Page 4 of Bro Doll
“Whoever movesorspeaks first, loses.” Walker sets his beer down on the coffee table. “Prize: losers pay for the winner’s beer for a month.”
Miles groans. “Man, that’s kid shit.”
“You got a better idea?”
“Literally anything else.”
“I’m in,” Finn says.
“Me too,” Grant agrees.
“Me too,” I say.
Miles gives me a look like I just betrayed him. “Fine. Whatever.”
“Then let’s start—”
“Wait. What?”
“—now!”
Finn lasts twelve seconds.
He makes it to twelve and then his phone buzzes. He twitches toward it before he can stop himself and mutters “shit” underhis breath—which is both moving and speaking, and he knows it before the words even settle.
“Disqualified,” Grant announces immediately.
“I didn’t—”
“You twitched and you said ‘shit.’”
“Dude, you’re speakingright now!”
“Well, someone has to call it out.”
“Bro—”
“Disqualified,” Walker says, sounding delighted, and Finn drops to the floor with his back against the couch.
Walker goes next. He makes it thirty seconds, which is honestly impressive, but then he shifts. I realize he’d been flexing the entire time and his legs just gave out. When he adjusts, Miles barks “out!” right before his own phone vibrates and he reaches for it.
“Goddammit!”
Internet addiction has just killed two men.
Grant makes it two full minutes and then just picks up his beer, chugs half of it, slams it back down and says, “Worth it.”
The room goes quiet. They are all looking at me.
I won, but I still don’t say a word.
“Dude,” Grant says, leaning down to look at my face. “You’re not even blinking.”
Not true. I blinked twice.
I’ve been looking at the ceiling, finding shapes in the water stains—there’s one over the lamp that looks exactly like Idaho.
Finn, from the floor, pokes me in the ribs real hard. My abs flex, but it’s just a reflex.
