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“Truth,” I say, when I know I should say dare. The reckless side of me pulling out a chair and taking a seat at this party.
I brace myself for a question I will not be able to answer truthfully. Something about my father or how my family really feels about his. But instead he grins and asks me how many boys I’ve kissed.
It’s an easy question, given the alternatives, but it’s surprisingly difficult to make myself answer. I consider lying, but with all the other lies and omissions swirling between us, it seems only right I should be honest when it’s possible. “None,” I say. I keep my head up, but my cheeks wear a pink stain I’m hoping the candlelight hides.
Bishop doesn’t laugh or tease me. He just nods. “Was it lack of opportunity or lack of desire?”
“Both, I guess. ” There’s no way I can tell him the only boy I’ve ever been remotely interested in kissing is sitting right across from me.
Bishop opens his mouth to say something else, but I get there before him. “You said one question, remember?” I remind him. “Truth or dare?”
“I would say dare, but I’m scared you’ll make me strip naked and run around squawking like a chicken or something. ”
I’m in the middle of taking a drink, and water threatens to burst out of my mouth. “Those are the kinds of dares you got at camp?”
Bishop shrugs. “Pretty much. We were thirteen, after all. ”
“So another truth?”
“It’s probably safer. ”
Hah. Safer. I take a second to think about what I want to know. There are so many things. From the important—what he really thinks about the arranged marriages, how he feels about me, what he dreams of doing with his life—to the mundane—his favorite color, favorite food, how he gets his hair so soft. Stupid, pointless questions. “What was it like growing up in your house?” I ask finally because no matter how hard I try, I can’t imagine Bishop roaming those dark hallways. Maybe being raised in that house is why he loves the outdoors so much, forever chasing sunlight through the trees.
“Lonely,” he says without pause. My heart clenches. Not because I pity him, but because I understand. I have a sister, but I’ve been lonely my whole life.
“My father is always busy, always focused outward, on what’s happening to Westfall. And my mother is…” He runs a hand through his hair. “Difficult. I think she hoped I could fix something that’s missing between her and my dad and when I couldn’t…” His voice trails off, tired and sad. “I’m sure she loves me, but I’ve never felt it. Which is hell on a kid, you know? You’re constantly trying to earn love, instead of simply having it. It used to make me angry when I was younger, until I realized that didn’t change anything. Eventually, I just stopped trying. ”
“Yeah, I know,” I say. I wish he would teach me the trick of stopping. Instead, I’m caught on the endless loop of needing my father’s affection but not wanting to do what’s required to earn it.
Bishop stares at me, and something is happening between us, something swirling and forming in the still, humid air. I’m terrified of it, of him, but I can’t bring myself to run from it this time, either.
“Truth,” I whisper, because I don’t trust my voice.
“Were you scared of me that first night?” Bishop asks. His question surprises me, as does the wrinkling of his brow, the seriousness in his eyes.
“Yes. ” There’s no point in lying about it.
A shadow floats across his face. “I wouldn’t have…I wouldn’t have touched you, Ivy. Forced you. ”
“I know that,” I say. “Now. ”
“I wasn’t ready for that, either,” he says. And now it’s his turn to look uncomfortable, his cheeks flushed in the semi-dark. I’ve never seen him unsure before, this boy who is always so self-contained. “Just because I’m a guy doesn’t mean…” He looks down at the floor. “Are you still scared of me?”
I swallow. It feels like I have a rock stuck in my throat, jagged and sharp. “No,” I say. Which isn’t exactly the truth. I’m not scared anymore that he’ll touch me. I’m scared because I want him to.
His eyes are dark in the candlelight and they burn into mine. I think he might lean forward and close the distance between us. I don’t know whether that’s my prayer or my fear. Electricity crackles in the air around us, but he doesn’t move.
“I think it’s my turn,” he says. His voice is deep and rough, like he, too, has something snagged in his windpipe. “Truth. ”
“Again?” I try to smile, but it’s a wobbly effort at best. “We’re not much for dares, are we?”
“The truth is more interesting,” he says. “Anybody can do a naked chicken dance. ”
“Why did you pick me instead of my sister?” I hadn’t realized how much that question had been nagging at me until I finally asked it.
Bishop gives a wry grin. “I’m surprised it took you this long to ask me. ”
I cross my arms over my chest like armor. “Well?”
