teacher gives them a black mark for eating in class. I’ve seen one or two of them gag a little.

Shoshanna, Brooke and I have
restraint
. We have
patience
. We always save our treat for after school.

We’re just like that, we three. It makes me feel pretty good to hang around with girls as cool as Shoshanna and Brooke.

In homeroom today I found a cherry-flavor pop on my desk. Shoshanna got orange, and I think by making us all put
our candy into the bag, she’s just being selfish, hoping for a better color.

Shoshanna is not the kind of girl who gets orange.

Sometimes I feel as though Shoshanna and Brooke think I am not cool enough to hang out with them. And I suspect they agree. I’m sure that they also think I’m not cool enough to get cherry on my desk.

“Come on!” Brooke says, shaking the bag again.

I close my eyes and put my hand in, hoping that I’ll get my cherry back, or maybe the grape. I want to be that kind of girl.

A cherry one.

Instead, I pull out orange.

“Oh, too bad,” Shoshanna says insincerely. She and Brooke give each other a look. A look that says cherry and grape are good ones to get and it doesn’t matter whose hand goes into the bag next.

I frown a bit. But just a little. I freeze my frown and I force myself to smile. I don’t want to look like a sore loser. But I am not a good liar. I don’t pretend well. So I look at the sun and don’t blink, because everyone knows that looking at the sun makes your eyes water.

I’m disappointed.

The ball slaps the backboard and we watch the boys play. After a couple of warm-up shots, Kenny Kamil finally waves to us and my heart skips a beat.

Even though I know that Kenny is probably going to ask Shoshanna to be his girlfriend.

Even though I should settle for Eddie because he has a brain.

Even though I would not let Eddie stick his hand up my shirt to feel my buttons.

Swoosh. Dribble. Swoosh. Slap.

Kenny Kamil and his green eyes are always glancing over at us. Probably he is looking at Shoshanna and not at me, although sometimes I pretend that he is looking at me.

The first game is over and the boys are now coming over to us.

They are a little sweaty. They glisten. They glow.

Kenny comes over and it really looks like he is eyeballing me. Makes me feel hotter than this Indian-summer day. Makes me feel hot like I need to take off my sweater again, even though there is a slight breeze and he’ll see my buttons.

Shoshanna must think that Kenny is looking at me, too, because she whispers to me through closed teeth. “Don’t forget that Kenny is mine,” she says.

Like I could even forget.

I decide that I should ignore him even though it will break my heart. I should ignore him because what Shoshanna really means is,
Don’t forget that I will give you the silent treatment if you talk to Kenny
.

But I can’t ignore Kenny. He’s right here in front of me. His knees are right in front of my face.

“Donna, how about you give me a lick of your Tootsie Pop, okay?” he asks.

“Kenny, I’ll give you a lick of mine,” Shoshanna says.

The boys snicker.

“Nah,” Kenny says.

“I’ve got cherry,” Shoshanna says. Like that explains everything.

“What do you say, Donna?” Kenny says. “Give me a lick.”

Shoshanna shoots me a look. An evil look. A person might actually die from a look like that, so I look away quickly.

“Why should I give you a lick?” I say to Kenny. But I say it to his knees because I can’t look up at him.