Page 13 of The Last Special Thing

Weston strutted out of the apartment, brushing past Art. She was relieved that Weston hadn’t seen her kissing him. Even though they weren’t together, they sometimes were.

Weston strolled over to her. “You want to play a round?” He nodded toward the dueling beer pong table, which had grown an audience. His Ray-Bans covered his freckled face, and, she could assume, his bloodshot eyes.

Amelia slid over to Madisson. “Weston and I have next.”

“Thank fucking god.”

The table next to Madisson lost first, so Amelia took up her position a few feet to the left of Madisson and Max. Weston was pouring the beer into the collection of red cups when Art came out with her drink.

“What is it?” she asked.

“A punch?” he asked, his left eyebrow raising in skepticism.

“OH! I made a festive punch!” Madisson chimed in.

“What makes it festive?”

“It’s red, white, and blue.”

Amelia peered into her cup. “It’s just blue.”

“Ugh. I can fix it. Here, take my spot.” Madisson put her hands on Art’s hips and pushed him into the vacancy she was leaving. Max nodded at his roommate and new partner.

Setting her punch on the side of the table, Amelia hoped it wouldn’t be knocked over. She much preferred a strange punch to cheap beer.

Two shirtless, buff guys with tribal tattoos were on the other side of the long table, starting the game with a dramatized bend in their knees.

“One, two, three, shoot,” they said in unison.

They flicked their wrists, and ping pong balls bounced toward the cups. They each made a cup. To some, it was a backyard game. To these guys, it might as well have been a tryout for the NBA. Amelia and Weston traded off turns with their opponents, who clapped for themselves and chest-bumped after they both made the same cup. The most excitement she got out of Weston was a nod of approval when she made a shot.

Amelia’s eyes slid to her right as Art made a cup with a light flick of his wrist. He gave her a wink, and her cheeks flushed.

She and Weston had made three cups out of twelve by the time Madisson returned with a Tupperware of strawberries and a canister of whipped cream.

“PAUSE!” Madisson shouted at the table.

The tribal tattoo guys turned into statues.

Madisson plucked a juicy strawberry out and plopped it into Amelia’s cup.

A mischievous look crossed her face. “Better open.”

Amelia obliged as Madisson sprayed the whipped cream into her mouth. Amelia struggled to swallow, laughing as it overflowed. As she wiped off the extra, she felt eyes on her. While she enjoyed performing, she preferred to be ready for it. Madisson was much more comfortable in spontaneous situations.

“RESUME!” Madisson clapped, dispersing the attention on Amelia.

Madisson stepped up next to Art.

“I made you a cup,” he said, extending the ping pong ball.

“Well, aren’t you the sweetest?” Madisson asked rhetorically, excusing him from the game as she accepted the ball.

Amelia lost track of where Art went as her game continued. Admittedly, she wasn’t good. Weston made some of the shots, but they lost with six cups to drink as the tribal guys pounded their chests, openly threatening whoever challenged them next.

“I’m going to go smoke,” Weston announced, downing his loser’s cup.

“I’ll stay and make sure Madisson doesn’t win anymore,” Amelia said.