Paul Gets Back in the Game

Molly dropped back onto the futon and crossed her arms, a perfect mirror to Lea, except for the fact she still had her bra. Ugh, and that made me her Jack. Horrible. My friend took stock of the players. Joan and Harry were both out for the count. Harry was shaking, gripping his legs like they were threatening to run away from him. Joan had been quiet ever since the blowup with Paul. Her and me were a united front, and neither of us, we could tell from a quick look between the two of us, wanted to hand the game back over to Jack so quickly. That left her with very limited options. "Paul," she said.

He sat up. His cheeks were pale, and I don't mean the bare butt that was still pressed to the carpet. He covered his deflated manhood with his hands, ashamed that he had been too beside himself to re-clothe. "Dare," he said. Lenny, from Mice and Men, I thought. That's who he reminded me of. Except I knew he wasn't born slow, he was just pretending to get sympathy. He probably thought that if he let Molly give him a dare, we would forget what he had made Joan do. Not happening, pal.

I saw the same thoughts running through Molly's head. "How about you give Joan an apology? And you better mean it," she said.

"He doesn't need to do that," pleaded Joan. But I could still see the faint shine of what Paul had given her on the side of her face. Whether she knew it or not, he definitely needed to give her an apology.

"See?" said Paul.

"It isn't her turn," Molly said. "Or should I remind you that when you got to give her a dare, she did what you told her to? What I'm daring you to do isn't half as embarrassing, so you should really thank me."

"I wasn't embarrassed," Joan protested, but I could see she was only making nice.

"Just do it so she'll stop being such a bitch," suggested Jack.

Lea crinkled her nose. "She'll never stop being a bitch," she said.

That set us all off. For a good minute we were up in each others' faces, screaming and shouting. At one point it looked like Molly was going to hit Jack, not caring one bit that she was in her underwear. It wasn't going to be a polite, feminine slap. When things threatened to spill over into a war that would last until FEMA came to bail out Bean Hall, Paul shouted at the top of his lungs. "I'm sorry! Okay? Fuck!" Under his breath I heard him muttering. Something like, "God forbid a guy want a handjob," but things were still too hectic to hear properly. I hoped Joan didn't hear. It was close to the worst apology I had ever heard, but I knew what Paul was by now. A few years of bullying in high school made him thing the whole world, and especially girls, owed him a debt. "Is it my turn now?" he asked.