The Accidental Siren

6.4 Fairytale Part Two: The War

11:55 PM.

Half the boys were left trading baseball cards between plastic sheaths on my bedroom floor; half the girls were asleep on the ballroom couch. My parents, I hoped, were in their bed, unaware of the faction of kids preparing for a game of Truth or Dare in the castle walls.

Evil forces were at work as the girls chose their seats among the boys. I found myself squished between Livy and A.J. with Mara on the opposite side of the circle snuggled between Ryan and Whit. My sister fared no better; her crush was sitting knee-to-knee with Haley and the most beautiful girl in the world.

Mara's pjs were a far cry from the footie pajamas she wore the night we met; socks, a pair of purple Sophies, a tie-died tank with swirling shades of teal. If she was still shaken by Danny's violent and public advances, she didn't show it now.

As always, Mickey Mouse provided our light.

Ryan raised his hands as high as the ceiling allowed. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “these are the rules!”

“Hey, Blue Eyes,” Whit interrupted. “Who made you king of Truth or Dare?”

Ryan was about to retort when Livy piped up, “Wait!” She jumped to her knees and scavenged the storage bin she had been using as a backrest. She removed a cardboard Burger King crown, then leaned across the circle and wiggled it on Ryan's head. “There!”

“Thank you, minion,” he said and cleared his throat. “There's only one rule tonight: what happens in these walls, stays in these walls.”

Livy raised a hand.

“Yes, minion?”

“And no kissing relatives.” She patted my knee. “No offense, little brother.”

I scrunched my face. “Gross.”

“Haley, darling,” Ryan said. “You start.”

I couldn't imagine Haley Jenson playing Truth or Dare. She was a bashful girl who communicated with blinking doe-eyes instead of moving lips. Her hair was cute in blonde braids from a makeover session and her eyes asked, “What am I doing here?” I didn't know what debauchery our game had in store, but I feared the corruption of Haley's bunny-like personality.

“Umm...” she began, then her eyes fell on me. “I pick James.”

“Ooooo!” went the spectators.

I rolled my eyes and looked at the blushing girl. “Truth,” I said.

Ryan cupped his mouth. “Booooring!”

Haley spoke so softly that I had to lean forward to hear the question. “What's your favorite hair color on a girl?” she asked.

I looked at Mara's tangled locks. Apparently, she was the only girl who didn’t receive a makeover. “Blonde,” I said. “Definitely blonde.”

(Days later, my sister would explain that my rapid and direct response brightened Haley's evening, as she too had blonde hair.)

Ryan was next. “I chooose...” He scanned our faces as if he hadn't known for weeks who he was going to pick. “Mara!”

“Me?” she asked.

“Truth or dare?” he asked.

“Truth!” she said.

“Hmm...” he said, then pretended to think. “What turns you on?”

This game was a bad idea. Mara was twelve; a fact that no one seemed to comprehend but me. Girls aren’t supposed play dirty games in secret corridors until high school, and Ryan Brosh--the closest thing to an authority figure in that cave--was taking advantage of her innocence and disregarding the two vital years between them, first with this question, later with a kiss.