By the time the game got around to Julien and Cat, most peoples’ punch cups had been taken, drained, returned, and refilled a few times. Eureka didn’t expect much out of Julien—he was so jocky, so cocky. But when it was his turn, he said to Cat, “Never have I ever kissed a girl I actually like—but I’m hoping to change that tonight.”
The boys booed and the girls whooped and Cat fanned herself dramatically, loving it. Eureka was impressed. Someone had finally figured out that ultimately this game wasn’t about divulging shameful secrets. They were supposed to use Never-Ever to get to know each other better.
Cat raised her cup, took a breath, and looked at Julien. “Never have I ever told a cute guy that”—she hesitated—“I got a 2390 on my SATs.”
The room was riveted. No one could make her drink for that. Julien grabbed her and kissed her. The game got better after that.
Soon it was Maya Cayce’s turn. She waited until the room was quiet, until all eyes were moving over her. “Never have I ever”—her black-lacquered fingernail traced the border of her cup—“been in a car accident.”
Three nearby seniors shrugged and handed Maya their drinks, bringing up tales of run red lights and drunken off-roading. Eureka’s grip tightened on her cup. Her body stiffened as Maya looked at her. “Eureka, you’re supposed to pass me your drink.”
Her face was hot. She glanced around the room, noticing everyone’s eyes on her. They were waiting for her. She imagined throwing her drink in Maya Cayce’s face, the red punch dripping in bloodlike rivulets along her pale neck, down her cleavage.
“Did I do something to offend you, Maya?” she asked.
“All the time,” Maya said. “Right now, for example, you’re cheating.”
Eureka thrust out her cup, hoping Maya choked.
Brooks laid a hand on her knee and murmured, “Don’t let her get to you, Reka. Let it go.” The old Brooks. His touch was medicinal. She tried to let it take effect. It was his turn.
“Never have I ever …” Brooks watched Eureka. He narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin and something shifted. New Brooks. Dark, unpredictable Brooks. Suddenly Eureka braced herself. “Attempted suicide.”
The entire room gasped, because everyone knew.
“You bastard,” she said.
“Play the game, Eureka,” he said.
“No.”
Brooks grabbed her drink and chugged the rest, wiping his mouth with his hand like a redneck. “It’s your turn.”
She refused to have a nervous breakdown in front of the majority of the senior class. But when she inhaled, her chest was electric with something it wanted to release, a scream or an inappropriate laugh or … tears.
That was it.
“Never have I ever broken down and sobbed.”
For a moment no one said anything. Her classmates didn’t know whether to believe her, to judge her, or to take it as a joke. No one moved to pass Eureka their drink, though over twelve years of school together she realized she’d seen most of them cry. The pressure built in her chest until she couldn’t take it anymore.
“Screw all of y’all.” Eureka stood up. No one followed her as she left the dumbstruck game and ran toward the nearest bathroom.
Later, on the frozen boat ride home, Cat leaned close to Eureka. “Is what you said true? You’ve never cried?”
It was just Julien, Tim, Cat, and Eureka cruising up the bayou. After the game Cat had rescued Eureka from the bathroom where she’d been staring numbly into a toilet. Cat insisted the boys take them home immediately. Eureka hadn’t seen Brooks on the way out. She never wanted to see him again.
The bayou hummed with locusts. It was ten minutes to midnight, nudging dangerously against her curfew, and so unworthy of the trouble she’d be in if she was one minute late. The wind was biting. Cat rubbed Eureka’s hands.
“I said I haven’t sobbed.” Eureka shrugged, thinking all the clothes in the world couldn’t counter the sensation of utter nakedness pulsing through her. “You know I’ve teared up before.”