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Like every night, we hear the loud music before we reach the pool. There are inflatable floats shaped like pineapples and ducks everywhere with people splashing around them. Lights are flashing in time with the song, and everyone is wearing identical white T-shirts.
Tonight is a Seven Tasks event, and when we flash our wristbands at the pool entrance, the worker hands us each a white cotton T-shirt in our size and tells us there are markers on all the tables to use. Printed on the back of the shirt is a list of seven tasks beside a checkbox, and our job is to do all the tasks throughout the night and check them off. Kind of like a scavenger hunt for drunk adults, but without having to search for anything.
We venture deeper into the party, and I scan the pretty doable list of tasks. They are: do a dare, a body shot, and a piggyback ride, take a shot with no hands, swap a piece of clothing, kiss someone, and take part in a dance-off.
Slipping my shirt on, I catch Lori eyeing the tasks warily.
“You don’t have to do them all, you know,” I tell her.
She lowers her hands and frowns. “Do you think I’m boring?”
“What?”
“Do you think I’m boring?” she asks again, emphasizing each word.
“No, I don’t think you’re boring,” I reply, scanning the crowd.
“But you think I’m predictable?”
“Where is this coming from?” I ask.
“Just answer the question,” she demands, watching me carefully.
Pausing, I think about what she wants me to say versus the truth, but as her best friend, she deserves the unfiltered truth.
“I don’t think you’re boring or predictable. You’re just you; you’re comfortable not being the center of attention, and that’s okay.”
She frowns like I said the worst possible thing. “Do you think I should—I don’t know—do more to stand out?”
She’s not aware of it, but she already stands out in a crowd because she’s so drop-dead gorgeous, at least when she’s not actively trying to fade into the background.
“Why are you asking this all of a sudden?”
She shrugs and pouts at the ground.
Obviously something is up, but I won’t push it. “I love you for who you are, andyoushould love you for who you are too.
Do I wish you’d be more confident and show the world the Lori I know and love? Fuck yeah. But if you don’t want to, then don’t.
All I’m saying is you prefer the background, and if that makes you happy then screw everyone else.” I pause as she purses her lips in thought. “But put yourself out there a little more, you’re missing all the fun.”
“How do I do that? Put myself out there more?”
I gesture at the task shirt she’s clutching in her hand. “Doing those tasks would be a start. They all encourage you to actuallytalkto people, to have fun with them. Maybe you’ll make new friends. Who knows! But if you’re having fun, who cares?”
“Yeah, I guess.” She doesn’t seem convinced, but she slips the T-shirt over her head and adjusts it.
“Good,” I say, looking around for Kellan and our friends before spotting them talking to some other guys. “I don’t care which tasks you do, as long as you check off the ‘kiss someone’ box with Dean.”
“I—kiss—what?! You said I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to!”
Tilting my head, I give her my bestreally?look. “So youdon’twant to kiss Dean?”
She swallows, her words coming out choppy. “Well, I mean, I do, if he does . . .”
“Exactly. Nothing’s wrong with a little push. There he is now!”
She spins in the direction I pointed, and Dean, in all his gorgeous, ruffle-haired glory, is sauntering over to us. He cleaned up the stubble that was getting a bit long, and the closer shave just makes his jawline appear that much sharper. I swear he’s gotten a bit more sunburnt, but it does nothing to detract from his handsomeness. Lori squeaks and looks at me as if for help. She really needs a push—if it were up to her, she’d never make a move on him—so I give her a push, literally, right in Dean’s direction.
