Harry went next. Trickles of sweat or absinthe—the bottle was being passed again—slid between my breasts. I held my breath as Harry brought the dagger to his palm. His head was cocked to the side, his thin, long nose casting a shadow on his cheek as the dagger moved. “For the Mistress,” he murmured.
My knees went springy as I accepted the knife. It required more pressure than I anticipated. I tried to blink away the tears as I knelt and wiped the blood on the rock, tiny particles of stone and dirt digging into the wound, bringing on a new wave of tears. “For the Mistress.”
The green bottle traveled. There was blood on the glass and I was light-headed with relief that the cutting was over. Graham took the final gulp and hurled the bottle out into the darkness. I never heard it break.
Viv was motionless except for her fingers swirling at her sides, like she was stirring the heat rippling off the fire. She’d worn a white lace bra transparent enough to hint at nipple.
She was the first to start pirouetting. It was stupid and dangerous to be drunk and dizzy between a bonfire and a drop. But we were bigger than four kids who could be injured. We were eddying, swirling human pinwheels.
I twirled and the fire zigzagged. Our laughs funneled into the sky. We switched off gravity to float for a time. Eventually someone caught me by the arm. I came to a stop against a chest harder than my own. Graham had removed his glasses and from that angle I saw he’d smeared blood on the underside of his chin. I unsteadily tried to wipe it away.
“Time to offer our secrets to the Mistress,” Graham’s voice rumbled from his chest to my ear. Viv and Harry were holding hands and leaning away from each other, spinning and giggling. We had agreed to share secrets after each rebellion. But Slumber Fest’s secret had been postponed to be shared under the blood moon. Another offering.
I sat in front of Graham, his bent legs my recliner. Viv was poised and glowing. Harry was on his back, arms crossed and supporting his head. I imagined he was counting the stars. He said to no one in particular, “The twinkly bits are just distractions from seeing what else is up there.” No, not counting the stars. Harry was trying to decipher the dark.
Graham said, “Me first.”
My head was going haywire. Viv was laughing for no apparent reason, and each laugh was an invisible finger drawing hearts on my arms. Graham’s knees were hot on my shoulder blades. I shifted and the hooks of my bra bit into my spine and his knee. My bra was touching Graham. I wondered if he wanted to reach up and unhook it. Sometimes you imagine things you don’t even want.
“Tell us all your secrets,” Viv said in a placeless accent.
Harry did a slow clap. “Man up,” he shouted. He and Viv giggled.
“You’re all yammed off too much absinthe,” Graham said. “You all know that I’m a kid of divorce,” he continued drily. “My dad doesn’t call or e-mail or text. He’s never sent me a birthday card, not even a shitty free e-card. So I, uh, well . . .” I couldn’t see it but was dead certain he was smiling mischievously. “Last November sixteenth he wasn’t going to get away with it again. I looked up his address online. You guys know that website Busy Bunny? The one you post small jobs that you’re willing to pay people to do? There’s a website that’s similar but for minorly illegal stuff. I hired someone to take a dump on my father’s porch”—a beat—“every day for the week of my seventeenth birthday.”
“Evil genius,” I said as Viv cried, “That’s the most disgustingest, grossest—ugh, I freaking heart you.”
“Seven hot, steaming dumps are too good for him,” Harry said. He was trying to sit cross-legged but wasn’t flexible enough. “I can’t outdo that. Let me think. Ummmm.” He twiddled his fingers on his chin. “Okay. Here’s my most embarrassing moment that almost no one knows about and will instantly be forgotten by you guys. I can’t believe I’m gonna tell you this.” He shook his head at himself. “Remember that really lifelike fairy statue my mom has in our backyard? The topless fairy my mom called whimsically erotic when she brought it home?”
“Oh yeah,” Viv said. “I used to stare at her boobs wishing mine would grow as big.”
“You’re not the only one,” Graham deadpanned.
“Hey.” Viv flung her hand in Graham’s direction.
“Let me finish. Your chest did get as hefty as Harry’s mother’s topless fairy statue.”
“You did not just call a part of me hefty.”
“Let Harry finish,” I shouted.
“Thank you.” Harry bowed his head. “I was twelve, yeah? And there were boobs in my yard. My mom caught me touching them and touching—fill in the blank.”
“Twelve-year-old Harry was jerking it while fondling a garden gnome,” Graham stated.
“She was a garden fairy.” Harry covered his face.
I squealed.
“Same difference,” Graham said.
“This would make the best comedic monologue ever.” Viv sighed.
“Viv,” Harry said sternly.
“It would. Me now.” She straightened the lace on one of her bra cups and rested a finger on her bottom lip. Her face saddened. “I’ve never been kissed,” she said. “By a boy, I mean, because Izzie and I used to play this Sleeping Beauty game.”
“Shit,” Graham said.
Harry crawled over to pat her on the shoulder.
I stared. Viv kissed a guy named Dylan during our only year at sleepaway camp together. She called him the Labrador because of the bouncy way he followed her around. Her second kiss, and first official boyfriend, was at drama camp the next summer. There were games of spin the bottle after that. Rushed makeouts in the woods behind the cabins.
“Seventeen and never been kissed,” she said. She looked apart from us, as though she had stepped onstage. I swallowed. Why was Viv lying? Maybe in a way she never had been kissed? She’d never gone out with anyone at school. She felt underappreciated outside of her theater life. Not by me. Or perhaps my first instinct, that the three of us had become the audience, was correct. It didn’t matter to me in the moment.
“My turn,” I announced. I wanted to boost Viv up closer to the moon, convince her she mattered. “My secret is that I love Viv more than I love anyone.”
Viv shimmied her feet in the air and exclaimed, “No fair. I could have said that about yooooooou.”
Graham’s legs pulled away from my spine; I caught myself before falling. His features were neutral, the smear of blood a slash under his square chin.
Viv was asking Harry how many girls he’d kissed and I wanted to listen in, but Graham wouldn’t release his hand when I tried to pry it from his lap. He was angry, and as far as I could gather, it was with me.
Then those dimples divoted his cheeks and I thought him a second away from tickling me or bursting out some ridiculous comment about the history of kissing.
“Hey, Vivy. You want to be kissed?”
Viv and Harry turned in unison; two puzzled faces. I was waiting for Graham to add, “Got you” or “So kiss Izzie again.”