The Fine Art of Truth or Dare by Melissa Jensen

Author:Melissa Jensen
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Group USA, Inc.
Published: 2012-02-06T06:00:00+00:00

I am wearing my oldest, ugliest underwear.

I think your girlfriend is evil and should be destroyed.

I am a lying, larcenous creature who talks to dead people and thinks she should be your girlfriend once the aforementioned one is out of the picture.

I figured that was just about everything. “I don’t think so—”

“Doesn’t have to be embarrassing or major,” Alex interrupted me, “but it has to be something that costs a little to share.” When I opened my mouth to object again, he pointed a long finger at the center of my chest. “You opened the box, Pandora. So sit.”

There was a funny-shaped velour chair near my knees. I sat. The chair promptly molded itself to my butt. I assumed that meant it was expensive, and not dangerous. Alex flopped onto the bed, settling on his side with his elbow bent and his head propped on his hand.

“Can’t you go first?” I asked.

“You opened the box . . .”

“Okay, okay. I’m thinking.”

He gave me about thirty seconds. Then, “Time.”

I took a breath. “I’m on full scholarship to Willing.” One thing Truth or Dare has taught me is that you can’t be too proud and still expect to get anything valuable out of the process.

“Next.”

“I’m terrified of a lot of things, including lightning, driving a stick shift, and swimming in the ocean.”

His expression didn’t change at all. He just took in my answers. “Last one.”

“I am not telling you about my underwear,” I muttered.

He laughed. “I am sorry to hear that. Not even the color?”

I wanted to scowl. I couldn’t. “No. But I will tell you that I like anchovies on my pizza.”

“That’s supposed to be consolation for withholding lingerie info?”

“Not my concern. But you tell me—is it something you would broadcast around the lunchroom?”

“Probably not,” he agreed.

“Didn’t think so.” I settled back more deeply into my chair. It didn’t escape my notice that, yet again, I was feeling very relaxed around this boy. Yet again, it didn’t make me especially happy. “Your turn.”

I thought about my promise to Frankie. I quietly hoped Alex would tell me something to make me like him even a little less.

He was ready. “I cried so much during my first time at camp that my parents had to come get me four days early.”

I never went away to camp. It always seemed a little bit idyllic to me. “How old were you?”

“Six. Why?”

“Why?” I imagined a very small Alex in a Spider-Man shirt, cuddling the threadbare bunny now sitting on the shelf over his computer. I sighed. “Oh, no reason. Next.”

“I hated Titanic, The Notebook, and Twilight.”

“What did you think of Ten Things I Hate About You?”

“Hey,” he snapped. “I didn’t ask questions during your turn.”

“No, you didn’t,” I agreed pleasantly. “Answer, please.”

“Fine. I liked Ten Things. Satisfied?”

No, actually. “Alex,” I said sadly, “either you are mind-bogglingly clueless about what I wouldn’t want to know, or your next revelation is going to be that you have an unpleasant reaction to kryptonite.”

He was looking at me like I’d spoken Swahili.

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