Rolling Dice

by Beth Reekles

  “I don’t think so,” I say, picking a piece of loose cotton from my comforter. “I really, really think he was just being nice. You know, so I wouldn’t have to show up on my own and stand there like—like a lemon.”

  “Mm,” she says thoughtfully. “Do you want it to be a date?”

  “Kind of,” I mumble. I wouldn’t have told my mom that, but Jenna is different. “But it doesn’t even matter because it’s not a date.”

  “All right—well, next question: What are you wearing?”

  “Right now, shorts and a tank top and the sweater Gran knitted for me last Christmas.”

  “I mean tomorrow, to the party.”

  We both laugh then. I say, “I honestly don’t know.”

  “Well, what are big sisters for? Shorts, definitely. Do you have any distressed shorts? And when I say shorts, I mean really short shorts. The kind Mom would not approve of.”

  I giggle and roll off my bed to go open my closet. Jenna and I talk for over half an hour and she guides me through what she thinks is appropriate wear for a beach party. Considering she never went to a beach party when we lived in Maine, she seems to know an awful lot about them.

  When I point that out, Jenna just laughs and says, “Madison, just trust me on this.”

  And I do.

  Chapter 4

  Ever had that nauseous feeling when you text a guy you like for the first time?

  Well, imagine that: the twisting in my stomach so bad I almost need to pee, the clammy hands, the racing mind. Deleting and retyping one text at least a dozen times.

  Except it’s even worse—since I’ve never texted a guy before, period. I have no idea what the protocol is.

  I spend about twenty minutes trying to compose a text to Dwight. Right now, the screen on my cell phone reads: Hey! How’re you? I was just wondering what to do about meeting you later for the party :)—and all I can do is stare at it, and wonder if it’s all right. Should I delete the How’re you? And should I add a kiss on the end?

  I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know!

  I drop the phone on my bed and run my hands through my hair, biting down on my lip to muffle a little scream of frustration.

  Ping!

  I freeze. Then I drop my hands, open my eyes wide and stare at my phone. I think my heart actually stops beating for that moment.

  I lunge for my phone, snatching it up and staring at the screen.

  It’s sent the message.

  When I threw my phone down I pressed the send button. I hear a little whimper of worry escape my mouth, and my heart starts beating again, and beating hard.

  I double-check the screen of my cell—it definitely sent the text to Dwight.

  It takes a couple of minutes for the panic and anxiety to subside. It was probably the kind of thing I would’ve sent him anyway. It isn’t even such a big deal.

  Now all I have to do is wait for him to text back.

  I remember he’s working the afternoon shift, so maybe he’s still at work and won’t reply for a while.

  I go to my closet and find the outfit Jenna helped me to pick out. It’s a pair of teeny tiny shorts that only reach a third of the way down my thigh, light blue denim and kind of torn at the hem. Then a white camisole, with a low neckline decorated with black lacy stuff. A pair of black sandals, and some gold bangles, and a thin white hoodie—because according to Jenna, people won’t be too dressed up, and it might be cold, but I still want to look good.

  I’m not sure about the camisole. I mean, I haven’t got much in the way of curves. Jenna may not have been to any beach parties, but she sure knows a lot more about parties and what to wear than I do.

  I’m so busy contemplating how the outfit will look that when my cell phone goes ping! again, I jump.

  Oh, gosh, he’s replied!

  I hastily put my clothes back into the closet as tidily as possible, not wanting them to be creased tonight. Then I pick up my cell.

  One new message: Dwight.

  I grin, but at the same time I’m feeling hideously anxious. But I do it—I open up the text.

  Hey :) Where do you live? I can meet you at your house at eight, if that works for you?

  I text him back with my address, and say that works out great, thanks! I throw in a smiley face and hit send; then I fall back among the cushions on my bed, and I smile.

  A mixture of excitement and fear courses through my veins. I honestly don’t know what I’m thinking. I can’t stop smiling, because I’m finally being the person I want to be, and getting out there in the real world; I’m not being left behind in the shadows, or laughed at. My stomach has just totally disappeared, though, because I’ve never been to a party before and I have no idea what I’ll do there. I don’t know anybody except Dwight, and I can’t expect him to spend the whole night with me.

  I know I’ll have to talk to people—I’ll have to face most of them at school on Monday. What if they don’t like me? What if I can’t find anything to say to them, or I make an idiot of myself?

  At least with this party, I’ll get the chance to meet people, maybe even make a good impression.

  And before I know it, it’s almost seven o’clock.

  I jump in the shower and then take extra time to fix my hair, get dressed, and put on some makeup. Since moving to Florida, Mom has convinced me to buy a whole load of makeup.

  “Not that you even need it,” she said. “You’re beautiful, sweetie. But when you just want to look that little bit better, you’re going to want it, I know. Jenna was exactly the same.”

  I’d only worn mascara, since my lashes were so blond they looked almost nonexistent, and hadn’t bothered with much else. If I was going to the mall with my mom, I’d maybe add some concealer under my eyes. But that was it.

  Tonight, I stand in front of my dresser and carefully apply eye shadow and liner, foundation and blush, mascara and lip gloss. I’m so glad I grew up with Jenna for my older sister; I’ve never worn much makeup, but at least I know how to apply it properly.

  Once I’m dressed and ready, I step back and take a good look in the mirror. I’m getting used to seeing this strange version of myself, but I am shocked by what I see this time.

  I look good. I don’t look anything at all like I used to. I stare at my reflection and wonder what happened to Fatty Maddie; wonder how the heck I got from being bullied and alone and, if I was lucky, ignored, to looking like … like this.

  I would never admit it out loud, but I look more than good. The new Madison is supposed to be cool, daring and spontaneous. And I sure look like the new Madison.

  A smile spreads over my face. I feel confident, like I can handle this party, like I can go out there and talk to people. Then I switch my bangles from my right arm to my left, because I don’t want anybody to see my scar and ask about it.

  The doorbell rings.

  I gasp. I laugh out loud, wondering how excited I’d feel if the guy ringing the doorbell was here for a date.

  “It’s not a date,” I tell myself quietly, looking the Madison in the mirror right in the eye. “He’s only asked me because he’s a nice guy. It’s not a date.”

  I exhale sharply when Dad yells up, “Madison! Your friend’s here.”

  I practically sprint down the stairs in case Dad embarrasses me—or Dwight. I don’t want to look eager or anything, but seriously … When Jenna brought guys home, I saw how embarrassing my parents could be when they wanted—though they were usually pretty good. Even so, and even if Dwight is just a friend, I’m not about to put either of us through that experience.

  But Dad decides to embarrass me and says, “Shouldn’t you go put some pants on with those, Madison?”

  I clench my teeth, and suppress a blush. Over the years I got quite good at not letting my cheeks burn after being humiliated at school.

  “And eleven-thirty curfew—I’ve got it,” I reply. Then I turn and shoot Dwight a smile, looking at him for the first time.

  He’s wearing kha
ki pants and a white T-shirt. It’s not a fitted tee, so it makes him look even more gangly and thin—but not in a bad way.

  He smiles his lopsided smile back at me. “Ready to go?”

  I nod. “Yep.”

  “Got your cell?” Dad asks me.

  “Yes,” I say, kind of testily, because I just want to go.

  “Good.” He turns to Dwight then and nods briskly. “You kids have fun.”

  “Bye, Dad,” I say, and move toward the open door. Dwight has to back up outside so I don’t ram into him. I pull the door shut with one hand and then stop, looking at him and letting out a puff of air so my bangs fly off my face for a moment.

  He laughs. “It’s almost like you’re embarrassed by your father, Madison.”

  “What?” I say, making a face like I haven’t a clue what he’s talking about. “Wherever did you get that idea?”

  He laughs and smiles at me again. “Don’t worry—he seems nice. I know my mom’s the worst. She decided to show my friends baby pictures once. And I mean the kind of baby pictures that should stay gathering dust in the attic.”

  I laugh, and remember when my parents did that to one of Jenna’s boyfriends.

  “Cool piercing, by the way. It suits you.”

  “Oh, thanks!” I beam at him.

  We start off down the sidewalk.

  Walking next to him, I realize how much taller than me Dwight is. I’m a little on the short side, and since I lost the weight I’m kind of petite.

  “Thanks for asking me to come tonight,” I say, filling the silence a little.

  “No problem. I figured you might want to try and meet some people before school starts.”

  I smile, grateful.

  “It must be scary,” Dwight carries on as we turn a corner. “To be starting a new school, I mean.”

  I shrug. “Can’t be any worse than my last school.”

  “What happened at your last school?”

  I’m silent for a moment, beating myself up inside. I can’t believe I just said that! How stupid can I get?

  “Sorry,” Dwight says. I guess I paused long enough that he figured out it was a sensitive issue. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “No, it’s fine. Just … me and my big mouth,” I joke, and force a laugh. “It’s just that, um, I wasn’t really … My school in Maine didn’t exactly have the nicest people.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make things awkward. I just have a big mouth sometimes—it’s my own fault.”

  I’m babbling. I don’t have a big mouth; I know when to shut up. I’m very good at shutting up. I’m also good at keeping my emotions bottled up inside. I’m extremely good at not having a big mouth. I’m talking total trash.

  Dwight smiles, oblivious to what’s going on in my head. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I know the feeling—when you say something without thinking. I’ll forget if you want …”

  I shake my head. “I’ve said it now … it doesn’t matter. So, anyway, how was your day?”

  He chuckles, and then we talk. I’ve never really talked to people before, so it’s weird how natural it feels with Dwight. He tells me about a rude customer and how the toaster nearly exploded; I tell him how my parents flipped when they saw I’d gotten a nose piercing, and how much I like Florida.

  It doesn’t take long to get to the beach. There are already a lot of people there, all around my age, and I’d guess all in high school. The sky isn’t totally dark just yet, but it’s getting there. The sun’s still setting, and it throws red and pink and purple streaks across the rippling sea. I’ve never seen anything like it. If you removed the litter and driftwood, and the partying kids, it’d be even more of a breathtaking sight.

  As it is, I don’t spend very long gazing out at the gorgeous sunset. My attention is quickly drawn to the masses of people. There have to be something like a hundred kids here. Most of them are drinking. They’re all talking and laughing, hanging out, some of them making out … The kind of thing I guess happens at parties.

  And I’m scared.

  Like, seriously terrified. I want to grab Dwight’s hand, just to reassure myself that I’m not alone, I have a friend here, that everything will be totally fine. But I don’t, because he’s still walking and I’ve stopped in my tracks.

  Before he notices I’m not beside him anymore, I hurry forward and fall into step with him again. I wring my wrists and flex my fingers; my hands are sweating.

  My confidence from earlier is slipping away pretty darn quick now. I’m scared I won’t be able to talk to them. I’m scared they won’t like me. I’m scared it’ll be just like Pineford all over again.

  “Hey,” Dwight says softly all of a sudden, making me jump a little. “You don’t have to look so scared. They won’t bite. Well, some of them might, but I’ll warn you if any of them approach.”

  I laugh, but there’s a nervous ring to it. Dwight bumps his shoulder against mine, our arms pressing together, and smiles at me encouragingly. Somehow I smile back, and take a couple of deep breaths as we go toward a campfire.

  There are logs arranged around it, and some kids are sitting on them, talking and drinking. One guy crumples an empty beer can. He tosses it into the fire and then slings his arm around the girl next to him.

  “Are any of your friends around?” I ask Dwight. I feel kind of bad, wondering if maybe he’ll think he has to spend all night with me because I don’t know anyone.

  He’s already scanning the party, though, and then I see his eyebrows lift when he spots someone. He raises a hand and nods, and I guess whoever it is must’ve seen him too. I’m too late—there’s no one waving over now.

  “I’ll be back in a sec,” Dwight tells me. “Do you want a drink or anything?”

  I shake my head. “No, I’m fine, thanks.”

  “I swear, I’m not ditching you,” he laughs, then grins at me reassuringly. “See you in a minute.”

  I let out a breath of laughter and say, “Sure,” shooting a smile at him. I stare at his retreating back for a second or two, but then I feel stupid, standing here alone. I take a few steps toward one of the logs around the fire and flop down onto it.

  I fiddle with the zipper on my hoodie for a moment. It isn’t cold, but I’m tempted to zip it up, just so I can feel like I have something to hide behind. I half wish that I didn’t cut all my hair off: I feel totally exposed.

  My iPod is in my back pocket. I don’t like to be without it. It was an extension of me the past couple of years when I was in school. I’m tempted to put in just the one earphone, but I can’t. I won’t. I refuse to give in so soon.

  I clasp my hands together and rest them on my knees, staring at the fire. I know I should talk to someone, but who? Who are the “right” people to know? Is sitting here alone waiting for Dwight to come back the wrong thing to do? I decide to just wait till Dwight returns. It’s safest. Easiest.

  The chatter and laughter around me are loud, but the crackle of the fire sounds louder. It feels hot on my face and neck, and my legs.

  I don’t even notice the guy until he speaks.

  “Now, you can’t just leave a pretty girl on her own at a party without a drink,” says a voice that’s deep, friendly, and most definitely not Dwight’s.

  Chapter 5

  I look up, and the guy who snuck up on me is holding out a red plastic cup. I realize that he is seriously hot. He’s broad shouldered and tanned, and his hair is blond and a bit wavy. He has chocolate-brown eyes and they’re looking right at me.

  Oh, I realize that he called me pretty. This is one occasion when I just can’t stop a blush.

  I eye the drink he’s offering, while inside I’m kind of freaking out (in a good way) that this guy called me pretty, and I know I should try to flirt—because this hot guy is talking to me. Me!

  I blurt out, “Didn’t your mom ever tell you not to take things from strangers?”

  Even as I am saying it, I know it’s not the kind of thing I sh
ould say, but by then it’s too late.

  He laughs like I just made a joke. Then he sits down beside me. I’m shocked, but so not complaining: for the first time in my life, a hot guy is choosing to sit beside me, laughing like I’m actually funny. He’s starting to talk again, but without thinking I blurt out:

  “Do you always use that line on girls?”

  I am just such an idiot!

  “Only on the lonely ones,” he jokes, and winks at me. The blush rises in my cheeks again; I can’t stop it. I gulp at how close he is to me. “I’m Bryce,” he tells me, and offers me the drink again. “There. Now I’m not a stranger.”

  I laugh, and this time I take the drink. I’m tempted to take a sip, but I know my parents would kill me—and besides, I don’t even know what it is. I think it’s cider, or beer, but who knows? So I don’t. I just hold the cup.

  Bryce. I bet he’s, like, the quarterback or linebacker on the school football team or something. He just emits that kind of social standing—the confidence, the winning smile, the way he carries himself. It all screams Mr. Star Football Player and Mr. Popular. It makes me wonder why he’s sitting here, talking to me.

  I wonder where Dwight is. Shouldn’t he be back by now?

  Then I realize that this guy, Bryce, is waiting for me to give him my name, and I think, I’m such a dork. I must’ve paused too long, though, since he carries on.

  “So where are you from, Lonely Girl? I haven’t seen you around.” He says it like he knows everyone. And he probably does.

  “Maine,” I answer. “I’m from Maine.”

  “Really? Oh. That’s cool.”

  “No. LA is cool. New York City is cool. Where I’m from, it’s boring.”

  He laughs again. “I’ll take your word for it. So you’re gonna be coming to school at Midsommer?”

  I nod. “I’ll be a junior,” I say, when Bryce doesn’t fill my silence again.

  “Cool. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”

  “Sure.”

  Flattered as I am that this hot, obviously cool and popular guy is talking to me of all people, I feel like a complete and total dork.