Page 92 of Truth or Dare

My chest tightened as I sank back in my seat, more confused and worried than ever. Whatever was eating at her, it was big – and I had no clue where to even start fixing it.

As the film continued for what was left of the fifty minutes of class, I couldn’t concentrate on the screen. I wrote her a note and tapped her shoulder, letting it go so it slid down her chest. In the dark, I heard the paper crumple in her fist, but she made no attempt to look at the note.

Mr. Bailey stopped the film five minutes early to hand out the reports we did on the Alfred Hitchcock films we viewed. I patiently waited for him to give me mine hoping to talk to Presley before she ran from class, but she was out the door before that happened.

I glanced at the floor under her chair and saw the note I gave her, the word “truth” glaring at me in blue ink. I swiped it into my hand, shoving it in my pocket. The last time she spoke to me was Saturday when we spent a couple of hours in her room, kissing and cuddling.

Now she was like a glacier.

“Very good, Mr. Evert,” Mr. Bailey said as he handed me my paper.

It was an A, but I had no doubt it would be. I nodded with a tight smile, took the report from his hand and shoved it into my backpack, hurrying from the classroom. The halls were packed with students getting ready to go home. Near the double doors leading out to the parking lot, I caught a glimpse of Presley.

I followed, shoving my way through the crowded hall to get to her before she left but I was too late as her jeep peeled out of the parking lot, heading for the exit.

“Fuck!”

Behind me, I heard giggling. “Trouble in paradise?” Reagan asked.

I whirled around. “Mind your business,” I said.

“Are you pissed she’s back with Evan?” she asked, her words dripping with venom.

“Don’t you have cheerleading practice?”

She shook her head. “Coach is sick today, no practice. I have a free afternoon,” she said as she stepped closer to me.

I rolled my eyes. “Not interested,” I said, heading for my truck.

“She’ll never be yours again,” she called.

I shoved my backpack in my truck as she got to my door. “Stop fucking around with him. Evan is using you,” I blurted.

Her face contorted in pain. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Did you have fun with him Saturday afternoon?”

Reagan’s face went white as a ghost. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you? How was Fromby’s?”

She coughed. “We were bored.”

“Cut the crap. He’s dating Presley and fucking you on the side. Your best friend….”

I let that sink in. Her hand tightened around the strap of her purse.

“Did you ever think he was using Presley? Trying to make ME jealous,” Reagan said, jamming her finger into her chest.

I laughed sarcastically. “You’re fucking delusional. He wants the queen, not the court jester.”

She slammed her hand into my shoulder. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

“And you’re pathetic,” I said, slipping into my truck and yanking the door closed.

Reagan gave me the finger as I gunned the engine when I started up the engine. She sauntered away, meeting some girls who were clustered by a black SUV, probably her cheerleading friends.

I swung out of the parking lot and navigated toward Presley’s house. Since Evan was practicing, I didn’t expect her to be anywhere other than there but when I passed by her house, her car wasn’t in the driveway. I parked two houses down at the curb and called her, it went right to voicemail.

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