The Night Has Teeth (6 page)

“Truth or dare,” Madison demands of me. I’m her
first victim.

“Dare,” I say.

Josh groans.

“Why you gotta be like that, Connor?” she
asks.

“What? I’m going with a dare. The game is called
Truth or Dare.”

“Bro, you do not want to take a dare from Madison.
Trust me, there’s no truth worth hiding.”

I grimace and persist defiantly. “Dare.”

She takes out her iPhone and has me roll dice on an
app. It comes up a six.

“That’s how many ice cubes you have to put down
your pants until they melt,” she informs me.

Josh shakes his head. “Don’t say I didn’t give you
fair warning.”

To ensure I play by her rules, Madison follows me to
the counter and asks specifically for six cubes of ice with an
order of fries. She refuses to let me out of her sight, so I have
to discreetly follow her instructions in the hallway outside the
bathrooms, feeling my face flush under her watchful eye. When we
return to the game around the table, I can’t concentrate because
I’m shivering. Seated on the plastic chair, I already feel the
melting cubes soaking through the fabric of my jeans. I wind up
asking Josh, “What’s your worst fear?”

“That’s easy,” he replies. “Madison’s
dares.”

“Not funny, Josh,” she interjects.

“Your turn. Truth or dare?” he asks
her.

“Come on,” she protests. “You’re supposed to
answer honestly.”

“You already know all my worst fears.”

“Connor doesn’t. Besides, maybe they’ve
changed.”

His blue eyes search hers. “I haven’t changed.”

Rather than pursuing it, she lets it slide.
“Truth.”

“Alright, what’s the one question you don’t want
me to ask?”

In that moment she goes very still, and I think that
maybe she’s going to take a dare instead. But, from what I know of
her, she doesn’t seem to be a hypocrite. Besides, she obviously
doesn’t think the dares are the more interesting part of the
game.

“I’ll answer any question,” she replies
glibly.

“That’s not what I asked. There has to be at least
one question you don’t want me to ask.”

“Okay,” she finally submits. “I don’t want you to
ask me if I’ve forgiven you.”

The game has taken an uncomfortable turn, but she
doesn’t even seem to realize it. Or maybe she’s just made her point
and moved on. She simply charges ahead. I take a truth this time,
trying to be carefree and not let the mood sour any further.

“If there was one thing you could change about
yourself, what would it be?”

“Right now? My pants. I’m soaking from these ice
cubes.”

“You guys are so not fun to play with! Seriously,
Connor.”

“Seriously? Alright, I guess, um, being too
introverted.”

“Are you for real?” she asks in an offended tone.
“I’m disqualifying that answer. You have to do a dare.”

“No, I answered honestly.”

“I’ll make it an easy dare.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“All you have to do is hold my hand.”

The request is bewildering. She’s an enigma to me.
On the one hand, she’s got this shield up with her bracing
personality. On the other, she’s a girl asking for physical
contact. From me.

“Maddy!” Josh intervenes. His voice is firm,
authoritative and frankly a little over the top, all things
considered.

In response, she lets out a dramatic sigh.
“Fine.”

He turns to me and says, “Truth me.”

I take a second to compose myself and then ask,
“What’s the meanest thing you’ve ever done?”

It’s clear he doesn’t intend to, but his eyes flash
over to Madison, and in that millisecond I regret my question. The
tension in the air is constricting. I can feel it closing in on all
of us and wish I could take my words back. The restaurant is
achingly quiet.

His voice is broken when he comes back with, “I
change my mind. Dare.”

Although it’s a relief, I’m at a loss as to what to
say next. After an uncomfortable moment of trying to come up with a
challenge, I go to an old standard. “Go out into the middle of the
street and sing ‘I’m a Little Teapot’ as loud as you can.”

Without any hesitation, he grabs his military jacket
and rises from the seat. Not one of us is looking at each other. He
takes long strides toward the door to hasten his exit, not looking
back for even a second.

“Don’t forget the moves,” Madison reminds him
flatly on his way out.

We get up to watch from the front windows, and I
feel the last of the melted ice cubes dripping down the front of my
legs. Cars fly by as he stands on the line between them. Madison
leans against the glass.

“What’s going on between you?” I finally
ask.

Her eyes are fixed on Josh performing his
humiliating routine. “Nothing.”

Although her tone says otherwise, I decide not to
pursue it. She opens the front door so we can hear him singing
slightly off-key. There’s a hint of a smile on her lips, and I
don’t know if it’s because of the silliness of the dare or because
of some crueler motive. Stepping outside, she hollers at him to
turn it up a notch, and when he does, his voice resonates.

With a quick glance at the time, she notes, “We
should go or we’ll be late.”

When Josh is done his little song and dance, he
meets us on the sidewalk. Madison puts on a convincing British
accent and proceeds to judge his routine like they’re on some kind
of reality TV talent competition. We have a good laugh and things
between them seem to return to normal, like whatever happened at
McDo’s was a lifetime ago.

The Techno Parade offers some of the best
people-watching ever. Unlike any parade I went to as a kid, the
floats are basically just mobile DJ booths, some with scantily or
colorfully dressed dancers. Pressed in among the throngs that fill
the streets, I feel the heart-thumping beats of techno, trance and
trip-hop pump through my body. A whole lot of moshing, gyrating and
chemically altered spectators surround me. Neon-colored hair and
flailing arms are everywhere. This whole scenario is usually not
the type I would go out looking for, but you have to be dead inside
not to enjoy it a little. Madison kind of loses herself in the
music, in her element. From a distance she could easily be mistaken
for a J-Pop fan, her high cherry-red ponytail swishing around. She
wears a short skirt and a T-shirt with a pink unicorn emblazoned on
the front. On closer inspection, the unicorn is actually a diagram
showing prime cuts of the mythological creature. For extra irony it
even sparkles. The only thing I can say about Josh in this
situation is that he puts up with it. This isn’t his scene either,
and he has no interest in watching the other spectators. Instead,
he sticks close to Madison while half-heartedly rocking to the
rhythm.

The after-party at Club Cin-Cin is something of a
relief after an afternoon of being elbow-to-elbow in a crowd of
high-energy raveheads. We push our way past swaying bodies and a
whirl of noise. Above us wrought iron patterns twist across the
ceiling and matching chandeliers hang above our heads. A wall of
glass behind the bar glows with black and red lights, making a
pattern of electric fire, while the rest of the club and dance
floor is drenched in a frost blue that hangs in the room like
frozen smoke.

We get drinks at the bar then arrange ourselves on
Gothic velvet sofas in the seating areas around the edge of the
room. Large flat-screen TVs line the walls, showing French New Wave
movies in black and white as music blares from unseen speakers.
Heavy bass vibrates through my body and music hums in my ears. Some
people are leaning back into the plush couches, succumbing to their
velvety comfort, but that seems counter-intuitive with the energy
flooding the room. I feel like socializing. Thing is, Josh is a
little distant. He leans forward, elbows on thighs with a bottle of
Coke dangling in one hand as he gazes off at nothing. Actually, no.
His eyes almost never leave Madison. Meanwhile, she hasn’t stopped
buzzing around since we met up earlier today, and there’s no sign
of her slowing down. As far as I can tell, she’s not on anything
besides her own adrenaline. She dances on the edge of the crowd
within our eyesight. There’s a tear in her fishnet stockings, but
she doesn’t seem to care. I guess it kind of goes with her black
military boots anyway.

“So, what made you decide to come to Paris
together?” I ask.

Josh glances over at me as though it’s the first
time he’s noticed me sitting next to him. “It was Madison’s
idea.”

No surprise there. “And you just tagged along?”

“I’m just trying to get by,” he admits. “You’ve
heard my French. I barely scraped by in the language
exam.”

Although I’d like to assure him that his skills
aren’t as bad as he thinks, nobody likes knowing they’re being lied
to, and I’m a terrible liar.

“She couldn’t leave Germany fast enough,” he
continues.

“What happened? I mean, her situation with her
parents, it had to be pretty severe for her to want to get away
that badly.”

“She did that more for them than for her.” He
gazes out toward the dance floor. “Madison and I ... there was an
accident during spring break. We drove out to a campsite and this
... animal ... came out of nowhere. Well, that’s how it seemed. I’d
had a few drinks. I couldn’t react fast enough. Madison almost
died. I don’t think I could have forgiven myself if she
had...”

“You were DUI?” I blurt out, barely able to keep
my voice below a whisper.

His moist eyes flash on me as though the words have
snapped him back from a dream. His mouth forms around words like
he’s going to say something, to defend himself or somehow deny it,
but his lips just move silently for a second like the images on the
screens around us. He regains his composure quickly and
continues.

“Believe me, there’s not a day that goes by that I
don’t regret what happened that night.”

Before he continues he takes a swig of his cola and
looks down at his shoes. “You should probably know that Maddy and I
were dating until then.”

“Oh,” I respond. What else can I say? It goes a
long way to explain the awkwardness of earlier today. “Is that why
she broke up with you?”

The surprised expression on his face is puzzling.
“No, it’s why I broke up with her.”

“And you’re still able to be friends?”

His gaze drifts back to her and mine follows. I know
he’s not telling me everything. “It’s better than nothing.”

“You sure about that?”

Josh blinks and the look is gone. He flashes his
million-dollar smile. “Of course.”

Before I can ask anything else, Madison weaves her
way back to us.

“What are you boys conspiring about over here?”
she asks with a knowing smirk.

I can sense Josh tense up in her presence, but he
manages a playful enough response. “You, of course.”

To which she rolls her eyes. “As if! Although Connor
looks like he could use the love of a good woman.”

“Now you’re just trying to make me jealous,” Josh
throws back, and he reaches up to muss her hair mischievously. She
slaps his hand away as though he was about to murder a litter of
puppies.

“How about you ditch this brat and show me your
moves on the dance floor?” she asks, turning her full attention to
me.

I freeze at the invitation. I’ve never really been
one to get my groove on. “Uh, sorry, no can do. I’ve got a bad
medical condition known as double left foot.”

But she persists. “Whatever. It can’t be that
bad.”

“You
have
seen me on the soccer pitch, haven’t you?” I counter.
“Trust me, this would be much worse.”

“Bro said no, Maddy,” Josh tells her, rising to
his feet to guide her toward the dance floor.

She glances back at me momentarily. When our eyes
meet, she spins around and almost crashes into a guy’s broad chest.
With a face full of stink-eye she looks up at Arden. I wholly
expect her to do a one-eighty and melt in his presence, because I
figure that’s how most girls react to him. But Madison stands with
her hands on her hips, somehow impervious to his good looks. Or
maybe she assessed the situation and knows she has no chance. He’s
far more attuned to Amara’s whereabouts than he is to the
near-collision in his personal space.

Amara appears by his side, greeting Josh and Madison
and making the proper introductions. She’s either a quick study, or
I didn’t give her enough credit for her interpersonal skills.
Meanwhile, he glares at them outright, placing a protective hand on
the small of Amara’s back. She wears tight black leather pants that
cling to her curves in a way that make them seem like a second
skin, and an almost translucent top flows loosely from her
shoulders. Her thick, jet-black hair is pulled into a stylish twist
that highlights the soft, arcing line of her face and neck. Under
the cool lighting of the club, her eyes seem like coals ignited in
hot blue flame. She carries herself with a mixture of elegance and
wildness. Nervous about messing up a European cheek kiss greeting,
I get up to greet her informally.

“Hey, how’s it going?” I say, feeling like an
awkward car salesman.

“Omigod!” Madison cries, taking Amara by the
shoulder and rotating her out of Arden’s grasp.

The look in his eyes is murderous, but she’s
completely oblivious to him. As she makes her turn, I see that
Amara’s back reveals not only a perfect arc of pale skin, but also
showcases a huge tattoo that spreads from the nape of her neck to
the top of her pants. The design is in full color and similar to
the sketches in her book. It’s a black wolf running against the
backdrop of a rolling tide, on the crest of which is a large
crimson flower.