Page 10 of The Fangirl and the Grump

Well, I suggest it, Pressley seconds the motion, and the other two grudgingly agree. But whatever.

I’m sandwiched between Pressley and Sloan on the couch, and Madison is in the overstuffed chair, using its ottoman as a table. The pizza is hot and cheesy, and we’re washing it down with canned spiked seltzers.

About halfway through Curse, we pause the movie to clean up the pizza boxes, paper plates, and grease-stained napkins. Pressley runs to the bathroom, and Madison comes out of the kitchen with a bottle of vodka.

“We should make this a little more interesting,” she says. “Every time Lucas talks about Aria being his fated mate, or Aria mentions how stupid she must be for ignoring the danger of his true nature, we take a shot.”

“I’m in,” Sloan says.

“Count me out,” I say. “I’m still recovering from last night.”

“Oh, come on, Keegs. Don’t be such a party pooper,” Madison whines, jiggling the bottle in my direction. “It’ll be fun. I promise.”

“What’ll be fun?” Pressley asks as she walks back into the living room. After Madison explains her drinking game idea, Pressley looks at me. “Are you good with it?”

I shrug and sigh. Giving in is better than fighting. I just don’t have the energy. “Why not? I’m in.”

“Yay,” Madison says, setting the bottle and four shot glasses she must’ve procured from the kitchen on the coffee table.

Instead of retaking her seat in the chair, she plops down onto the floor in a very un-Madison-like move, criss-crossing her legs before screwing the top off of the bottle and filling each glass. Pressley grabs the remote and restarts the movie, and within two minutes, we’re drinking.

Every time Lucas or Aria mention the clichés Madison outlined, she cheers and yells at us to drink. And every time, my mood plummets a little further. This is not fun. At all.

By the time we start the third movie, Wane, we’re all pretty tipsy. We’ve had at least seven shots each over the course of three or so hours, and I can’t stomach another. The booze and grease from the pizza isnotmixing well in my stomach.

“Okay, I think I’m done with the game,” I say when Pressley pauses the movie to use the bathroom again.

That girl has a bladder the size of a chickpea, I swear.

“Boo!” Madison shouts obnoxiously. “You suck.”

“Stop harassing her, Madison. If she doesn’t want to play, she doesn’t want to play. Get over it,” Sloan snaps. “It’s a stupid game, anyway.”

“Don’t be such a bitch, Sloan,” Madison sneers. “At least I’m trying to have alittlefun on this lame ass vacation.”

I rear back as if she’s physically slapped me. I mean, it’s no surprise she hasn’t been having fun, but at least she’s tried to pretend up until this point, insisting she’s here for me and my happiness is all that matters.

“What’s going on?” Pressley asks when she walks back in and notices the tension.

“Your girl Madison is being an asshole,” Sloan murmurs, then throws back another shot before adding, “Shocker.”

“Fuck you, Sloan,” Madison growls, pushing herself clumsily to her feet.

“Come on, guys,” I start, but Sloan cuts me off, addressing Madison’s remark.

“No, thanks, Skank. I don’t want Carter’s sloppy seconds.”

Pressley gasps, then silence.

A silence so thick and deadly, it’s sucked all the oxygen from the room.

“Wh-what?” I stutter, my eyes darting between the three of them.

“Keegan,” Pressley whispers, her eyes filling with tears that quickly spill over.

I watch one trail down her cheek before spinning to face Madison while throwing up a hand to point at Sloan. “What the fuck is she talking about?”

“Tell her Mads,” Sloan says with a derisive, drunken laugh. “Tell her all the dirty things you’ve been doing with Carter Hawthorne. Formonths.”

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