The game had been going for what felt like hours. The bottle of vodka in the middle of the circle was nearly empty now, and my stomach swirled with a hot, dizzy burn. I’d taken shot after shot, each one stronger than the last, my protests drowned out by the cheers and laughter of the group. 

I could still hear Michael’s voice mocking me from earlier, telling me I was “shy.” Maybe that was why, when the cards kept coming my way, I chose drinking over dares again and again. I ...