6.4 Fairytale Part Two: The War

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11:55 PM.

Half the boys were left trading baseball cards between plastic sheaths on my bedroom floor; half the girls were asleep on the ballroom couch. My parents, I hoped, were in their bed, unaware of the faction of kids preparing for a game of Truth or Dare in the castle walls.

Evil forces were at work as the girls chose their seats among the boys. I found myself squished between Livy and A.J. with Mara on the opposite side of the circle snuggled between Ryan and Whit. My sister fared no better; her crush was sitting knee-to-knee with Haley and the most beautiful girl in the world.

Mara's pjs were a far cry from the footie pajamas she wore the night we met; socks, a pair of purple Sophies, a tie-died tank with swirling shades of teal. If she was still shaken by Danny's violent and public advances, she didn't show it now.

As always, Mickey Mouse provided our light.

Ryan raised his hands as high as the ceiling allowed. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “these are the rules!”

“Hey, Blue Eyes,” Whit interrupted. “Who made you king of Truth or Dare?”

Ryan was about to retort when Livy piped up, “Wait!” She jumped to her knees and scavenged the storage bin she had been using as a backrest. She removed a cardboard Burger King crown, then leaned across the circle and wiggled it on Ryan's head. “There!”

“Thank you, minion,” he said and cleared his throat. “There's only one rule tonight: what happens in these walls, stays in these walls.”

Livy raised a hand.

“Yes, minion?”

“And no kissing relatives.” She patted my knee. “No offense, little brother.”

I scrunched my face. “Gross.”

“Haley, darling,” Ryan said. “You start.”

I couldn't imagine Haley Jenson playing Truth or Dare. She was a bashful girl who communicated with blinking doe-eyes instead of moving lips. Her hair was cute in blonde braids from a makeover session and her eyes asked, “What am I doing here?” I didn't know what debauchery our game had in store, but I feared the corruption of Haley's bunny-like personality.

“Umm...” she began, then her eyes fell on me. “I pick James.”

“Ooooo!” went the spectators.

I rolled my eyes and looked at the blushing girl. “Truth,” I said.

Ryan cupped his mouth. “Booooring!”

Haley spoke so softly that I had to lean forward to hear the question. “What's your favorite hair color on a girl?” she asked.

I looked at Mara's tangled locks. Apparently, she was the only girl who didn’t receive a makeover. “Blonde,” I said. “Definitely blonde.”

(Days later, my sister would explain that my rapid and direct response brightened Haley's evening, as she too had blonde hair.)

Ryan was next. “I chooose...” He scanned our faces as if he hadn't known for weeks who he was going to pick. “Mara!”

“Me?” she asked.

“Truth or dare?” he asked.

“Truth!” she said.

“Hmm...” he said, then pretended to think. “What turns you on?”

This game was a bad idea. Mara was twelve; a fact that no one seemed to comprehend but me. Girls aren’t supposed play dirty games in secret corridors until high school, and Ryan Brosh--the closest thing to an authority figure in that cave--was taking advantage of her innocence and disregarding the two vital years between them, first with this question, later with a kiss.

“What do you mean?” Mara asked. “I like animals...”

“Well... what can a boy do to get you excited?”

She pursed her lips to the side. The longer she considered her answer, the more I wanted to vomit on Ryan's face.

“Sincerity,” she said.

Ryan nodded. “Interesting response. I like that.”

I looked to Mara to exchange our usual glance--the rolled-eyes, quiet rapport that discretely declared us as “friends”--but Mara didn't reciprocate.

Instead, she looked at Whit.

And Whit looked back at her.

“Who's next?” I blurted, a subconscious attempt to snuff the exchange.

“Mara’s turn, Mara’s turn, Mara’s turn!” said Kimmy.

“Me?” she asked.

“Yes, silly!”

Starting on her left, Mara chanted, “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe...” 

“You're such a geek.” Kimmy said.

“...catch a spider by its toe.”

“A spider?” A.J. asked.

“If it wiggles let him go. Eeny, meeny, miny...” Mara paused for dramatic effect, “...Moe! Haley!”

Haley covered her eyes. “Do I hafta?”

“Everybody hasta,” Ryan said.

“I’ll pick dare...”

“The first dare of the night!”

Livy and Kimmy giggled and toppled in the circle.

Mara perked. “Okay, okay, I got one! Haley, have you ever seen an R rated movie?”

“Laaame-ooo,” said Ryan. 

“What’d I do wrong?”

“First of all, that's not a dare. Second of all, it's lame!”

“It's spposta be dirty,” added A.J.

“Fine!” Mara said. “Haley... stick your finger in your ear... then lick it!”

Livy and Kimmy looked at each other with astonishment.

Ryan slipped his arm around Mara's back, so far that his hand emerged on her other side. “Mara, honey, this is Truth or Dare, not recess.”

She growled. “Uhg! Haley Jenson... kiss Whitney... on the lips.”

The “ooos” rose again like a sitcom’s live studio audience. Livy and Kimmy provided a drumroll on the wooden floor.

Haley looked to me (in the moment, I interpreted her sorrowful gaze as a look of disgust; today, I wonder if she was trying to apologize for the impending betrayal). She crossed the gap on hands and knees and Whit closed his eyes to cage his bewilderment. Haley leaned forward. The group held a collective breath... and she pecked him on the lips.

“Hey Whit,” Ryan called. “Is that a banana in your pocket, or do you just like Haley?”

We laughed. A.J. and I applauded our friend while the girls patted Haley’s back as she returned to her seat.

“Simmer down, children,” Whit said. “Show's over. It's my turn and I choose Mara.”

“What gives? Whitney.” Kimmy put her hands on her hips, jabbing me in the gut with her boney elbow. “There are other girls here too, ya know.”

Whit ignored her. “Mara? Truth or dare?”

“Truth!” she said.

He didn’t hesitate. “Out of the four boys in this room, who's the cutest?”

She scowled. “That’s a mean question! You're all cute!”

“But who’s the cutest?”

Shedding twelve pounds wasn't enough to make me “cute.” I could lose fifty pounds and never compare to Ryan “Junior Varsity” Brosh.

“I mean it,” Mara said. “You're all cute in different ways. I like the look in A.J.'s eyes when he's being kind.” She squeezed the necklace on her chest. “James has this funny face he makes when he writes. It's totally adorable and reminds me of the insides of a grandfather clock. He focuses so hard that his forehead wrinkles and his eyes get all tight.” She mimicked the look and everyone laughed.

“Dead on!” Whit said.

“Whitney is just...” She studied his face. “...different.”

“Different?” he said.

Different? I thought.

“In a good way,” she said and tapped his knee.

“I'll take it!”

She turned to Ryan. “And you look like a movie star!”

He smiled. (I swear I saw his teeth glisten.) “Guess that means I win!”

Livy was next. “I'm gonna hafta pick...” She fiddled with the rainbow beads in her hair. “...Ryan!”

“Sa-weet!” he said and thrust his fists into a victory pose.

Livy's neck retracted until her shoulders covered her cheeks and, for the first time, I noticed Mara's blue polish on her fingernails. She released a nervous squeal as if she couldn't believe she was really going to say what she was about to say. “Ryan Brosh... show us your butt!”

The girls feigned disgust. The boys covered their eyes.

“Gladly!” said the jock, then flipped to his knees, pressed his head against an exposed beam, stuck his rump in the middle of the circle, and pulled down his shorts.

I didn't see Ryan's ass, but I imagine it was a sculpted gift from the gods. My sister was certainly tickled by the sight.

When the laughter subsided, it was my turn. Set in my belief that “different” was the only way to win Mara’s affection, I ignored the instant gratification of physical contact and provided the poor girl a break from the onslaught of horny boys. Based on a hunch, I choose Whit.

“Truth,” he said and furrowed his brow.

Ryan sighed and leaned back on his elbows. “Gay.”

“When we were shooting the scene with the rowboat,” I said,
“what were you and Mara laughing about?”

The truth was so benign that Mara had to help Whit remember their conversation. “Computers,” she whispered. “‘Member?”

“Right!” Whit said. I was telling Mara about the operating system on my IBM PowerPC. She’s only seen computers in movies before the one in my room, so I answered her questions.”

“Whitney says we we’re all going to talk through computers in the future. We won’t need phones! He can already send electronic messages to people.”

“I run a text-based program called PINE through Windows 3.1. I can even send and receive digitized pictures by connecting my internal modem to a file transfer protocol.”

The other girls gave requisite nods. 

Mara was enthralled. “Someday, James’ll be able to put his camera right into the computer so people can see him in China.”

“Why would anybody want to see me in China?” I asked, annoyed that my simple question revived their buddy-buddy rapport.

“She’s not saying you’d want to,” Whit said, “just that it’ll be possible in the future.”

“Spoiled brat...” muttered A.J.

“My parents like to support my talent. Some kids get hunting gear,” he pointed to Age, “some get orange balls to throw at hoops,” he pointed to Ryan, “and I got a computer.”

“You’re a geek,” Ryan jabbed.

Whit grinned and jabbed back. “Haven’t you heard the phrase, ‘Date the jocks but marry the geeks?’ You may be a ladies’ man now, Blue Eyes, but come see me in fifteen years.”

“How ‘bout you send me a digitized picture instead?”

“Deal.” The boys nodded their agreement.

It was time. A.J.’s turn was next and I remembered the twenty dollars and Ryan’s instructions. I wanted to end the game now, to pretend like I heard a parent to scatter the players or at least ruin the mood. But Ryan also recalled his deal with A.J. and announced, “It’s the skinny boy’s turn!”

The cavern pipes groaned above me as all eyes turned to Age.

“Ryan,” he said and the ground trembled.

As Ryan pretended to consider either truth or dare, the particleboard walls began to slide inward like the Death Star trash compactor. Was it my anger at Ryan Brosh that pressed sweat from my forehead pores? Or was it empathy for Mara? She didn't fret the tedious lowering of pipes, the insulation cramming against her back, or the limbs of boys inching bit by bit into her personal space.

“Dare,” Ryan said.

Was A.J. really going to go through with it? Magazines, bins, and other loose artifacts began collecting at the corners of the constricting cavern. A metal duct cut into the back of my neck.

“Hmm...” A.J. said. “Kiss ‘er on the lips.”

Ryan grit his teeth. Wires dropped like nooses around our throats. “Kiss who on the lips?”

A.J. couldn’t say her name, but pointed.

And Mara smiled.

As the girl I loved spanned the orifice separating her from Ryan Brosh, I looked to my best friend to exchange looks of terror and disgust. Instead, Whit was watching the kiss. The world was crumbling around us, but Whit was fine--excited even--by the very thing that was crushing us alive. When I heard Mara's lips smack against Ryan's, Whit grinned.

I wanted to bolt from the collapsing tunnel like Indiana Jones from the spike-riddled cave, but time was gaining momentum and Mara was already back in her place, Ryan was lost in a state of Nirvana, and Kimmy was on her knees deciding who to pick. “Ryan!” she declared with obnoxious glee. “I dare you to kiss Livy!”

Oh Livy... I thought. She had propositioned Kimmy just like Ryan propositioned A.J.! 

He doesn't like you! I wanted to scream. He likes Mara! Everyone likes Mara!

Ryan returned from his endless bliss from Mara’s kiss. He basked in the “ooos” and the “ahhs” of his underlings. He crawled with a swagger to my beaming sister, formed his lips into an exaggerated kissy-face, and planted them on hers.

To Ryan, the kiss was a complimentary mint after a steak dinner. 

Livy wouldn't rinse her mouth for a week.

*  *  *

The walls returned to their static posts and the group disbanded; girls through the library hatch, boys to my bedroom.

A.J. made his twenty bucks. I made a new enemy.

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