Paige scoots back into an oversized chair and snuggles up under the arm of her boyfriend, Aidan. She keeps swatting away his hand when he grabs her boob. He laughs at her and does it over and over again. He looks over and winks at me. I grin like we’re friends in on the joke, but then kind of hate myself for it, because he seems like that kind of likable asshole who can get away with anything. But I’m working so hard here, determined to fit in. Anything goes.

And then, in a moment straight out of a movie, someone suggests we play truth or dare. There is oohing and ahing and giggling, and I say, maybe a little too loudly, “Oh yeah!” and everyone laughs.

I catch Breanne’s eye and she stonewalls me, then switches gears and says, all bubbly, flipping her hair, “Okay, let me go first!” She points a hand at Aidan, who hams it up, pretending to choke on his beer, and she demands, in a booming voice like some evil queen, “Truth or dare?”

“Truth, always truth,” he laughs, shrugging at this no-brainer.

Breanne strokes her chin, appraising him. Someone tells her to bust his balls, and another says, “Go get ’im, Bree!” She looks around the room now, sizing everyone up. I squirm a little when her eyes rest on me but hold her gaze, smiling. She nods now, arriving at a question.

“Okay, okay, Aidan,” she says, and there is nervous giggling. “Do you vow to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

He puts one hand on his heart and another on his crotch. “I swear,” he deadpans.

“Okay.” She leers at him, then darts a glance at Paige. “Where is the most public place you’ve had sex?”

A whoop blows up in the room, and I notice that Paige looks uncomfortable, like she is actually shrinking. He looks at her with a scamp’s smile before saying, “Sorry, baby, but this is for research purposes. Gotta be honest.” There is a long pause, then, “And I can honestly say that the supply closet in the art room is very small but does the job. Or … has enough room so someone can do the job.”

Everyone is howling, except Paige, who has stood up and left the room, which just provokes more laughing, and Aidan shrugs, his hair falling in his eyes. Breanne nods her approval, sitting down with her long legs open, her elbows resting on her knees. She lazily gestures to him, a queen on a throne; it’s his turn. He surveys the room, hardly noticing when Paige returns and sits somewhere else. His eyes rove around, and I see them rest on Lottie, and he smiles wickedly. She throws her head back in acceptance, defeat, groaning. He lifts a finger and points at her. “You know the drill, blondie. Truth or dare.”