It Sounded Better in My Head - Nina Kenwood Page 0,16
quickly the situation has gone from one terrifying thing (my complete failure at a drinking game) to another (my soon-to-be complete failure at a kissing game).
I edge my chair nearer to Owen’s, so it will be harder to tell if the bottle is pointing to me or him, and everyone will want it to be pointing to him, so I can politely back out.
I don’t want to play this game.
I don’t want to play this game so badly that I take my phone out of my pocket, scroll through my contacts and hold my finger over the word Mum, but then I picture myself in the future saying to my inquisitive child ‘I left the party before the game started, so no, honey, I’ve never played spin the bottle’ and my child looking at me with deep disappointment. So I will stay to avoid my future imaginary child from being disappointed in my life experience, which is as good a reason as any to stay anywhere.
It’s a single minute, for godsake. No one is going to force me to do anything. In fact, I bet no one is going to do anything at all.
I can see everyone sizing up everyone else, deciding who they want, who they could deal with and who they definitely don’t want. The flip side of not wanting to do anything is, of course, the fear that no one will want to do anything with me even if I did want to.
A girl I don’t know spins the bottle first. It lands on Owen. Everyone cheers. I watch him walk off with her, and an iPhone stopwatch countdown begins. We sit in silence, and after about twenty seconds, it’s surprisingly boring. Seven minutes in heaven must really drag on. Everyone counts down the last ten seconds and they cheer again when the two of them emerge, grinning.
They rejoin the circle—Owen is looking pleased with himself in a hugely unappealing way—and the bottle is spun again. I’m so nervous I take a swill of the beer in my hand, even though beer is the foulest tasting thing in the world and I can barely swallow it without gagging, and now I’m paranoid about having beer breath.
The game goes through several more rounds. On reflection, it seems a stupid, discriminatory game, made mostly for the enjoyment of heterosexual guys. I have no idea who is straight, gay, bi or asexual here. One guy spins the bottle and it lands on another guy, and he gets to spin again, which is okay, I guess, because he’s straight, but still. If you’re queer, and not out, then you either have to out yourself or endure possibly kissing someone of the opposite sex.
I’m still thinking about how terrible the game is and working myself into a state of hating the world and feeling ashamed I even mentioned it, when the bottle one of the girls has just spun lands on Alex. They walk off together, laughing. Alex looks completely relaxed and my stomach lurches. I don’t want him to kiss her. The thought is in my head before I can stop it.
We count down the final ten seconds, everyone looking bored now, and they walk back, all smiles.
‘All right, I’m over this,’ Raj says as Alex picks up the bottle and spins it. It turns lazily, round and round, and we all watch it slow down and stop between me and Owen.
‘That’s a liner. Go again,’ says Lana/Petra.
‘Nah, it’s on her.’ A guy points to me.
There’s a pause, and everyone looks at me, and I open my mouth to say we shouldn’t play anymore, but then I swallow without saying anything, and I stand up and follow Alex, who is already walking back towards the side of the house.
I’m shaking, and my legs are jelly.
There’s about a metre of space between the house and a wooden fence. It’s shadowy. There are spider webs further down and what looks like a broken rake, an old broom and a pile of bricks. The whole thing is decidedly unromantic. Alex leans against the fence and I stand in front of him, leaning back against the house. His feet almost touch mine. I’m worried about spiders and bugs getting in my hair.
‘I didn’t kiss Sarah.’
‘Who’s Sarah?’
‘The girl I just came back here with before.’
‘Oh, cool. I mean, I don’t care. We don’t need to kiss either. Obviously.’ My face feels hot.