Rolling Dice

by Beth Reekles

  “I hear it from a very good source that you’ve had a lot of votes,” Summer says in my ear. “Tiffany was really not happy about that.”

  “I’ve got votes?” That genuinely shocks me. I’d assumed that Andy was joking when he said he’d voted for me; I knew I was a nominee, but people actually voting for me …? “Are you serious?”

  “Uh, hell yes, I’m serious,” she giggles. “I voted for you. But you didn’t hear me say that.”

  “… Bryce Higgins!” Lucy announces loudly, and clapping and cheering ensues. “Come on up here!” A spotlight is fixed on Bryce as he maneuvers his way through the parting crowd to collect his crown. He grins and waves at everyone, and when he catches my eye, he winks, which makes Summer giggle and nudge me in the ribs.

  “If you win too, it’s just going to be the cutest.”

  “I don’t want to win,” I tell her honestly.

  “You might, though.”

  “Tiffany will, since Lucy isn’t running.”

  “She might not. You know, a lot of people like you too. You’re pretty damn popular, even if you’ve only been here a few months.”

  “But …”

  “And your Queen of the Winter Dance … is …” There’s an excruciatingly long pause, and my stomach curls into knots. What if it is me? Do I want it to be me? “Tiffany Blanche!”

  More clapping and cheering. I’m clapping too, and I can’t help feeling a little relieved. Summer claps, but says in my ear, “Don’t tell Tiffany this, but I wanted you to win.”

  I’m not sure how to reply to that, other than: “Don’t worry, my lips are sealed …” and they are.

  The spotlights on Tiffany and Bryce merge into one as they are instructed to step down from the stage to dance. The crowd forms a sort of semicircle around them, and they’re the center of attention. The band starts up again—a slow ballad that I recognize as an acoustic cover of a You Me at Six song.

  Marcus suddenly appears beside Summer. “One last dance, beautiful?”

  “You think I can say no to that face?” she giggles. She shoots me an apologetic smile, but I just grin at them. Even after months of being around them, it never ceases to surprise me how much they obviously love each other.

  Which leads me to think about me and Bryce … and I’m refusing to do that right now.

  I look around as everyone couples up to dance. My date, however, is right in the middle of the dance floor with one of my closest friends at this moment, so it looks like I’ll be sitting this one out.

  I turn to go sit on the sidelines when someone taps my shoulder and makes me spin back again. It’s Justin.

  “Mind if I take this dance?” he asks. “Seeing as both our dates are otherwise occupied?”

  I shrug. “Sure. Why not.”

  And I let him take my hand and lead me onto the dance floor. He puts his hands around my waist and I stretch mine up to rest on his shoulders. I’m glad I’m wearing some heels; I wouldn’t be able to reach otherwise.

  “So what’s the deal with you and Bryce?” he asks me. “How long have you guys been together?”

  “A couple of months,” I reply. “I moved here at the end of August and we started dating a couple of weeks after that.”

  Justin nods.

  “What’s the deal with you and Tiffany?” I ask.

  “Why, are you jealous?” he asks with a flirty smile. I roll my eyes in response and he says, “I ran into her a couple of days ago, at Walmart, and she asked me to come along. It’s not like I had any other plans, so I figured, why not?”

  I bite my tongue before I tell him that it doesn’t seem like Tiffany thinks that. She’s been making out like the two of them are an item.

  Justin adds, of his own volition, “She’s a bit … How can I put this nicely? … self-obsessed.”

  I don’t respond: I know how dangerous words can be, how they can be twisted and misinterpreted; I don’t want it getting back to Tiffany that I said all kinds of things about her behind her back when I didn’t.

  But at the same time, I don’t object. She can be a little self-centered at times, after all.

  I flounder for another conversation starter; I’m desperate to talk about something safer. But we’re interrupted before the silence between us becomes noticeable.

  “Mind if I cut in here?”

  “Bryce.” His name falls off my tongue as relief floods over me. Tiffany is just behind him, and she’s looking at me in a way that I can’t really pinpoint but that sends chills down my spine. With that silver crown on her head, the words Ice Queen flit through my mind before I can help it.

  “Sure, dude,” Justin says easily, and steps back, handing me to Bryce and taking Tiffany’s hand. I hold on to Bryce and we walk away from them before he puts his arms around me and we sway to the music.

  “What was that all about?” he asks, frowning.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You and him. Dancing like that.”

  “He asked me to dance because you and Tiffany were dancing, and I said yes,” I explain slowly. Is he jealous, or just annoyed? I can’t quite decide. “I didn’t think it was that big a deal.”

  Or at least, I didn’t until Justin started acting like a complete jerk.

  “What, are you jealous?” I can’t help but ask.

  “Excuse me for not liking the sight of my girlfriend pressed up against some other guy,” he snaps back.

  “I was not!” I make an effort to keep my voice low, in case anyone overhears and it causes a scene.

  “That’s sure as hell not what it looked like. So excuse me for getting a little pissed off when you’re all over some other guy and you still don’t feel comfortable enough to be like that around me.”

  All I can do for a moment is gape at him.

  Wow …

  Okay.

  I just … I literally have no words to come up with a reply to him. Does he honestly think that about me? And it’s not just that … it’s the fact that he’s bringing up the whole sex issue again. Like it’s going to make me feel guilty or something.

  I don’t like this side of Bryce at all. Most of the time he’s a nice guy—sweet and funny and kind and nice. But right now … well, he’s not that guy.

  And I don’t have to put up with that. However popular he is. Whether or not people think I’m the luckiest girl in school because he’s my boyfriend.

  So I push his hands off me and walk away. The song comes to an end at that point anyway. I hear him call after me, but I pick my pace up a little, making my way over to our table, where I left my purse.

  I wanted tonight to be good. I didn’t want to spoil it at all. But that plan has gone down the drain.

  One night. That was all I wanted. One night being the new Madison and really enjoying it, having a good time at my first high-school dance.

  Was that really too much to ask for?

  There’s still the after party. And you had a good night apart from that scene just now, right? You can still have a good time without him. You’ll have fun with the girls. No use getting upset over your boyfriend being a jerk now—that can wait until tomorrow.

  I drill that into my head as I pick up my purse, fumbling to get the little strap over my wrist.

  A hand clamps around my arm. “Madison, come on. Please. Talk to me a minute.”

  I take a deep breath and turn around, pushing Bryce’s hand off my arm and refusing to look at his face.

  “What was that all about?”

  “What was that all about?” I repeat, unable to keep the frustration and anger from seeping into my voice. “You were being a jerk, that’s what it was all about! You really think I’d—I don’t know—cozy up to some other guy like that when I’m still with you? If that’s your honest opinion of me, then you really don’t think very highly of me at all, do you?”

  “Of course it’s not what I think, Mainstream. I—”

  “Stop it!” I snap. “Don’t call me that. Don’t act like you really car
e about me when you so obviously don’t. If you really did, then you’d respect my decision when I keep telling you no.”

  He doesn’t need me to elaborate on that one, but argues, “I do respect your decision!”

  “Then why do you keep asking me about it and pushing me?”

  “I’m not pushing you! I never meant to do that.”

  “You are, though, and you must know it. I’ve told you a dozen times now!”

  “Madison, I didn’t mean to push you,” he says. He puts a finger on my chin and tilts my face up so that I look at him. “I love you.”

  I tear my head away. “Stop it.”

  “All this time you’ve been saying it back,” he starts; then, “Do you even really mean it? Look me in the eyes right now and tell me.”

  “Bryce, just stop it already!” I snap at him, still not raising my voice. “I’m not dealing with this right now. I’m not dealing with you right now. Got that? Now, I’m going to the after-party with my friends and I’m going to try and enjoy the rest of my night. I’m not having this talk right here for everyone to hear.”

  My voice sounds so unlike me. I sound cool and calm and confident. I don’t feel that way. I feel shaken and hurt and confused; blood is roaring in my ears and my nails are digging into my palm to stop my hands from trembling, and part of me wants to cry.

  “Madison …” He tries to catch my arm, but I shake him off again. “Madison.”

  I ignore him, and instead move around to catch up with Summer and Marcus, who are about to leave. Summer’s collecting her coat.

  “Hey, um, do you guys think I could get a ride to the after-party with you?” I ask hesitantly, my voice a little breathless.

  They exchange a glance. Marcus says, “What about Bryce?”

  I drop my gaze. “We … kind of had a, um, a fight …”

  “Of course you can,” Summer answers me. She lays a hand on Marcus’s arm and says, “Would you mind bringing the car around, please, sweetie? Girl talk.”

  “Sure,” he says, kissing her forehead. He waits and she fishes a set of car keys from her purse, handing them over.

  When we’re alone, she casts a glance behind me before tugging me closer to the exit and lowering her voice to ask, “What happened?”

  “He’s just … being a tool,” I sigh helplessly. “And I’m sick of it.”

  She gives me a sad and somewhat confused look, waiting for me to elaborate, but I don’t.

  “Do you not want to talk about it right now?”

  I shake my head. “I just want to go to this party and try and enjoy the rest of the night. I’ll fill you in on all the details tomorrow—promise.”

  “Okay.”

  “Thanks.”

  She smiles. “It’s what friends are for. Where’s all your stuff for the party?”

  I groan. “In Bryce’s car …”

  “I’ve got it.”

  I watch her go over to Bryce and talk for a moment. He looks over at me and I pretend I’m not looking, and then Summer comes back over with his car keys.

  “Problem solved. I’ll go grab your clothes. Go out the front, and you and Marcus wait for me, okay?”

  I smile. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me. Oh, but before I go—is he being enough of a dick that I need to, like, sabotage his car, or ‘accidentally’ ”—she puts air quotes around the word—“leave with his car keys?”

  I laugh shakily. “No, you can’t do that!”

  She shrugs. “Just looking out for you here … See you in a sec.”

  I collect my coat and then make my way outside like everyone else. I spot Marcus’s car and get in the backseat. “Summer’s just grabbing my stuff from Bryce’s car,” I explain. “She’ll only be a minute.”

  He nods, and I feel his eyes on me in the rearview mirror. I look up and meet the reflection of his gaze.

  “So what’d he do?”

  I shrug. “It’s complicated. He was just being a jerk.”

  Marcus smirks. “I know you don’t swear much, Madison, but this is probably one of those times when it’s contextually appropriate.”

  I laugh, but it’s a little bit humorless. “Probably.”

  He laughs too and we sit in silence—not an entirely uncomfortable silence, though—until Summer opens the passenger door and slides in, carefully holding up her dress.

  She passes my overnight bag back to me. “Here you go. And I even gave him his car keys back.”

  “Thanks.”

  She leans over and gives Marcus a quick kiss, and then we join the stream of cars leaving the Winter Dance. I lean back and let out a long, slow, inaudible sigh, all the tension rushing out of me. I sit limply in the backseat of the car listening to the radio and not thinking about anything at all.

  Summer and I head up to one of the bedrooms to change out of our prom dresses. Most girls, I notice, are now wearing something skimpy and revealing, which makes me feel a little out of place in my full-length skinny jeans and black blouse. But so what. Like I’d feel comfortable in something that left nothing to the imagination?

  The house belongs to some guy on the football and soccer teams. I see him at parties and stuff, but he doesn’t hang around with us at school much. His name is Brandon Jones. His house is huge, and absolutely perfect for a house party.

  Summer and I end up deciding to fold our dresses and put them in our bags. “They’ll have to go to the dry cleaner’s anyway,” she points out. “I’ll see you downstairs somewhere. I’m dying to pee. I couldn’t get the dress up high enough to pee all night long.” And with a laugh she makes a run for the bathroom before anybody else can. I laugh too, thinking now how glad I am I didn’t have a fitted fishtail skirt like she did.

  I zip my bag up carefully and make my way downstairs. I head for the family room, but then I see Bryce near the doorway so I change direction and end up in a games room, where some guys are playing pool.

  “Hey,” I say, walking over to Ricky and Adam.

  “Hey,” they reply.

  Adam notices my empty hands and says, “Still not drinking?”

  “Nope.”

  He smiles. “Good for you.”

  “Did something happen between you and Bryce?” Ricky asks me. “You guys didn’t turn up together.”

  I laugh and say, “I thought only girls enjoyed a good gossip.”

  “I can be extremely effeminate,” Ricky insists, making the three of us laugh. “No, but seriously.”

  “We had a fight,” I finally say.

  “About …?”

  “About nothing that’s any of your concern,” I tell Adam—though not harshly. “Do I really have to talk about this?”

  “So what, are you two … I don’t know, are you still together?”

  “I don’t know,” I reply honestly. “I guess so.”

  Adam shrugs. “Okay, then. Thank you for clearing that up for us.”

  I laugh. “You’re welcome. Did you have a good time at the dance?”

  We talk a while longer before I decide to go and find something to drink—even a glass of water. I find a few of the girls I know in the kitchen, and talk to them for a while. Then I decide to go find Melissa or Summer or Tiffany to hang out with for a while. I hunt for them, but they don’t seem to be anywhere downstairs. So I try upstairs.

  I find Ricky waiting to use the bathroom and ask if he’s seen any of the girls, but he slurs that he hasn’t, so I start looking through the various rooms.

  Suddenly hands close over my eyes and I jump out of my skin, my heart going crazy.

  “Guess who.”

  “Um …” I rack my brain. The voice is familiar, but I can’t think … I push the hands off and turn around. “Justin. Hi.” My voice sounds clipped and irritable.

  “What’re you doing, all on your own?”

  “I can’t find anybody,” I explain. “Have you seen Tiffany anywhere?”

  He shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders. “Not for an hour or something.”
>
  “Never mind.”

  “Where’s your boyfriend?” he asks, not impolitely.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Oh dear.” He looks genuinely concerned for me. “Trouble in paradise?”

  “That’s none of your business,” I snap, trying to step around him, but he steps with me.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Not really.” I don’t know why I’m telling him, of all people—but he seems sincere, and I’m fed up with saying “I’m fine.”

  “Do you want to talk about it? Impartial ears to listen here, if you want.”

  I shake my head. “Thanks anyway.”

  He gives me a halfhearted smile, and lightly clips his finger under my chin. “Chin up.”

  Before I can muster a laugh to go with my smile, we’re both caught off guard by someone very loudly and very pointedly clearing their throat.

  I turn and see Tiffany; she’s looking between Justin and me with an icy cool glint in her eyes. I try not to gulp.

  “Tiffany! Where have you been all night?” I walk over to her, breezing past Justin. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  “Well, you can’t have been looking very hard,” she retorts.

  I just smile blankly at her. She regards me a moment longer before turning away and saying, “Justin, sweetie, could you get me a drink please?”

  “Uh, sure thing.” He shoots me another smile and a wave as he disappears back downstairs.

  Immediately Tiffany wants to know: “What happened with you and Bryce? He told me you freaked out on him and left.”

  “I didn’t. He was being a tool and we had a fight, and then I left.”

  “Oh. Right. Okay.”

  She’s not the same bubbly person I’m used to seeing at parties. This is the side of Tiffany I do my best to ignore: the part that tells me I should ditch the Converse, that I should try and make more of an effort with my appearance (if I “want to make the most of” myself), and that my taste in music is appalling.

  Maybe, I tell myself, she’s just being this way because of the whole thing with Bryce—I mean, they have been friends for years, and she’s only known me a couple of months. If I’ve upset Bryce, or at least put him in a bad mood, she’d have every right to be annoyed with me on principle. Yeah. That’s probably it.