Page 1 of Spin The Bottle
1
The game begins
As much as I love a man on his knees, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.
His grunts make me wince when I notice the green liquid dripping off his jacket. My hand flies to my mouth, my eyes widening when I see the aftermath of my bad decision from last night.
“I’m so sorry.” I crouch down, extending a hand to the man on the ground, cursing at me, the world, and smoothies.
He shakes my hand off, glowering at me. “Just drop it,” he says, shaking off the spilled drink from his t-shirt. “I’ll get up on my own.” He lifts off the ground, staring down at this drenched t-shirt.
“I really am sorry.” I attempt to smooth over this situation, but the way he scowls at me lets me know nothing I do can rectify this, especially when he curses at me before walking off.
“What just happened?” I hear Rosie’s voice coming from my phone, clutched in my hand beside me.
I lift it to my ear and exhale, letting my eyes close. “I’m a disaster this morning.”
“Fill me in,” she says. “I heard a bunch of grunts and cursing.”
The spilled drink on the ground brings a sigh out of me as I head towards the classroom. “I wasn’t looking where I was going, is what happened.” I let out a breath. “Bumped into some guy; he fell over; I died of embarrassment. The end.” I let out a sigh. “That’s the last time I hook up at a party.” She snorts on the other end, which makes my lips twitch. “Fine, it’s the last time I leave so late,” I amend.
“Who did you leave with?”
I chew on my bottom lip. “Some jock.”
“Nice name,” she muses. “Has a ring to it.”
I let out a laugh. If only I had snuck out a little earlier, I wouldn’t be in this mess. “I can’t believe I forgot to turn my alarm on.” I walk a little faster, pulling my phone away from my ear to check the time. “Now I’m late, and I lost my green smoothie.”
“You still went to get a smoothie when you’re late?”
“I need all the energy I can get if I’m going to be bored to death for an hour.”
She laughs. “So dramatic. Is it really that bad?”
“Extremely,” I sigh. “Remind me again why I haven’t dropped out?”
“Your mom would kill you?” she offers.
Right. Well, it’s not like my mom doesn’t have another daughter she prefers, anyway. “And I care because?”
“Because even if you try to not let it affect you, you know you care about what she thinks.”
Well, damn. She’s right again. “Are you sure you want to go down the designer route?” I joke. “You’d be a good therapist.” My shoulders drop when I see the door to my impending boredom.
“Of course I would, but then who would dress you?”
I snicker, reaching for the door handle. “I’ve got to go; I’m about to go in.”
“Have fun.”
Not likely.
The line goes dead, and I pocket my phone. My breath shortens before I take the plunge and pull the door open, heading inside. The room quiets when over 50 heads turn to look at me. This, right here, makes me want to die.
Their eyes on me feel like a huge spotlight of judgment. You would think with my line of work, I’d be used to the attention, but I’m not.
My confidence slips a little, the roaring in my stomach an indication of the anxiety brewing inside of me.
