Page 81 of Lessons in Cruelty

You may not discuss this card.

The person who reveals the weakest secret will fail this round.

Both participants must play this round or forfeit the entire game.

“Shit,” Melissa mutters, and then glances up at me. There’s still a tiny smudge of mascara under one eye. “Forfeit, as in failing his class.”

“But what the hell does failing this round mean?”

She shrugs. “I mean, I doubt he could actually kick someone out of his class. But our grades are totally in his control.” She rolls her eyes, sighing. “Should’ve sent him that titty shot. Maybe I still can. Soften the blow.” Her eyes fly open as she starts unbuttoning her shirt. “Will you help me take a good pic? I can never get the angle right.”

I wave at her to stop. “No one’s sending nude photos. We got this.”

I try to sound chipper, but I’m dying inside. We barely know each other…but I know she had a disastrous breakup and calls her ex a man-child. Is that a secret, though? And worse than whatever she can figure out about me?

“You’re right.” She stands to fetch two pens out of her laptop bag and hands me one. “So what are you thinking? Are we going nuclear, or just airing some dirty laundry?”

“We can’t discuss it,” I mumble, glancing over at her phone.

“Damn it.” She taps her pen against the piece of paper as she takes her seat in front of me again. “Okay, but for the record, this is super unfair. You’re obviously a fucking angel, and I’ve given you more than enough ammunition to win.”

She scrawls something on her paper and folds it, quickly slipping it into the envelope.

God. I don’t want to fail.

I guess there’s no way Professor Rooke will be able to fact check all these entries, right? It’s probably more about the intent behind this round than the actual impact.

That’s what I tell myself as I gather at the only flimsy straw I have and write down something that’s probably an utter lie.

Sent nude pics to a teacher.

I mean, she must have done it once before, right?

I fold the paper and put it in the envelope. She seals it with the sticker and swipes her hand over the seal.

“You should stay for dinner.”

My lips purse as I glance up at her. “Um…okay. If you still want me to.”

“Yeah.” She frowns a little like she’s reached a unanimous decision. “This could just be the tequila, but you’re not half bad.”

I laugh. “I’d suggest you do a sanity check in the morning. Make sure it’s not the trauma bonding talking.”

“I mean it. You’re…different.”

“Because I don’t make small talk about designer shoes and spending summers in the Hamptons?” I mutter, tensing. If she’s just setting me up for another round of Cruel Consequences, then I’m not falling for it.

“And thank fuck for that,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I don’t care if you know what fork to use.”

I shrug. “I prefer eating with my hands.”

She quirks an eyebrow at me like she’s not sure if I’m making a joke.

I sigh, reluctantly letting up. Guess not everyone’s out to get me all the fucking time, right?

“What I do know,” I say, raising a finger, “is which stores check for ID.”

Only because Dad or Uncle Lenny would send me to the store to buy them booze when they were too trashed to do it themselves, but Melissa doesn’t have to know that.