Page 94 of The Dare

I come so hard I see stars, shuddering against the perfection that is her body. When the rush of pleasure subsides, I pull out to discard the condom in the small wastebasket under her nightstand.

Lying on my back, I bring Taylor to rest against my chest, threading my fingers through her soft hair. After a few minutes, she tilts her head up to place a kiss under the corner of my jaw.

“I love you, too.”

35

TAYLOR

SASHA TEXTS ME ON MY WAY INTO MY CO-OP CLASS AT THEelementary school. Something to the effect of “hey, bitch, if you get a chance, take that hockey stick out of your mouth for five seconds and text me.” Which is her endearing way of saying she misses me.

I take full responsibility for our dwindling amount of girl time; after patching things up with Conor, he and I have spent every day together for the past week. Now it’s May, finals are only a couple weeks away, and I’m a little ashamed to admit that what used to be study time with Sasha at the Kappa house has become failing to study with Conor at my place until we give up and get naked.

Turns out sex is good. I sure do like sex. Especially sex with Conor.

Although as italsoturns out, sex is terribly distracting. Hard as I’ve tried, my reading comprehension skills tank when he’s trying to tear off my clothes.

I did make it to the Kappa house for the election, however. No surprise there—Abigail won. Though to ask her she wasjust elected supreme leader for life. I expect she’ll soon have portraits of herself riding dolphins and shooting lasers out of her eyes hanging in every room. Sasha and I were two of only four protest votes against her. I’m a pessimist and even I thought the resistance had greater numbers in the house than that. I guess we’ll all have to get used to bowing down to our new supreme leader.

The thought of spending a year under Abigail’s rule turns my stomach. It might have been a secret ballot, but she knows damn well I cast one of the votes against her. And I have no doubt she’ll make me pay dearly for that show of dissent. How, I’m not sure yet, but knowing Abigail it won’t be pretty.

If it weren’t for all the time and effort I’ve already contributed to Kappa Chi, I’d consider leaving the sorority. But at least I have Sasha as an ally. Besides, being a Kappa means a support network of professional connections for life. I didn’t assimilate into the collective just to blow up my future capital so close to the end.

So, one more year. If Abigail really runs things off the rails, Sasha and I can mount the insurrection.

Now in Mrs. Gardner’s first grade class, I’m helping the kids work on collages they’re making about the books they read in class this week. The room is the quietest it’s been all day. Everyone has their heads down, eyes focused. They’re cutting pictures out of old magazines and gluing their creations on poster board.

Thank goodness for glue sticks. I’ve only had to wash glue out of one girl’s hair today. Mrs. Gardner banned liquid glue after a major catastrophe led to three emergency haircuts. I’llnever understand how kids manage to constantly find new ways to attach themselves to each other.

“Miss Marsh?” Ellen raises her hand at her desk.

“That’s looking good,” I tell her when I come around the room to her seat.

“I can’t find a mouse. I looked through all these.”

At her feet there’s a pile of mangled magazines and torn loose pages. All month Mrs. Gardner and I scoured Hastings for unwanted magazines. Doctors’ offices, libraries, used bookstores. Thankfully there’s always someone trying to pawn off thirty years ofNational GeographicsandHighlights. Trouble is, when you’ve got more than twenty kids all reading about a mouse, the rodent supply tends to get a bit thin.

“What if we draw a mouse on some colored paper?” I suggest.

“I’m not good at drawing.” She pouts, shoving another stack of loose pages to the floor.

I know the feeling. As a kid I was a high-strung type-A perfectionist who tended toward the self-critical. I’d get a grand design in my head and then lose my shit when I couldn’t materialize it into being. I’ve been banned from several pottery-painting places in Cambridge, in fact.

Not my greatest moment.

“Everyone can be good at drawing,” I lie. “The best thing about art is that everyone’s is different. There are no rules.” I pull out some fresh sheets of colored paper and draw a few simple shapes as an example. “See, you can draw a triangle head, and an oval body with some little feet and ears, then cut those out and paste them together to make a collage mouse. It’s called abstract—they hang stuff like that in museums.”

“Can I make it a purple mouse?” Ellen, the girl wearing a purple hair scrunchie and purple overalls with matching purple shoes, asks. Shocking.

“You can make it any color you want.”

Delighted, she gets to work with her crayons. I’m moving to another desk when a knock sounds on the classroom door.

I look over to see Conor peeking through the window. He’s picking me up today, but he’s still a few minutes early.

He pokes his head inside as I walk over. “Sorry,” he says, glancing around. “I was just curious what you looked like in a classroom.”

There’s been a lightness to him this week. He’s smiling again, always energetic and in a good mood. It’s a nice side of Conor, even if I know it can’t last. No one is this happy all the time. And that’s okay. I don’t mind grumpy Conor, either. I just can’t help taking pleasure in knowing some part of his positive attitude is because of me. And sex. Maybe mostly sex.

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