Our Year of Maybe

When I’m quiet, she must realize I’m not in the mood to talk about it, so she holds up her tablet. “You want to watch some Parks?”

So I scoot over to her bed, and we watch eternal optimist Leslie Knope save Pawnee over and over until someone knocks on the door.

“It’s me!” Liz whisper-calls, and Montana hits pause on Parks and scrambles out of bed to let her in.

Only, it’s not just Liz—it’s Liz and the rest of the team and at least two bottles of liquor. The room immediately feels cramped and too warm, and my chest aches for the closeness I had with Montana fifteen seconds ago.

“It’s almost ten,” I say around a yawn, a little embarrassed by how old that makes me sound. I assumed we’d raid the vending machine, watch a couple more episodes, and then crash. I was not expecting a party.

“We’re young. We’ll be fine!” Liz ushers the others into the room like she’s getting people onto life rafts while the Titanic sinks. “Hurry, hurry!”

Kunjal and Gabe flop onto the bed I was sharing with Montana, and Neeti and Taylor, who’ve returned from the weight room, start handing out plastic cups. Liz uncaps a bottle of whiskey and begins passing it around. I must be watching the scene with horror, because Liz grabs my arm and wiggles it, trying to get me to loosen up.

“Sophie, Sophie, Sophie,” she says. “You haven’t been to a dance team sleepover.”

And this is exactly why. At Montana’s party, I was social only with the help of alcohol, and I’m not going to drink the night before the workshop. I’ve only just barely begun to feel comfortable teaching a dance in front of a group. I need a purpose, and I highly doubt we’ve gathered here to dance.

Montana drapes herself over an armchair near the window, taking dainty sips from her cup. “No one’s having more than one drink,” she says, ever the captain.

I stand awkwardly in the middle of the room before taking a seat on the edge of one of the beds.

“Monty,” Liz says, and Montana groans as though she hates the nickname and has told Liz this numerous times. Liz nudges Montana with her hip to make room for her on the chair. “You’re up first! Because that’s how much I love you. And you’re the captain, so you know, you have to set a good example and all that.”

“Do your worst.”

“Truth or dare?” Liz says, and I have to muffle a laugh. I am in a hotel room playing Truth or Dare, and it sort of sounds fun.

“Your dares are evil, so truth, definitely.”

Liz pouts. “Fine. Have you ever had a sex dream about a teacher?”

“Ms. Lawler, and I’m not even embarrassed about it because she’s gorgeous,” Montana says breezily, and a chorus of catcalls and whoops erupts from the room.

“Pick the next victim,” Liz says.

Montana dares Neeti to dance down the hall wearing only a bra and underwear. Neeti picks Kunjal, who picks Danica, who dares Liz to apply a full face of makeup without looking in a mirror.

“That wasn’t too bad,” Liz says when she finishes, and oddly enough, it isn’t. Then she turns to me and quirks her mout

h. “Sophie. Truth or dare?”

“Twenty bucks on truth,” someone whispers. I can’t see who it is, but I hear someone else snicker.

It makes sense, though: I am not a dare kind of person.

Maybe it’s because I’m away from home or because I’m still reeling from Peter’s announcement. Maybe it’s that I’m sick of everyone pretending they know exactly who I am. But tonight I decide to be.

“Dare,” I say, hoping it comes out confident but hearing a tinge of uncertainty in my voice anyway.

Liz raises an eyebrow. “Hmm, okay, gotta make it a good one, then.” She taps her fingers on her chin, and then her face splits into a wicked smile. “Call room service and order something off each section of the menu.”

“That’s . . . too easy,” I say carefully.

“While pretending you’re having an orgasm.”

The team howls. My face flares with heat.

“She’s not gonna do it,” Kunjal says to a sophomore named Corrie.