Free Truth or Dare by Jacqueline Green Page B

UNDER HER SKIN: the caffeine was finally kicking in. She leaned against the kitchen counter, letting the coffee work its way through her bloodstream, until every part of her—her arms, her legs, even her toes—felt alive again.
    She hadn’t meant to stay out so late last night. She’d had a plan: Make an appearance, catch up with Tenley, then slip out unnoticed. But she’d forgotten how quickly plans went awry when Tenley was around. When Tenley had suggested they play truth or dare last night, it was as though Caitlin had zoomed back to middle school, when just the mention of the game could make her bristle with excitement—and a tiny bit of dread, too. Her long to-do list for the next day had suddenly seemed a lifetime away.
    But of course it wasn’t. And when Caitlin had gotten up at five this morning for her shift at the animal shelter, her eyelids had felt heavier than a hundred-pound Rottweiler. Caitlin downed the rest of her coffee, then refilled her mug before heading toward the porch. She hadone hour before she had to meet Emerson for their weekly brunch at the Club, and she needed every second of it to work on her campaign strategy. She was almost at the front door when she caught sight of her mom waving at her from behind the glass walls of her studio.
    Come in
, her mom mouthed, her hands white with the caulk she used to make the sea-glass window hangings she was famous for. Caitlin took another sip of her coffee before crossing into the studio; she needed major liquid fuel to face her mom right now.
    As usual, her mom wasted no time. “Did you decide on a campaign slogan yet?” she asked, fixing her intense gaze on Caitlin.
    Caitlin looked down, dipping her hand into one of the wooden bins lining the bookshelf and scooping up a handful of smooth, worn glass. When the sea glass caught the light, it reminded her of the marbles she used to roll down the porch, the way they seemed to glow from somewhere deep inside. “Not yet,” she said. “But I’m working on it.”
    Her mom inhaled sharply. “You’ve had all summer, Caitlin. It’s a slogan, not world peace.” She paused to fit a square of pale yellow glass into the window hanging she was working on: a translucent collage of yellows and greens and whites. People raved about her mom’s artwork. And even Caitlin had to admit: When a ray of sunlight hit one of her mom’s window hangings and fractured into a million brilliant pieces, it was like a rainbow shattering apart. It took your breath away.
    But here, on the worktable, without the sun to brighten them, Caitlin found the hangings to be… cold. Hard. Then again, her mom wasn’t much different.
Cold
was Jaynie Thomas’s middle name. Except, of course, when she needed something.
    “You do want to be student-body president, don’t you?” her mother resumed. “I was listening to a piece on NPR about Harvard’s emphasis on students who take an active role in—”
    “I’m on it, Mom,” Caitlin insisted, before her mother could launch into yet another Harvard speech. Lately, Harvard—and what Caitlin was doing to get in—dominated almost every conversation they had. Caitlin wanted to get in just as badly as her mom wanted her to. But sometimes it felt as if the pressure of it was eating away at her—hollowing her out.
    “You need this win, Caitlin,” her mom went on. “We can’t have your cousin Theresa at Harvard and not you!”
    “I know.” Caitlin tipped her mug back, gulping down the last of her coffee. Her heart was starting to feel like an old clock being wound up, ticking faster and faster. “I plan on winning,” she said. Then she backed out of the room before her mom could utter the word
Harvard
even one more time.
    Sailor came bounding after her as she headed out to the porch. She scooped him up and went straight to the wicker swing, the best seat in the house in Caitlin’s opinion. She loved to sit there during low tide, watching the ocean split apart at the seams,