than that? Or—”
“She got drunk one night at a house party!” Ned cut in exultantly.
“I’d like to meet a girl like that,” Fred said with what could only be described as a leering smile.
“Stop! Stop!” Kate cried, waving her lorgnette at everybody.
I looked around at the others. Meg in particular looked uncomfortable, her cheeks reddening.
“You’re not playing it right!” Kate said. “People are just talking whenever they like, not really building the story at all, not stopping it just shy of truly exciting parts. Besides, so far only the boys have gone but none of the girls.”
“Well, I can remedy that,” Jo said. “There once was a girl who lived in a town, and she liked a boy who—”
“May have been a boy who didn’t work,” Meg cut in, “or may have been a man who did, only—”
“He loved her no matter what her nose looked like,” Amy said, excited. “Which was good because—”
“Noses are meant to be loved,” I said, “only there was just one problem.”
I paused and was surprised that no one else cut in. Instead, they all just stared at me, waiting to hear what the problem was.
“This girl,” I finally went on, “could never be sure if the boy, and I do think he was the boy and not the man, really liked her best, or if it was that other girl instead, or that one, or—”
“Stop!” Kate shouted again. Then she threw her lorgnette down on the grass in disgust. “You Americans are hopeless.”
Looked like Jo wasn’t alone in still fighting the war.
“A game of Truth, anyone?” Sallie suggested cheerfully. “That’s always fun.”
Except when it isn’t, I thought, my hand growing sticky, trapped in the middle of the stack of other hands.
Truth, it turned out, was even worse than Rigmarole.
The way it was played, we stacked up our hands one on top of the other, then a number was selected at random and whoever’s number got called had to answer every question the other players thought to ask.
Lucky me. My number came up first.
“What’s your favorite color?” Amy asked.
That was simple. “Red,” I answered quickly. Then I shook my head, annoyed with myself. “No, it’s green.”
“It wasn’t exactly a trick question,” Jo pointed out.
“Well, it can be.” I shrugged. “I change my mind on these things.”
“Did you even notice Pip existed before his death?” Jo asked.
“No, I’m afraid not,” I admitted, not daring to look over at Beth when she let out a little outraged gasp. “But I’m still sorry he’s dead.”
“No one asked you if you’re sorry,” Jo said. “What do you think of Teddy’s sailor costume?”
“You already asked a question.”
“Sallie never set a limit.”
“Fine,” Meg said. “Then it’ll be my question: What do you think of Laurie’s sailor costume?”
Seriously, Meg?
I didn’t want to answer, but I had to, and I had to do it truthfully. Oh, why couldn’t this be Truth or Dare instead of just Truth? I was much better at dares.
Stupid game.
“It’s awful,” I said. “It’s the most ridiculous outfit I’ve ever seen, unless the person wearing it is actually in the navy, and I’m only glad he’s not wearing knee pants. Seriously, he looks about twelve.”
Laurie’s cheeks colored as he gave me a look that said he felt I’d betrayed him. But it wasn’t my fault—the stupid game was called Truth!
“What’s wrong with being twelve?” Amy demanded. “I’ll wager a person can spend the majority of her life being twelve and not mind it.”
What? What a weird thing to say!
“I think that’s enough questions for Emily,” Sallie said diplomatically. “Jo? I believe your number’s next.”
“What do you want most?” Laurie asked her before anyone else could get a question in.
Everyone shut up then. It was as though people sensed there was more behind the question than just the words on the surface. It was as if even Jo—maybe even me—knew what answer Laurie was hoping to get.
“Genius.” Jo finally ended the uncomfortable silence.
“HA!” This time the HA! actually left my body.
“What?” Jo whirled on me.
“Sorry,” I said, still laughing. “I mean, you’re smart enough and everything, but I think you’re a little late for genius.”
“How about Laurie?” Sallie suggested, possibly hoping to nip a sibling skirmish in the bud.
“I don’t have any more questions for Jo at this time,” he said, subdued.
“I didn’t mean that,” Sallie said. “I meant for others to ask you.”
“I’ve got one,” Fred offered mischievously. “Who, Laurie, do you like best?”
I saw Laurie color slightly as he opened his mouth to answer.
Would he say Emily? I