Page 6

Phoebe

Then

We make the trek to the bar, with Hari leading the way.

When we’re a safe distance from campus, she pulls out a plastic bottle filled with some unidentifiable alcohol, which she passes around the group.

As she prattles on, trying to give us all the insider information we need about Hamilton College and its students, I can’t help but feel myself softening towards her.

Adrien, however, is a different story. Despite my efforts at ensuring I’m always within touching distance of Kyan as we walk, I can tell she’s doing the same.

Every time I catch his eyes flicker over to her, my hands fold into fists.

When we finally arrive, Hari waltzes through the front door.

I look furtively for the bouncer before remembering the lowered drinking age here.

A smile flits across my face as we enter the bar, a drab room with sharp overhead lighting that accentuates the sticky floors and a handful of mostly empty tables and booths.

I inhale a stale beer smell, briefly wondering why Hari was so eager to bring us here.

But she leads us through that first room and into another, with a huge bar staffed with three bartenders and surrounded by groups of college-age drinkers, all of whom are talking or laughing or tossing back pints.

Hari raises her arms as a grungy looking guy with tight jean shorts and a lip ring calls her name.

She skips over to him, calling back to tell us to grab drinks and a table and that she’ll join us shortly.

The rest of us hang back slightly, taking everything in. I wonder briefly if the others feel like I do, as if the rest of the patrons can easily spot us as outsiders. I shake away the feeling and raise my voice over the din of the crowd.

“First round’s on me,” I shout before sauntering up to the bar. A bartender heads in my direction almost immediately, bypassing the group of guys further down the counter waving to get his attention.

“What can I get ya?” he asks with a smile that accentuates a dimple in his left cheek.

For a second, I freeze. I don’t know what drinks to order in an American bar, let alone one in a foreign country.

Unsurprisingly, I haven’t had many invitations for nights out back in Atlanta.

The only drinking I’ve ever really done has been at the rare family dinner or charity function my parents have dragged me to, where everyone is so rich and negligent that they don’t mind—or care—when someone’s underaged child decides to partake in the free-flowing champagne.

In fact, I usually need at least a few glasses to get through those things.

But this certainly does not feel like a place that serves champagne. My mind flickers to the little I know about Australia.

“Uh, nine Fosters, please.”

The bartender looks at me for a moment and then bursts out laughing. “First time in Oz?” he asks once he’s regained control.

I feel my cheeks grow hot, but I paint on a smile.

“Okay, scratch that,” I say, craning my neck down and looking up at him from beneath my eyelids. “Nine of whatever you recommend.”

The bartender winks at me before turning his back and busying himself, returning several minutes later with his hands full.

“Nine pints of VB,” he says, as I note the logo on the side of the glasses: Victorian Bitter. I hand over the credit card my father had opened for me several years ago, not bothering to look at the total before signing the receipt.

Declan and Claire come over to help me carry the collection of glasses and usher me through a door in the back of the room into a courtyard.

In the setting sun, string lights cast a shimmering glow over a collection of several tables, around one of which sit the other Adventure Abroad participants, including Hari.

After we distribute the beers, a silence falls around us. There’s so much we don’t know about each other that no one’s really sure where to start.

“I’ve got an idea,” I volunteer. I take a long drag from my glass in an effort to create suspense, trying not to wince at the bitter taste of the beer. The name of the brand was certainly on point. “Let’s play a game. Truth or dare.”

I can’t think of a better way to get to know each other—to see what each of us will admit and how far we’ll go.

I can tell instantly it’s a good idea. The others shift uncomfortably in their seats, all of them except for Kyan, who cocks an eyebrow in my direction.

His message is clear: challenge accepted .

With no overt objections, I look around the group, choosing at random, my eyes settling on the nerdy-looking Italian guy Hari had introduced earlier. “Tomas, why don’t we start with you? Pick someone for truth or dare.”

Tomas’s cheeks glow beneath his olive complexion. He looks around, finally settling on the person sitting across from him.

“I choose Declan,” he says slowly in his thick accent. “Would you like truth or dare?”

“Uh, yeah, dare,” Declan responds, not entirely confidently.

After a moment of pondering, Tomas finally settles on one. “I dare you to take a shot.”

I groan, but Declan laughs, clearly relieved. “Sure, but I’m buying a round of them for everyone.” And so he does, trotting to the bar and returning to the table a few minutes later with a platter of shot glasses that he doles out to each of us.

“ Slàinte ,” he says as he downs the shot.

I follow suit, the alcohol burning my throat, but as soon as it hits my chest, I feel warm.

It’s not the slight dizziness like I felt from the glass or two of champagne I’d have at my parents’ parties.

It’s something better, more solid. Like this is how I’m supposed to feel, an unfamiliar comfort in my own skin.

“Okay,” I say, once everyone’s put down their shot glasses. “Declan, your turn.”

“Well, Phoebe,” Declan says, his attention turning to me. A hazy sheen drapes over the table, which I can no longer attribute to the lights. “I think we must put you in the hot seat for starting this. Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” I answer without a pause.

“Right, but I’m not going to go easy on you like Tomas did,” he shoots a smile at Tomas to show he was joking, which Tomas returns good-naturedly. “I dare you to steal a bottle from behind the bar.”

My smile slips, but I force myself to maintain eye contact. “Done.”

I straighten my spine and start walking back towards the bar, making sure to swish my hips enough for Kyan to notice.

“There’s no way she’ll do it,” I hear Adrien whisper at my back.

Wait and see, bitch.

I sidle back up to the bar in front of the cute bartender who served me the first time. I lean forward, just enough for him to have a clear view of my cleavage.

“Back already?” he asks, dimple flashing.

“Couldn’t stay away,” I say, taking my voice one octave lower than normal. I clench my hands into fists beneath the counter and thank God the effects of the shot are still going strong.

“Another round of beers?” he asks.

“Actually,” I say, “when I was here the last time, I leaned over to try to see the labels on the bottles—a lot of those are foreign to me, after all—and I think my earring may have fallen out behind the bar. I can’t find it anywhere.”

The bartender gives a quick glance at the floor around him.

“Sorry, but I don’t see anything back here.”

“I know this is crazy, but would it be possible for me to take a quick look? It’s just that these earrings are super sentimental. A gift from my grandmother who died last year. If I lost one, I don’t know what I’d do.” I make my eyes as big as possible.

“I mean, it’s not really policy to allow customers behind the bar.” I lean forward a little more, giving the bartender an even better view. “But I suppose I could make an exception. You’ll need to be quick though, and you better not let my boss see you. He tends to pop up when we least expect it.”

“Thank you so, so much,” I say, as he lifts a makeshift door in the counter to let me through.

Once behind the bar, I pretend to scour the floor, waiting for my chance.

“Oi, two pints of Tooheys down here, mate,” a voice yells from further down the bar.

Bingo.

As soon as the bartender heads in that direction, I grab the first bottle I see, not bothering to look at the label.

“Found it! Thanks so much,” I yell behind me before ducking under the counter and speedwalking back to the table.

When I get back, I hold the bottle above my head, victorious.

“No fucking way.” Josh laughs.

“That’s incredible,” Ellery says open-mouthed.

“Do I even want to know how you did that?” Hari asks. Her arm is already looped around Josh, despite knowing him for all of an hour.

“Better if you don’t, I think,” I say with a wink.

Only Adrien looks put out. Of course.

I pour the bottle—some type of off-brand rum—into the empty shot glasses that litter our table, laughing as liquid spills from the sides, and throw mine back with the others, barely feeling the burn this time.

I ignore a snide comment from Adrien about the liquor’s poor quality. Is this bitch serious?

“Okay, my turn.” I don’t hesitate. I turn to Kyan, seated next to me, his black hair shiny and full, his face somehow even more gorgeous in the soft glow of the lights. “Truth or dare?”

“You needn’t even ask, darling. Dare, always.”

I watch Josh shoot Kyan an approving glance, as if he would have chosen the same. I can already tell there’s a budding bromance happening there.

My tongue pokes through my teeth, my hands itching to touch him. “I dare you to kiss a stranger.”

His eyes widen and then his mouth opens in a smile that shows off every one of his straight white teeth. He looks slowly at each one of us, as if pondering who to choose, mockingly stroking his clean-shaven chin. His gaze lands on Josh, and he takes a step forward, prompting Josh to jump back.

“I mean, I like you and all man, but not like that.”

Kyan laughs. “Aw, Josh, I don’t know if my heart will ever recover.”

He returns to looking at us one by one, lingering on Adrien for a second too long.

Her anticipation is palpable, and my heart drops.

But before the disappointment can set in, I feel Kyan step towards me.

Then his hands are on each side of my face, and he’s leaning closer until his lips brush mine.

They press harder, his tongue entering my mouth, and I feel my body go limp.

He tastes like rum and passion and life.

Everything else around us seems to stop.

I don’t know how long his lips stay on mine, but when he pulls away, I have to force myself to remain upright and not collapse back into him.

“Wow,” I say breathily. And then I remember the others, all staring at me, most of them with impressed grins on their faces.

All of them except for one. Adrien glares at me, her gray eyes narrowed and colder than I’ve seen them.

The hatred spills out from them, an emotion so intense it’s instantly sobering.

I cough slightly, trying to regain my composure. “You really leaned into that, Ky.”

“I always do,” he says with a wide grin, apparently not noticing the daggers Adrien’s eyes are shooting in my direction.

I laugh, but I can still feel Adrien’s eyes on me. And I know one thing for certain.

I’ve already made an enemy. And for once, it feels good.