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“Oh, right. So silly of me not to know that.”
“Yes, indeed it is.”
“Keep talking.”
“Each round revolves around a different series, but we only discuss one element at a time. The way it works is the guy…” He pauses for a moment and then corrects the statement, “or girl who answered incorrectly last chooses the next element for discussion. Once the element is given, we go around stating facts about that element from the periodic table. Now, you don’t have to be right or wrong. It’s more about how confident you are in your answer. Kind of like poker and bluffing. If someone thinks your statement is false, he or she can challenge the validity of the answer. Then, we look up the answer online, and the loser has to drink.”
“And you want me to play this Poindexter game? Me? The art history major?”
“Yes.” He laughs. “I have a pretty good feeling that you’ll do better than you think.”
“Fine.” I huff, exaggerating my annoyance. In reality, this game sounds hilarious, and I really want to see it in action. “I was looking to get drunk tonight anyhow. Bring it.”
“You heard her, James,” Foster says, focusing on his friend. “Give us an element. Do your worst.”
James closes his lids, deep in thought for a few seconds. He then blurts out, “Thorium.”
Like rapid fire, the men begin spouting off facts regarding the given element.
“Atomic number ninety,” Peter states.
“Unstable isotopes,” says Graham.
“Once used in gas mantels,” James adds.
When the men all look to Foster, he says, “Discovered in 1828.”
Then, they all turn their gaze to me.
“You’re up, EJ,” Foster encourages. “What do you say?”
I snort. “I should probably just forfeit and take a drink.”
“That’s no fun. C’mon. Give it your best shot.”
This is ridiculous.“Fine. What the fuck am I talking about again?”
“Thorium,” Graham reiterates.
“Thorium.” I grab my glass, ready to drink. “You know, the most godly of them all, being named after Thor, god of thunder. Bring on the giant hammer man with rippling muscles.”
James laughs. “I’m calling bullshit on this one.”
I lift my glass to my lips.
“Wait,” Peter says. “The rules state that we have to verify if she’s wrong first.”
“Do we really need to?” I ask, lowering my drink. “Everyone here knows that it’s wrong.”
“Actually,” Foster says, chuckling at my side, staring at his phone. “She’s right. James, take the shot.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he protests.
“Not at all.” Foster flips his phone around for everyone to witness that I am indeed correct.
James picks up the shot and downs the vodka in one gulp. “Looks like I get to pick again.” He balances the empty glass upside down on another one at the center of the table. “Einsteinium.” He turns to me. “Named after Albert Einstein.”
“Well, I’m up shit creek now with zero paddles, life vests, or lifeguards to speak of,” I mutter.
