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But I’m not. Not right now.
Our different pasts feel like proof of how uneven our relationship was. Is. I’m not sure which tense is proper right now.
Camila goes next. She’s one of Grace’s good friends. She’s also sitting on the other side of Holden, so I avoid looking at her as she shares her three sentences. No one on my team asks me for my opinion on her lie, so I focus my attention on draining the rest of my cup instead.
My stomach is churning, my skin warm and tingly from all the vodka I’ve knocked back. I don’t drink alcohol very often, so my tolerance is probably somewhere right aroundextremely low.
I’m stuck here.
It’s dark and late, an hour plus drive back to Pembrooke.
Not to mention, I’m drunk.
So, the best solution seems to be to keep drinking. The next time the pitcher gets passed around, I top my cup off once again.
Jordan is the next one to go. Since he’s on my team, I don’t have to participate.
And then…Holden is up.
“I have five cousins. I eat cereal without milk. My favorite flavor of ice cream is cookie dough.”
“Jeez, man. Too vulnerable,” Harrison jokes.
A few laughs echo around the fire.
Then, one by one, everyone on my team looks to me. Brooks is the last to, a wrinkle appearing between his eyes as he follows everyone else’s attention.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he hasn’t heard Holden is the guy I was referring to last night.
I shouldn’t care. I don’t care. He’s just one more witness to the rollercoaster that’s my relationship with Holden Adams.
I take some petty satisfaction in taking a slow sip of my drink, pretending not to notice the expectant expressions aimed my way.
“Cassia?” Jordan prompts.
“What?” I reply.
“Uh…” He glances at Harrison, who’s now studying the ground instead of making jokes. “I just, um, do you have any thoughts?”
“Nope, no thoughts. It’s areallytough call.”
“Um, okay.” Jordan obviously has no idea what to make of my sarcasm.
Around Holden’s friends, I’m usually easygoing and affable. I wanted them all to like me. To get why Holden liked me.
Right now? I don’t really care. They probably all formed their conclusions about me a long time ago, and I’ve wasted my time ever since.
“His aunt doesn’t have any kids, right?” McKenzie says, from my left. “Does his dad have other siblings?”
“No clue,” Jordan replies. Then glances at Harrison, who shrugs.
“Straight cereal is criminal,” Brooks comments. “I bet that’s the lie.”
“Two of them have to do with food and one doesn’t,” Jordan states. “I think that means something.”
“Oh, I didn’t think of that,” McKenzie says. “Okay, yeah. I vote for the cousins one.”
It doesn’t escape my notice that the deliberations about Holden’s clue have already lasted twice as long as everyone else’s so far. The spotlight is always a little brighter when it’s aimed toward him.
