Текст книги "Triangle: The Complete Series"

Автор книги: Susann Julieva

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Triangle

The Complete Series

by Susann Julieva & Romelle Engel

“The Triangle Series – Book 1: Triangle” and “The Triangle Series – Book 2: Redefinitions” Copyright

2002-2010 Susann Julieva.

“The Triangle Series – Book 3: Recast” and “The Triangle Series – Book 4: Retribution” Copyright

2004-2010 Susann Julieva and Romelle Engel.

Smashwords Edition

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away

to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional

copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for

your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for

respecting the hard work of these authors.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the authors’

imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business

establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

A Note from the Authors

A heartfelt thank you to everyone who sent us feedback over the years, cheering us on and caring so

much about our characters. This is for you.

Much love,

Susann & Romelle

Susann

writes the point of views of

James Foley, Casey Mills, and Danny Rizzo

Romelle

writes the point of view of

Nick Keller

For more information and other publications by Susann Julieva, please visit

www.susannjulieva.com

Table of Contents

Book 1: Triangle

Book 2: Redefinitions

Book 3: Recast

Book 4: Retribution

Book 1

Triangle

by Susann Julieva

Chapter 1

Azure

JAMES: Azure. Vast and cloudless. High above, out of reach. And still, when you’re lying on your

back and you stare at the sky for long enough, you can’t help feeling its weight pressing down on you.

But maybe that’s just me. I’m not really the beach kind of person. I’m sure one of those annoying sea

gulls cruising above will shit on me sooner or later.

What am I doing here anyway? I have a paper due on Monday that’s waiting to be finished. Not to

forget the six other pressing things that I’ll somehow have to tackle before the weekend is over. Yet here

I am, doing nothing more demanding than lying on the sand and breathing.

Shocking as it may be, I do like to study. I love the fact that no-one can ever know everything.

Woodhaven’s campus with its exquisite libraries and neoclassical buildings is a sub-universe dedicated

to knowledge and truth. Or at least it’s supposed to be, despite all the arrogance and ignorance that you

find wherever smart people gather. But still, university is my refuge. Home is where the lies are, hidden

beneath a shadow veil. Home is where the ghost of Simon lives on, haunting every step that I take.

Clearly, I need an afternoon off like a hole in the head. But Casey insisted, and I can never say no to

him. Casey Mills is one of the two people on Earth whose company I actually enjoy, and ergo my best

friend. Or more precisely, he’d be my best friend if I had more than one friend to choose from. Which is

fine. I never gave a damn about popularity, and vice versa popularity never gave a damn about me.

But sure enough, this friendship can’t be all laid back and easy, because my life just doesn’t work

that way. The whole point of being friends is to be just friends. So naturally, it’s just my luck to have a

secret crush on him.

I think I’ve been doing fairly well in hiding it from him so far, and I have no intention of changing

that strategy anytime soon. Take it from the reigning king of introverts, it’s wrong that some things are

better left unsaid. In fact, most are.

The afternoon is drowsy, listless, and I swear I can feel my brain cells slowly getting fried in the

heat. The sun is mercilessly bright, and Rizzo stole my sunglasses when I wasn’t paying attention.

Sneaky son of a bitch. Casey invited him to come along, and I knew that was a mistake. I’m not sure

exactly how today’s setup came about. How do you invite someone on a trip that you can only make if

they give you a ride in their stupid shiny Porsche?

As may be derived from my using the word stupid in connection with a freaking dream of a car like

that, Danny Rizzo is definitely not one of the two people on Earth whose company I enjoy. I won’t deny

that I can’t stand most people, because most people are idiots. But him I just loathe. Rizzo is the kind of

guy who gets away with anything. He’s the only person I’ve ever met who always gets what he wants,

no matter how unlikely and absurd it may be. He treats people like toys, replaceable like bubble gum.

You chew on it for a while, and when it’s lost its taste, you spit it out. That’s Rizzo. And can you believe

it, they all love him for it. And for one reason only: Because he is drop dead gorgeous.

“You wanna get some ice cream?” Casey’s slender form casts a deep shadow on me when he sits up

beside me and draws his legs up.

“You buying?” Rizzo lazily lifts his head. He is lying sprawled in the sand crosswise in front of us

like a huge bug that’s been squashed under a boot. Damn the bastard, he’s getting a tan already.

Casey smiles, and for a brief moment his blue eyes wander over the perfectly muscled body at our

feet. Then he notices that I’m watching him, and quickly averts his gaze. He laughs softly. “Uh… okay.”

His baggy shorts slide down a bit as he gets up, revealing a crack of the soft, white skin of his butt,

but he pulls them back up immediately. Rizzo and I exchange a glance as he walks away, his steps slow

and heavy on the sand. Damn. Suntan boy chuckles and rolls back onto his back, shielding his eyes

from the bright sunlight with his arm for a moment before dropping it with a deep sigh. How about

using my sunglasses?

“You’re turning lobster-red.”

Gee, thanks for stating the obvious. I’m fully aware of the fact that I don’t tan. I just burn. And yes,

I’m sure Casey would prefer a perfect tan to perfect lobster-red anytime. Especially with a flawless

Adonis body like that. “Eat me, Rizzo.”

He just laughs, sizing me up with his admittedly beautiful dark eyes. “Geez, Foley, relax. There’ll be

enough time to be that stiff when you’re dead.” He grabs something and lifts his hand, waving a small

tube. “Want some sunblock?”

“Who’d you steal that from?”

Rizzo cracks one of his infamous sly smiles and shrugs nonchalantly. Before I can say anything he

gets up and flops down next to me. Far too close for my liking. His leg brushes against mine, and the

bastard watches my face for the tiniest trace of reaction. Which I won’t give him, of course. I stare back

at him coolly, and know instantly that that was a mistake. Our eyes lock, and sure enough, neither of us

will grant the other the satisfaction of looking away first.

“You know,” Rizzo begins with that pleasant voice of his, and it feels like a silk scarf drawn across

my body. I briefly wonder if the heat has fried my brains already, and left me with nothing but the

raging hormones of my tender age. I’m supposed to be immune to this guy.

He opens the tube, and squeezes some sunblock onto his palm. I don’t even care what he’s saying.

All I really hear is that voice. “People with light skin have a higher risk of getting skin cancer.”

“Wow. A decade ago that piece of information would’ve been shocking news to me.” I actually

manage to sound as disinterested and bored as I’d like to be. I force myself to look away and not stare at

Rizzo’s lean fingers spreading the white creme on his hands. I realize my mistake when he doesn’t use

the sunblock on himself, but without prior warning puts his hands on my chest. I jump, naturally. But he

starts to rub the sunblock in anyway, as if it were the most natural thing on earth. The tiniest trace of an

amused smile is dancing on his lips. Bastard.

“Relax, James.” Barely a whisper, and still a command. Rizzo’s hands slide over my body, his

fingers hot on my skin. It’s electrifying, and sexy, and the fact that I don’t want it to be makes me want

to hit him. God do I hate this guy. He’s not irresistible. Nobody is. With some difficulty, I take a deep

breath and, for lack of better alternatives, return to staring at the annoying sea gulls in the sky.

Azure. Casey’s eyes make the sky look pale in comparison as he sits down next to me and hands me

a cone of ice cream.

“Hey guys. Where did you get the sunblock?”

Rizzo and I exchange a glance. He’s got a grin on his face as he takes the ice cream Casey is handing

him. He’s still looking at me when he licks at it. Then he lifts his eyes to Casey, and the grin broadens.

Sneaky son of a bitch. I know what you’re gonna say.

“Want some?”

Sometimes I really hate to be right.

Chapter 2

Taking Shape

CASEY: For painting the light is best in September, mild and golden, but summer remains my favorite

time of year. If spring is the allegory for hope, then fall must be reflection, winter recreation, and

summer the time for dreams.

Outside Cafe Plato, the sun burns down onto the small white tables as I watch people walking by in

the distance. Everything has a bluish touch in this harsh light. I lean back in my chair, surveying the

grounds, the tall maple trees and the old, impressive brick buildings in the background. Except for a few

students sitting together on the lawn, campus is deserted, which isn’t unusual at this time of day. The

sun falling through the wide branches throws a playful pattern of shade and light onto the group. I

recognize some faces, all of them part of the acknowledged in-crowd. They’re teasing each other and

laughing, absolutely at ease and carefree, and the beauty of the scene suddenly strikes me.

Automatically I reach for my sketchbook and pencil. I take a long moment to take in my motif and

carefully measure the proportions. As my hand begins to swiftly move across the paper, I try to chase

away all thoughts and concentrate on shape only. It’s hard in the heat of this afternoon, but I work

calmly and undisturbed for a while. According to Professor Wickham, you can’t draw when you’re

thinking, and you can’t think when you’re drawing. I’ll never get why it is so incredibly hard not to

think.

A motion on my left catches my eye. Someone is coming down the straight path that leads past the

cafe, crossing a couple of other paths on its way. When the two slim figures approach, I recognize

Danny, who is talking to a girl I don’t know. They stop at a crossroad and say their good-byes. He

doesn’t even take the cigarette out of his mouth when she kisses his cheek. The brunette turns around

twice to look back at him as she slowly walks away, but he’s already moved on. My stomach squirms a

little as he gets closer. It’s still somewhat surreal.

You go mostly unnoticed all of your school days, you have your little group of friends, and you

know that you’re nowhere near to popular, but you’re good. But looking back to it, I was a typical ghost

at high school. Not part of any of the cliched groups, just someone that got along with everyone. Simply

too average, too ordinary to be remembered after graduation. Interchangeable, forgettable.

And then one day at university, he’s suddenly there, Danny Rizzo. Everybody knows him. You can’t

not notice Danny. He’s never talked to you before, but he knows exactly who you are. He knows that

you helped design the set last year for the drama department’s production of An Ideal Husband. He

didn’t look at you once at the time, but he was so brilliant as Lord Goring that you didn’t mind. But he

sees you now. And him acknowledging your existence seems to be all it takes for complete strangers to

suddenly know your name and greet you everywhere you go. All of a sudden you’re not invisible

anymore.

There’s magic in being noticed. When I look in the mirror, I see myself as this funny little blur,

unfinished, like a formless shape that can’t decide what it wants to be. Like the outlines of a sketch, just

a few hurried lines on a piece of paper. Why is it so important to be seen just to know who we are?

Danny’s friends catch his attention and wave him over, and I watch as he joins his crew. Ever since I

first saw him, I’ve been wanting to paint him. The naturally curly brown hair, the dark, expressive eyes,

the features of his face so perfectly regular that you could put it in the textbook as an example of what

to the human eye is beauty. But there’s something about him that goes beyond that. A nonchalant

charisma, and a mysterious confidence that I’ve always wished I could have. He stands out in a crowd,

impossible to overlook.

James doesn’t like him. But James is next to impossible to please, let alone impress. He makes a

point of despising what everybody likes. And I have to admit, I actually like that about him. I like that

he doesn’t take crap from people, and doesn’t follow the masses. I know I can be easy to influence

sometimes, but I’ve always struggled not to be. It’s hard to resist the yearning to belong.

Giving up on the not thinking, I put my sketchbook aside with a small sigh. I’m not happy with the

way the drawing is turning out, and I doubt that I’ll finish it later. I have tons of unfinished drawings.

I’m better at painting from my imagination.

“You should do this professionally,” James said to me when I finally dared to show him my portfolio

of fairytale illustrations. He took his time to look at each individual page, his grayish-blue eyes

wandering over the pictures with wonderment and awe. Knowing the ruthless critic that he is, it really

meant a lot to me. And for the first time I considered the possibility myself.

I met James when I was applying for the school paper. We’re the same age but he’s a year above me.

He skipped a year at high school. He was already an editor, much younger than the others. Everyone of

us newbies had heard that he was scary, and hoped they wouldn’t be assigned to him during our tryout

period. Well, I was the lucky one. At first, we didn’t get along at all. He was bossy and ridiculously

demanding, and I was pretty much lost all the time. I considered quitting on the second day. It was

really hard on me that he so obviously seemed to dislike me. I didn’t know how to handle that. But then

I realized that James was the only one of the editors who actually let their applicant work on articles,

while the others were just used as errand boys. So when Sam, the editor in chief, told me that James

thought I had potential and had recommended me, I was pretty shocked. But it changed the entire way I

saw him. I began to see James as someone who dared people to like him in spite of how unfriendly he

was. I don’t know why, but I found that fascinating, and strangely endearing. I never met anyone who

cared less about what others thought of them. Granted, it still took forever for him to open up to me. But

now he lets me see the side of him that he hides from everyone else. It makes me feel like there’s

nothing I couldn’t share with him. And so we became friends.

I no longer work for the school paper. James talked me into using the time I’d devoted to it for

taking art classes.

“I don’t give a shit about what your parents say. You can’t be a teacher, Casey,” he said. “You’re an

artist.”

So now when people ask me, “How can you like Foley? He’s an asshole,” I do as James would do. I

don’t try to defend him, because defending means admitting that there’s a point to an accusation. I just

shake my head and smile, and pass on Wittgenstein’s words that James so sarcastically quoted to me on

the day we met: Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.

Chapter 3

Of Ants and Arrogance

JAMES: People and ants have a lot more in common than you might think. We like to pretend that

we’re independent, unique individuals, and ours is a free will to soar in the liberal Western society that’s

shaped according to our beliefs. What a bunch of crap. The objectives of the human society are exactly

the same as those of the ant society – survival, security, reproduction, defense, stability, and naturally,

perpetuation of the system.

University, like all parts of the educational system, does a pretty good job at teaching people what

really matters in life: success. Generously, it also shows you how to achieve that – by playing by the

rules. Parero ergo sum. You don’t need a totalitarian regime to oppress people. Nowadays we have peer

pressure and MTV.

There are always hip people, sporty people, smart people, freaks and losers, no matter where you go.

All the neat little social groups that you can never get out of. It’s interesting that the geeks hate the

popular crowd for being superficial and fake, but they’re still dreaming of belonging. I never got the

immanent logic in that, assuming that there is one.

Rizzo, though, Rizzo seems to defy all cliches, creating his own, and doesn’t fully belong to any of

them, and yet to them all. I guess you have that kind of freedom when you’re beautiful. Beauty gives

people a certain power, if they have the brains to use it to their advantage instead of getting used. Sadly,

Rizzo is not a complete bimbo.

I pretend not to notice as he saunters over. His motions are smooth, like a big cat approaching certain

prey. It looks like walking, but instead is a highly advanced art form. I force myself to look the other

way. I wonder, for the thousandth time, why does someone like him hang out with Casey and me?

“Foley. Got a smoke?” He sits down on the back of the bench beside me. Enthroned above me, all

hail the king of the world. Typical. As if I didn’t feel common and ugly enough in comparison anyway.

“I don’t smoke. You should know that by now.”

The tiniest of smiles flashes across his lips, but he just shrugs. In this light his eyes are so black you

can’t see the pupils. Dark chocolate. I wonder what that mouth tastes like. “You waiting for Mills?”

“What makes you think so?”

“Don’t you always?”

Great. He’s known me all of five minutes and thinks he’s already figured me out? Only that, judging

by the tone of his voice – Christ. I glance at him through narrow eyes. All alarms go off, and I freeze

inwardly. Does he know? Has he actually somehow, miraculously picked up on my feelings for Casey?

Rizzo cracks a sly smile that can probably get him laid anytime, anywhere, but I choose to ignore it.

I know it drives him nuts not to get any reaction. “What? It’s true, isn’t it?”

“It’s also none of your business.”

“You’re hopeless, Foley. Bordering pathetic. What’s the plan? To pine away forever? Why don’t you

two just get it over and done with?”

Okay. I think we can safely say that he knows. God help me. My heart sinks, and my mind begins to

race. What are the options? I could either try to deny it, or simply kill him. Both would confirm his

suspicion, the only difference being that the latter would give him less time to enjoy it. Now that’s just

great. I glance at him icily. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so. I’d be happy to repeat it if you need to hear it again.”

He looks at me with undisguised amusement. “I’m not much for repetition.”

“No kidding. Stay the hell out of my affairs.”

“Or what?”

“Or else.”

“I’m terrified, Foley.”

“As you should be.”

He chuckles, but there’s a dark flicker in his eyes. “You’re one arrogant ass, Foley, you know that?”

“And what are you then, Mother Theresa?”

“As long as precious Casey thinks I am.”

Cheeky bastard. This is just another one of the twisted little games he likes to play, isn’t it? Why

would he reveal to me that he’s figured out what I feel for Casey if not to deliberately make me suffer?

Like a cat, he loves to play with the mouse before he finishes it off. I wonder what Rizzo is waiting for,

because as much as it hurts to admit, I think Casey is lying beneath his paws already. There is nothing I

can do but stand on the sidelines and watch. And he knows, and he wants me to know that he does.

That’s the only reason he’s even talking to me.

Rizzo doesn’t talk about doing things. He just does them. It’s different with Casey and me. We have

meaningful conversations, and do nothing. I look into his eyes and he looks away, and then he looks

into my eyes and I look away. There are moments when my mind tricks me into believing that there is

some definite subtext in our friendship. But those moments pass, and I’m back to thinking that I must be

crazy to even consider the possibility. Tragically, it is an urban myth that all straight guys are potentially

gay. And yet, ever since Rizzo appeared on the scene, lines get blurred, and everything seems possible.

For him. Not me. And that hurts. He seems to trigger something in Casey that I never could. And that is

nothing short of a catastrophe. Casey is the first one to make me feel like I’m worth something, or even

special. And people like Rizzo have made me feel like worthless shit for way longer than I want to

remember.

Our eyes meet, he smiles at me, and for the first time it seems completely genuine. In this moment

he is so damn beautiful it’s almost hard to bear. I frown deeply. The amused little smirk returns to his

lips. Irritatingly, but undeniably inviting.

Well, color me stunned and pin a “kick me!” sign to my back. I suddenly have a sneaking suspicion

that Rizzo likes arrogant asses every now and then. And right now, that arrogant ass would appear to be

me.

Chapter 4

Truth Be Dared

JAMES: It’s too loud. Voices and music, thundering bass and raw guitars, all blending together until it

becomes nothing but a mess of undistinguishable noise. I hate when it’s loud. I don’t like parties,

because I don’t like being in crowds. Did I mention that it was Rizzo’s stupid idea to come?

I lean back in the shabby old armchair I somehow managed to get hold of, and sigh deeply. The

upholstery stinks of cold cigarette smoke and something disgusting I don’t recognize. Holding on to my

beer, I survey the room, watching people come and go, wondering why they can never stand still. I’m a

bit dizzy, but not quite drunk enough to not care. Casey is nearby, talking to a perky red-head with

funny freckles. He knows her from one of his classes. She’s not his type.

I’m mesmerized by the way his lips move when he speaks. I once overheard two chicks talking

about him, saying how kissable he is. Kissable. I don’t think that is even a word. But it’s true all the

same.

Rizzo is on the other side of the room, surrounded by the usual cluster of fangirls. Pathetic. Do they

have no pride at all? That brunette there is all over him. Come on, girl. Subtlety is your friend. Even I

know that Rizzo loves a challenge. He is only interested in what he can’t have.

Suddenly he looks over, directly at me, and cracks one of those killer smiles of his. I just give him a

look and roll my eyes. Is that all you got?

He grins, and for a brief moment I wonder if he just read my mind. I sniff and take a gulp of beer,

and decide that he hasn’t, because that would freak me out. I’ve had more logical moments, I think. But

then I wasn’t stuck in a room full of horny adolescents with nothing to do but drink. The air is so thick

with the penetrating smell of cannabis that I get that familiar warm, heavy feeling just breathing

normally. I stare at the ceiling, and imagine being in a cartoon movie. I could simply wipe out all the

people around me with a giant eraser, until only Casey and I remain. I try to erase Rizzo as well, but he

keeps popping back up. Most annoying.

Sometimes I wonder how it was possible for Casey to even slip under my guard like that. He’s far

too deep under my skin. Dangerously deep. I’d promised myself to never let that happen again. But

kindness, the kind of genuine kindness that he possesses, is powerfully disarming. I like how his eyes

focus on my face when he talks to me. I like how he smiles so warmly, sometimes a little shyly, and

how he gestures with his hands. I like the way he really listens, and how he always takes a moment to

think before he answers. I like the way he scratches his nose when he isn’t sure how to react to

something, and how he always runs his fingers through his short, blond hair when he’s nervous. I like

the way I know him thoroughly, and how he still manages to surprise me sometimes. I don’t think

there’s anything I don’t like about him. Except for that unhealthy infatuation with Rizzo, of course.

As if he had heard my silent call for him to rescue me from feeling isolated and out of place, Casey

joins me and sits down on my armrest. Close enough for me to feel the warmth emanating from his very

being.

“Hey, James.” Kind eyes, beautiful smile. Makes me feel all warm and mushy inside. Makes me

whole.

“Hey, Case.”

A sympathetic smile softens the brilliant blue of his eyes. “You don’t look very happy.”

“Oh, we’re alright.” I show him my beer, and he chuckles.

“If you wanna leave…”

“No, no, I’m fine. This is…” I trail off and can’t help grinning. “Okay, this is so not my idea of fun.”

Casey laughs, and I’m feeling better already. Must be the alcohol, messing with my head. Or maybe

I’m high. No idea how he does it, but he reduces me to a love-sick puppy, filled with the urge to write

bad, sappy poetry. How sad have I become? It’s very tragic. Casey moves back on the armrest until he

can lean his back against the back of the chair beside me. We’re practically sharing the seat now, and

gravity pulls him downwards, towards me, until the left side of his body is pressed against me. Can’t

say that I mind. He smiles as he takes the beer from my hand and takes a sip, lets his right leg dangle as

he looks around. He seems more relaxed now that he is beside me, and I guess that’s mutual. Well, in a

way. I ache to touch him, painfully, frighteningly. Sometimes I would really like to know what he sees

when he looks at me. I wish I could see myself through his eyes, just once. I wish I could crawl beneath

his skin, and see what the world looks like through Casey Mills’ eyes. But could I cope with what I’d

see, I wonder?

“Anybody up for a round of truth or dare?”

I look up with a small frown, and am surprised to find that a large group of people has sneakily

assembled on the floor around us. Where did they suddenly come from? Casey sits up straight and shifts

a bit, uncomfortably. Truth or dare? What is this, kindergarten? No way in hell. I’m not gonna hop

around the room on one leg or do anything even more degrading. Why am I not surprised to see Rizzo

join the circle with his entourage? He sits down directly opposite of us with an insidious grin curling his

lips. Count me out of this. I glance at Casey, ready to get up and leave, the question in my eyes. But he

just shrugs. Now that Rizzo is here, he wants to stay, come hell or high water. Which translates to me

not going anywhere either. Great.

“Bring it on, baby.” Rizzo winks at the tall blonde who suggested playing the game, and she laughs

too loudly. She is wearing too much makeup, I can smell her cheap, flowery perfume from over here.

What on earth leads girls to believe that guys like that kind of stench?

“Okay, I go first then.” Blondie bats her eyelashes and giggles. Man, she is pissed. She leans a bit

forward as she turns to Rizzo, the neck of her tight top giving everyone a great view at what she has to

offer. “Truth or dare, Danny.”

Rizzo takes a long drag on his cigarette, and exhales the smoke slowly. “Your choice.”

Bimbo Blonde giggles. “Okay. I pick…” Dramatic pause. “Truth.”

Cheers from the crowd welcome the choice. I bet she’ll ask if he could spend a night with anyone in

the world, who would it be. Go, me. She really does. How lame.

“You want the truth then, do you?” The dark eyes sparkle mischievously as everyone cheers. You

have to hand it to him, he’s got them all wrapped around his finger. I don’t even listen to his answer. I’m

distracted by the way Casey is watching him with a little smile. Jealousy stirs inside of me. I snap to

attention when I hear Rizzo saying his name.

“Casey. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

Rizzo has a satisfied smirk on his face. “Ever kissed a guy?”

Roaring laughter, and Casey blushes furiously. But I’m relieved. That’s not so bad. I know the

answer to that, luckily. No reason to worry there.

“No. No, I never kissed a guy.” Casey shrugs and laughs. He turns to me and quickly gives me an

easy, safe question, because I pick truth, naturally. “Which three things would you like to have with you

if you were stranded on an island?”

Let me pretend to think hard. You, rubbers, lube. How would you like that? I don’t say that aloud.

Instead, I do what everybody does when they play truth or dare: I lie. D’uh.

Round two starts, and far too soon it is Rizzo’s turn again. I’ve got a bad feeling about this. And, as

expected, Rizzo looks right at Casey without a moment’s hesitation. I knew he wasn’t finished with him

yet. It was too easy. “Casey, truth or dare?”

Fearing no evil, Casey smiles, flattered to be chosen again. “Um… dare this time, I guess.”

Oh no. Not good. I can see the trap closing, and now he’s got him. Rizzo’s eyes sparkle

triumphantly. “Well, there’s really just one thing I could dare you to do now.”

Someone actually gasps, and two girls start to giggle madly. That wicked grin on his lips doesn’t

bode too well, but I refuse to believe he is seriously gonna do that until he speaks again.

“I dare you to kiss…” He pauses, looks around, searching for a victim or volunteer. I feel sick to my

stomach. Man, this whole situation is so high school. Did I mention that I hated high school with a

passion? Rizzo’s gaze comes to rest on me. “Kiss Foley. Until I tell you to stop.”

Son of a bitch. I don’t even flinch. I stay perfectly calm and unimpressed on the outside. Life has

taught me well to wear this mask. But Casey gasps, half-laughing, but the laughter dies in his throat. He

shakes his head unbelievingly. “Are you serious?”

Rizzo only smiles and takes a drag on his cigarette. He leans back, waiting to be entertained. I get a

strong urge to decorate the walls with his entrails. I can handle him trying to expose me, but does he