Page 3 of Studious
“If I do that, will people think I’m a wuss?”
He glances around. “Maybe.”
I follow his gaze and silently inventory who wouldn’t be too judgy. I see no one. I’m not sure I’d choose to hang out with anyone here except for Mason. When you go to school with kids whose parents are in the industry, it can be a drag. Everyone’s trying to one-up each other—who they know, what movies they’ve been in, how much money they have to blow on clothes or whatever. I have no interest in any of that. My idea of fun is bingeing the latest cult sci-fi show or going to a Dodger game—or maybe watching a car race. Otherwise, let me at some algebra.
I do want to be kissed, though. Or more than kissed. I just always wanted my first to be special. Maybe I’m a romantic at heart.
And maybe I need to get over it.
“Fine,” I huff. “I’ll do this. Can I at least watch a round first?”
He nods. “I think you can skip your turn, too.”
The patio furniture is shoved aside, and everyone moves so we’re sitting on the concrete next to the pool in a tight, lopsided oval. I end up sitting crisscross between Mason and a girl in my history class. A few kids ignore the game and sit on the coping, dipping their bare feet in the water. I’m tempted to join them.
Kayla hops down off the table and produces a Diet Dr Pepper bottle—the twenty-ounce plastic kind, still full—and spins it around on the concrete, everyone whooping and cheering, which grates on my nerves. The bottle turns just fine, but it seems like she really had to twist it to get it going. I’m also concerned it’s going to explode.
The cap lands so it’s pointing at Mason, who squeaks but hides it by thumping his chest a few times. Kayla saunters toward him. He stands up and steps between the girls in front of us, entering the circle. He glances around at everyone watching him, tilts his chin up, and lets Kayla smack a quick kiss kind of near his lips. Everyone whoops.
“Your turn,” she says, tapping a finger on Mason’s chest. “But this bottle sucks. Someone have an empty one?”
A kid guzzles down the last of a Sprite and hands the bottle to Mason. He grins and spins the bottle. With no liquid inside, it goes and goes and goes—and it eventually lands on Ben, who stands up faster than Mason did for Kayla.
Now I’m starting to see why people play this game. It’s an excuse to get experience. I calm down a little.
Mason bounds over and kisses him, and it’s not quite the quick peck Kayla dropped on him. There are louder hoots and hollers than there were with Kayla’s kiss.
When they’re done, Kayla says, “Okay, Ben. Your turn.”
After a lingering look at Mason, Ben spins the bottle, and the game continues to play out, the bottle never pointing at me. So now I’m getting worried that I’m never going to get to participate in a game I didn’t want to play to begin with.
When it’s Sofia’s turn, the bottle lands on another girl. I’m pretty sure both of them are straight, but they do a quick peck without hesitating. For Hollywood types, kissing’s no big deal.
It’s a big deal to me.
I start to zone out, wondering if I should text my mom to come get me.
Then all of a sudden the crowd quiets. The bottle’s pointing at Sean. A girl kisses him, and I can’t help the tightness in my chest. I wish it were me doing that. Oh well. It’s not my day.
Who’s the bottle going to choose for him? I hold my breath, watching the spinning green plastic until the bottle stops and it’s…
Pointing at me. I blink.
“M-me?” I stutter, looking frantically at Mason. For help.
Is this really happening?
“I guess it’s your turn,” Sean says in a low voice. He glances at his friends, who are howling with laughter. He picks himself up from where he was crouching by the bottle and saunters over to me.
My heart speeds up. Am I going to kiss him? Is he going to kiss me? Am I going to get my first kiss right now, in front of half my class? From my crush?
I uncross my legs and go to stand up, but in trying to avoid bumping into anyone, I stumble two steps back. Except there’s nothing behind me but a swimming pool.
Windmilling my arms wildly, I try to straighten up, but it’s no use.
Everything happens in slow motion. Mason’s expression morphs to horror, and he lunges for me, yelling, “Alden!”—but he misses my hand.
I fall backward, ass over teakettle, into the pool, making an awful splash.
