Final Round
"This is the last round?" Peter inquired.
"Thank God," Davy sighed.
"Yes last round, which means make your choices both personal and towards the group count," Micky advised
"I vote that Micky goes last this time," Mike suggested.
"Why?" Peter wondered.
"Because I have an idea and I think it will be the perfect end to the evening festivities."
"I'm in!" Micky shouted excitedly. "So that means Davy is first."
"Truth, I'm not about to do something bizarre at this point."
"Earlier you mentioned some possible insecurities with yourself since you wouldn't rate yourself at a ten and that you need a picture of yourself to remind you of your looks. What are you self-conscious about and why?" Micky asked with a smile twisting up on his lips.
Davy began picking at his cuticles nervously. "What kind of question is that?"
"The kind that curious minds want to know," Micky said leaning forward.
Davy looked to Peter and Mike for some potential reprieve. "I'm sorry Tiny, but I've gotta admit I'm intrigued myself. You've been pretty closed off with your answers so far and I don't think you can dash this one."
Peter leaned forward as well in anticipation. Davy looked as though he was beginning to feel the heat. He was beginning to sweat. He chewed furiously on his bottom lip.
"As much as I hate to say this…"
Everyone leaned in even more which caused Micky to tumble over onto the floor.
"Pass."
Their mouths dropped.
"Seriously? You're passing," Peter asked.
"Yep."
"I can't be that bad," Mike stated.
"I'm just not at liberty to say, so what have you got for me?" Davy said turning to Micky who was brushing himself off.
"Well, since I was just down there and saw first-hand how it is, lick the floor. And not some tiny tongue touch, it's gotta be a full tongue slurp."
Peter and Mike gasped.
"You can't be serious, that's disgusting," Davy protested.
"I'm completely serious, unless you want to 'fess up to something else. I will give you the option."
Davy thought for a few moments. Everyone could see the gears in his head turning to think of which was the lesser of two evils. He finally leaned forward, placing his hands down on the floor. He put his nose against the floor and appeared to take one final moment to think before scraping his tongue along a floor that probably hadn't been cleaned the entire time they had lived there.
Micky's eyes were shining with pride. Peter was looking on in horror. And Mike gagged as if he might vomit. Afterwards, Davy ran into the bathroom to rinse out his mouth and brush his teeth. He returned still spitting a bit.
"I don't think my mouth will ever feel clean again."
"Man, that must be some self-conscious secret," Peter said.
"Well, you all don't need another thing to rib on me for, since you already do for my height."
"So, it's not your height…" Micky started thinking out loud.
"My turns over now so I guess you'll never know. Truth or dare, Peter?"
"Truth, I don't want to lick the floor too."
"Since, I've already learned more about Peter than I wanted to today, I feel like I've got nothing to lose," Davy said. "What is your wildest fantasy?"
Peter thought for not even half a second before answering confidently. "To mix two ice cream flavors together."
"What in the world?" Mike asked rhetorically.
"Out of anything you fantasize about; musical fame, girls, Davy…"
Davy shot Micky a glare.
"…you choose ice cream?" Micky questioned.
"Yes, my parents only allowed us plain vanilla and I want to be able to be bold and cross flavors like…" Peter looked around nervously before whispering,"Chocolate and strawberry."
"Sounds like you're ready for Neapolitan, Shotgun," Mike said patting Peter on the back.
Davy rolled his eyes. "What a waste of a good question."
"Before anyone asks, truth," Mike said.
"What is something you've never told us?" Peter asked.
"Alright Pete, finally you've caught onto how this game is played," Micky cheered.
"What could I possibly tell you that you haven't already heard today? You've gotten some very personal information."
"One thing that we never talk about that is the elephant in the room. It's always here and no one says one word. Just pretends that it's completely normal…" Micky began.
"I know what you're getting at," Peter agreed.
"Yeah. So Mike…what's with the hat? We live in California and you're always wearing that wool hat around?"
"I was hoping this conversation would never come up," Mike said dramatically.
The other three looked intrigued as they waited quietly for an explanation.
"The truth is…I'm cursed by a gypsy and doomed to wear this hat forever or else my head will fall off."
Peter had a look of general concern. "Is there any way to reverse the curse?"
"Nice rhyme," Micky acknowledged.
"Oh Peter, he's not serious. Out with it, Nesmith. What's the truth?" Davy pressed.
"Okay you got me. The actual truth is that it's my lucky hat. I had it on several times when something important happened so I wear it for luck."
"Like what?" Peter asked.
"Well, when I won the junior rodeo championship. When I moved out here and found this beach house. And when I met you guys."
"I don't remember you wearing the hat when we met," Micky scratched his head.
"Yeah that's the reason I think it's lucky because if I did have it on when we met I would have had sense enough to walk away," Mike teased.
Micky pretended to swipe at Mike. "You know that I am one of the most important people to you. Now, I'm waiting for this epic turn of mine."
"Play by the rules. Truth or dare?"
"Do you think there's any last minute chance that he will back down?" Davy asked hopefully.
"Nope, I think you lost that bet," Mike said peering out from the bushes.
Mike, Davy, and Peter were hiding behind the bushes in front of Mr. Babbitt's house. They were waiting for Micky to complete his final dare; ding dong ditching.
"I can't watch! It is just too cruel," Peter wailed.
"Shih, Peter!" Davy whispered. "If Micky gets caught we don't want to go down with him."
Micky slowly approached Mr. Babbitt's door and waited to make sure that the landlord wasn't potentially watching him from a window or something. He raised a finger hesitantly towards the doorbell and let it fall again.
"Second thoughts?" Davy whispered.
Micky shook his head and quickly pressed his finger into the doorbell. As he turned to run away, he tripped over the porch steps and landed face first onto the concrete sidewalk. He tried to scramble up and into the bushes but it was too late; Mr. Babbitt had already opened the door.
The other three ducked further behind the bushes so as not to be seen.
"I hope he didn't ruin any of my clothes when he fell," Davy commented.
"I wouldn't be worried about that so much as now we have to endure four more months of Micky picks," Mike complained.
"That may be," Davy said, "but it's definitely worth it to have a front row seat for this."
The three looked as Mr. Babbitt drug Micky up off the ground by the shirt collar. Mike grimaced, Peter covered his eyes, and Davy smiled broadly as Micky stumbled to explain himself to the fuming Mr. Babbitt.