For the first time tonight, I actually want to drink this pickle juice!
I want to be something more than the Lis’ boy. Something more than… I don’t even know.
The only thing I’ve ever done that was truly for me is basketball, and even then, my parents have made me feel so bad about pursuing it that I’ve nearly quit twice. But I just love it too much to stop playing.
I guess that’s my ultimate rebellion. Basketball.
But shouldn’t there be more?
Shouldn’t I be spreading my wings? Flying high and?—
“Jimmy, it’s your turn, man.” Cash points at me.
Soaring.
I should be flying high and soaring.
With a swallow, I glance around the table and softly say, “Never have I ever…” I scramble for something that hasn’t been said yet, then quickly blurt, “Never have I ever laughed so hard I peed my pants.”
“Oh balls!” Charli snatches her shot glass and downs it while Sawyer cracks up laughing.
“I remember that. You snorted ice cream out of your nose that day too.” He raises his shot glass. “And then I peed my pants because you made me laugh so hard.” Smiling at her with a look of pride, he downs his shot, followed by Mac, who seems to be drinking every single round.
We all give him questioning frowns, and his shoulder hitches. “I was drunk off my ass.”
That seems to be his explanation for everything, and part of me is wondering if he’s just making this up to appear wilder than he really is… or… maybe he’s an alcoholic.
Both theories are believable.
Finn MacAlister’s an interesting guy. He’s hard to read sometimes and has so many layers he makes the word “complex” seem insufficient.
It really is surprising that we’re friends. I can’t even remember how it started or why it’s continued, but I know I’d do pretty much anything for the guy… and he’d do anything for me.
He’s loyal, and despite the fact that he seems set on self-destructing, there’s something about him that I can’t help liking.
And don’t even ask me to explain, because I can’t.
Refilling his shot glass, he places the bottle back down, and it tips sideways. I quickly snatch it before it spills everywhere and give my friend a worried frown.
He’s getting so wasted. We should probably wrap this game up soon. Half the table is already trashed, and it’s going to be hangover central tomorrow if we don’t wind this up quick smart.
“Should we make this the last one?” I throw it out there quietly and get a myriad of reactions—a groan, a “no!,” a “yes!,” a giggle, a burp, an “I’m so drunk, you guys are turning fuzzy.”
Yeah, we should definitely make this the last one.
“Okay, I got it, I got it, I got it,” Mac slurs, raising his glass and looking right at me. His smirk is dangerous, and with a sinking gut, I know I’m gonna have to down this pickle juice. “Never have I ever been grounded for leaving the toilet seat up.”
Aw man, why did I tell him that?
I did it once, when I was seven, and Ma made me spend the rest of the day in my room for being so thoughtless. I’d also peed on the floor, and she was so disgusted with me, she made me clean the bathroom until it sparkled. Only after that was my sentence over and I could come downstairs for dinner.
I’ve never left the toilet seat up again, though. Ever.
And I’d say I’m probably the tidiest, cleanest person in any room thanks to my strict mother.
My lips dip into a frown as I reach for the shot glass, then hesitate.
“Just do it, Jimmy.” Mac’s words are still slurred, but his tone feels like a bark, so I snatch that shot glass and down it.
