My parents have always taken kind of a lax approach with me. Besides that one biting incident, I haven’t given them much to worry about. Most of my social activities are online. On the rare occasion that I plan on staying out late in the real world, I bring my iPhone and let them know my exact coordinates in case of an emergency. There’s never been an emergency. My track record for being a fine, upstanding teenager is pretty solid. So when I explain to Amara what my plans are for Saturday night, I don’t expect to get the third degree.
“We’re going to a place called Club Cin-Cin after the Techno Parade tonight,” I tell her, digging into a fruit salad.
Even though I already had my fill of cheese, croissants and deli meat, she insists on feeding me the missing element from the food pyramid. Clearly she’s one of those “the body is your temple” kind of people. Her skin and hair are luminous in the late morning light of the kitchen.
“That sounds like...” she struggles to find the word “…fun.”
“Do you want me to call or text to let you know when I’ll be back?”
“I do not have a phone.”
The sentence doesn’t compute. “What do you mean?”
“Precisely what I just said. I have no phone.”
I almost laugh both at her literal way of speaking and at the fact that she’s unreachable on so many levels. Who doesn’t have a phone?
“Do you not require a chaperone?”
“A what now?” I ask, my voice rising an octave.
Her dog lets out a growl by her feet.
“A chaperone is―”
“I know what the word means,” I respond calmly so as not to alarm the dog any further. “You do know that the legal drinking age in France is sixteen, right? And I’m already seventeen.”
“I am wholly aware of these facts.”
“Well, what’s the problem then?”
“The contract we signed with your school stated that we must provide adequate supervision and discipline that is consistent with being a responsible parent and in accordance with school district requirements.”
The way she recites the words so precisely, I wouldn’t doubt she mesmerized the entire document. It’s completely unexpected. Of all people, I didn’t think she’d be the one to enforce rules. Although, I guess there are less cool chaperones in the world. Like Madame Lefèvre. It isn’t exactly the end of the world. In how many other scenarios would I be able to hang out in public with a hot tattoo artist? I relent, imitating her Gallic shrug, before heading off to meet Madison and Josh.
We spend the morning goofing off before heading to the Golden Arches, which is abbreviated to McDo’s in France. Insert Homer Simpson jokes ad nauseum. In any case, it’s Madison’s idea to play Truth or Dare. When Josh balks at the suggestion, I become even more nervous, because he knows her better than I do. She doesn’t seem to have any filter, so these kinds of games must come easy to her. Personally, I’d rather leave my embarrassing stories buried somewhere in my subconscious where I don’t have to deal with them. Like the time I was concentrating so hard on my moves that I fell off a dance floor. Oh, I hope she doesn’t ask me why I don’t like to dance.
“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.”
YOU ARE READING
The Night Has Teeth (Book One) EXCERPTS ONLY
Werewolf#WATTYS2014 HQ LOVE AWARD! There's a darkness that lurks in the City of Light Seventeen-year-old Connor Lewis is chased by a memory. On his first day of kindergarten he bit a boy hard enough to scar the kid for life. Since then he's been a social ou...
