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The next time I look up, the dude is holding out the blindfold to me.

“You want a turn?” he asks.

“Sure.”

I need to figure out a better answer. People are going to start thinking I’m a parrot.

He guides me to the hallway between the TV room and the kitchen, then ties the blindfold over my eyes.

“You got a plan?”

“Can you explain the rules again, please?” I ask.

He spins me around—over, and over, and over—until I’m not sure where I’m pointed or who I am. My hand shoots out to grab the wall so I don’t collapse into a pile of Jell-O.

“You have five minutes to figure out who the other person from the second group is,” he says. “You get one guess. We’re up six points, so it’s cool if you mess up.”

“Can I ask who it is?”

“No talking. If we hear voices, we tie you to the time-out chair like Chad.”

Now I kind of want to know what the “time-out chair” is.

The kitchen door squeaks open and he nudges me inside.

It takes a second to get used to not being able to see, but it’s nice. Almost like wearing the bunny mask when I go out at night. I don’t have to worry about if my face is smiling too wide. I’m just stuck listening to my breathing and feeling my way around.

Table.

Chair.

Counter.

My hand smacks into a body.

Someone’s palm hits my forehead hard enough to sting.

He snort-laughs.

Clue One: Dude.

I’m going to figure out a way to get the point, even if I’m shit with names.

He feels around my forehead, then smacks both hands on either side of my cheeks. His thumb pokes my nose, while his other hand is on my ear, like he’s trying to figure out if I have piercings—which is hella smart.

I’m kind of mad I didn’t come up with the idea first.

I pat down what I think are his shoulders—they’re connected to arms, I’m safe—feeling for fabric. I’ve seen everyone’s costumes. If I figure out the costume, I can try and work backwards toward face.

It’s like a windbreaker material, squeaky under my fingertips. Further up, there’s some sort of necklace, or lanyard, around his neck. At the end of it, there’s a heavy circle attached. A medal, maybe?

His thumb slides against my mouth and I part my lips on reflex.

Wrong place. Wrong time.

Oops.

He hesitates for a beat.