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Heat pricks at my skin. Adam doesn’t think I’m capable of having fun. He doubts I can do adance-off. Even last night he practically forbade me from getting up on stage. It’s like he wants me to staysweet,boring, andpredictableinstead of trying new things and having new experiences, and he’s doing it all under the guise of caring. He’s never told Faye not to do anything, only me, who he apparently doubts can bestronglike Faye. Why doesn’t he think I can move out of my comfort zone?
Why doesn’t he think I can decide for myself what I am or am not capable of? Faye believes I could do all the things on the list.
Even Dean doesn’t doubt me.
Looking away, I see Dean talking and laughing with the bartender on the other side of the pool.Hedidn’t ask me if I was going to partake in the fun; he simply asked me if I’d started yet and volunteered to do a task with me. Dean’s never insinuated that I was boring. He didn’t tell me I’m not doing the tasks because heknows how I am, even though he knows I don’t enjoy being the center of attention, knows I’m a bit awkward, knows I have a hard time with new experiences, just like Adam knows.
But the difference is that Adam doubts me, tells me to sit out and stay in my comfort zone, while Dean has never made me feel like I was incapable of doing something.
“No,” I tell Adam, my voice practically shaking with restrained anger. “No, I will not join you guys. I’m going to do a shot with no hands. Then maybe I’ll do a dare or participate in a dance-off. And who knows, if I feel like it, I might even do a body shot or kiss someone.” My voice grows stronger and louder the more I talk, the more the meaning behind his words sinks in. “But I’m going to make my own decisions, not sit on the side and watch everyone else have fun because I’m tooboringto join in.”
“I never said you were boring,” he says, his brows furrowed.
“You didn’t have to.”
A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Why are you getting mad at me? I’m just looking out for you.”
No, he’s not. Maybe in some messed-up way he thinks he is, but the way it’s coming across is making me seem like a useless little porcelain doll, one that’s only meant to sit on a shelf and never be touched or played with, like I’m too delicate and breakable to do anything other than stay safely hidden away in her little box.
Something in me snaps.No more Little Miss Sweet andPredictable. “Don’t worry about me,I’mnot your sister, who you’ve been treating badly not only this vacation, but your entire life.”
With that, I shove past him, marching toward where Dean’s collecting two shot glasses from the bartender. Was I too mean to Adam? I’m not sure, but I don’t really care. I know how much Faye hates that Adam wants nothing to do with her, and maybe it wasn’t my place to say any of that, but Adam’s shown more concern formethis week alone than for Faye the entire four years I’ve known her. It’s not fair to Faye, and it’s not fair to me that Adam’s always unintentionally putting me down.
By the time I reach Dean, he’s found a table near the bar.
He places the purple shot glasses on either side of the table and gestures at them with a grin.
“What is it?” I ask, leaning over to sniff it. I’m pleasantly surprised when it smells sweet and nothing like tequila.
His grin widens. “It’s called a pornstar. You’ll like it.”
I almost choke on nothing, which makes his amusement grow. “I swear it tastes way better than tequila. Ready?”
Am I ready? I’m with Dean, who could be with a ton of more interesting people but is here withme, trying to getmeto have fun. I glance around the party and every single person looks like they’re having fun. Through the crowd I can even make out Faye across the pool with Dylan, Kellan, Alessio, and now Adam. Last time I hung out with Dean at a pool party, I loved it, and I’m ready to experience that again. I’m going to enjoy myself.
I clasp my hands behind my back, lowering my face toward the shot. “When you are.”
I ignore the butterflies in my stomach when my excitement is mirrored in Dean’s face, and he copies my position.
“Go!” he exclaims, and before I can doubt myself, I wrap my lips around the shot glass and tilt my head back, feeling the liquid slide down my throat. After I swallow, I set the glass back on the table and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
“How was it?” Dean asks, his own shot glass empty in front of him.
I can still taste the sweetness of the drink, and I’m happy that it wasn’t strong, or at least, I don’tthinkit was strong.
“It was good,” I say, and something akin to relief floods Dean’s face, which is odd because I hadn’t even realized he was nervous.
“Good,” he repeats as my phone in my back pocket vibrates, making the blood drain from my face.
Dean’s eyes track my movements as I grab my phone and unlock it. I don’t even know why I brought it, force of habit, maybe? I wish I hadn’t, because it’s a text from my mom, and her name plastered on my screen is like a bucket of cold water thrown over me.
“You okay?” Dean asks as I read my mom’s text.
Are you having fun? You didn’t answer my messages before. Takea look at those links when you have time.
“Fine,” I tell Dean, though I’m sure my tone and pout tell him I’m anythingbutfine, but he doesn’t say anything as I text a quickokayback to my mom.
“You sure you’re okay?” Dean asks, and the openness and understanding I’ve always experienced with him compels me to answer truthfully.
