Page 71 of As You Walk On

“Basic, party of one,” teases Aleah.

We all explode with laughter.

“Fine.” Makayla shakes out her hair. “Never have I ever been late to class...”

Everyone begins to raise their cups, grinning.

“...for an emergency poop.”

Aleah flashes Makayla a middle finger as she slurps loudly. Luca and I join her, avoiding eye contact. I know he’s smiling embarrassedly just like I am.

“Taco Tuesday in the cafeteria is no joke,” grumbles Aleah.

We trade off like that for a few rounds, laughing and drinking and gasping at the quiet revelations. Anything goes. From school stuff—“Never have I ever faked an illness to get out of a test”—to the spicy—“Never have I given or received oral”—to the questionable—“Never have I ever gone forty-eight hours without showering.”

River hiccup-giggles after I take a nonchalant sip of my OJ. It wasonlyonce. Away meets while having to pull all-nighters for bonus-point quizzes lead to some very suspect hygiene choices.

“Never have I ever...” River taps their chin, thinking. “Never have I ever done any landscapingdown thereto impress someone!”

Fuckfuckfuck.

So maybe—a big maybe—I thought something was going to happen between me and Runner Boy at one of those track-meet rendezvous. Other than the usual spit exchanging before he went ghost again. Preparation is key, right?

Thankfully, as I raise my cup, three others join me. Makayla shrugs it off. Aleah keeps her eyes lowered. Luca’s cheeks are brighter than the fairy lights above us.

He shoots me a wry smile. “Never have I ever serenaded anyone.”

I moan, gulping more juice. My bladder might not survive another round.

“To be fair,” he whispers to me as Aleah interrogates Makayla drinking too, “you did Mariah proud.”

I wish I could blame my lightheadedness on alcohol, but I’m completely sober. Yet everything inside me feels wasted. In a not-Jell-O-shots-related, good way.

I clear my throat. “Never have I ever kissed a friend!”

Luca takes a long swig.

My eyes scan around. River frowns down at their cup, their fingers squeezing so tightly, the edges crunch loudly. I’m only distracted from them when Makayla pinches Aleah as she discreetly swallows.

“What? Who? When?”

Makayla throws out questions like a red-carpet reporter trying to find out what designer Aleah’s wearing.

“It doesn’t concern you,” Aleah mumbles.

“Is it—?”

“Ugh, fuck this,” Aleah interrupts her. “Never have I ever broken a friend’s heart.”

Silence wraps an iron grip on the room. Even my phone has decided to stop playing music. Every breath I hear is my own. Swallowing hurts as I register the entire group’s staring at me.

In my dreams, sometimes, I imagine this day. When I’d be sitting across from Aleah. No one else around. I’ve thought of a hundred different ways to phrase “I’m sorry” that didn’t sound weak or pathetic or excusatory. And in every dream, she’d forgive me.

But the longer she glares at me, I realize nothing I say will fix what I did.

At the very least, I owe her the truth.

“I fucked up our friendship,” I admit. My heavy frown makes it impossible to hold my chin high. “My pops was hurting so bad when your uncle left.”

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