More clapping. More irreverent jeers.

Billy patted her shoulder, as if to say "good job," and returned to his seat. Christina's cheeks burned, her lips tingling. The rest of her felt like jelly, formless and oozing with indiscernible emotion.

From there, the game was a blur. Christina could not recount what Billy had asked or dared of the next participant, but as the voices in the circle gradually got closer to her, she knew she had to make an escape. Even if such an action would be in total violation of rule number three as laid out by John—"don't be a pussy"—there was no way she could regain her composure in time to be asked truth or dare by whoever was next to her, or to ask Judy to do the same—no, not when she when she had just been kissed like that.

Of course, it hadn't been her first kiss. That distinction belonged to Bryan in L.A. at the last eighth grade dance before high school promotion. She had helped him with a few Spanish assignments. It wasn't grand or life-changing like it was in the movies. It was sweet and simple, a pleasant memory, but not something she found herself looking back on often. But the way Billy Loomis had just kissed her was…off. There had been a certain determination in his stride, almost a sense of catharsis in the firmness with which he had pressed his lips against hers for those few seconds. As if he had wanted to kiss her well before the game had even started.

Or maybe she was just being ridiculous.

There was a shout from the other side of sliding doors, which suddenly separated as two boys came falling in, drunkenly stumbling over each other.

"No, I told you I've got the best moves," one slurred.

"I can dance circles around you," said the other between inebriated hiccups.

They bumped into the table, their combined weight making drinks fall over as everything shook. People stood up and cursed, pushing the boys out. Others laughed.

Seizing her opportunity, Christina stood up and was about to slip out, but not before Judy could tug at her blouse urgently.

"Where are you going? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Had enough excitement for right now, though. You keep playing. I'm just going to find the bathroom and check out the rest of the party."

"Okay," said Judy, loosening her protective grip. "We can leave soon."

When she found the bathroom, she opened the door to see a couple in an intense embrace. Christina muttered "sorry" and closed the door right away, though she doubted they even noticed her brief intrusion. She looked around, hoping that by chance John may have left the game too, so she could ask if it was okay to use the upstairs bathroom. But he was nowhere in sight, and now she really had to go—partly from the water so had so quickly chugged down earlier, but mostly from the nerves. And she certainly wasn't going back into the dining room. She sighed, taking the first step. She'd be back downstairs before anyone could question her whereabouts, if they even cared.

On her way out of the bathroom, she noticed that one of the three other doors down the hall was ajar, showing the corner of large wooden dresser, on top of which a red and orange lava lamp glowed. She walked idly to the door and pushed it open. The room was painted a light grey. There was a full-sized bed dressed in dark blue linen, with a contrasting red comforter. A French double-door on the wall farthest from her led to a balcony. A few stray socks littered the otherwise impeccable floor, and in a corner next to a wire mesh wastebasket, filled with crumpled paper, was a football.

John's room.

Christina stepped forward, almost in a trance, and traced her fingers gingerly across the comforter. It was temptingly soft. She sat on the edge of the bed, allowing her eyes to wander to the small picture on the bedside table. She picked it up: it was a baby-faced John, maybe ten or eleven, at a picnic table. Sitting at his side was an attractive woman, dirty blonde and dark-eyed. They were leaned in close to each other, smiling warmly.

"That's my mom."

Christina gasped, nearly falling off the bed. She collected herself and rose to her feet to meet John's eyes where he stood, leaning against the doorway nonchalantly.

"Shit, I'm sorry," she spluttered. The shame was palpable in her tone. "I was just coming out of the bathroom and I noticed—well, the door was open—I mean, that doesn't excuse—I didn't take anything, I swear."

"Christina, it's okay." He strolled toward her, chuckling. He gently took the picture from her hand and gazed at it, smiling wistfully. "Yeah, she died about a year after this was taken. Car accident."

Now she felt even worse. She knew what it was like to be touched by death. Although in her case, the person whose death affected her so was someone she had never even had the chance to know.

"I'm sorry," Christina said again, quieter.

"It's okay," John reassured, and placed the picture back on his bedside table. "Wanna come outside with me for a minute?"

"S-sure!"

They stepped onto the cozy balcony. The cold night air was refreshing against her flushed skin. John stood at her side, leaning against the railing, and they took a moment to admire the quiet, dark street. Woodsboro, at any time of day, truly was scenic.

"I'm glad I found you up here," said John, breaking the not entirely uncomfortable silence. "I told you I was hoping we could talk privately before you left."

"What about?" Christina asked, although she already had a good idea.

"I haven't exactly been subtle, have I?" he chuckled. "But I don't care…I like you, Christina."

"I…thought you might. But, I guess I was waiting to see if you really meant it."

"Why would you think I didn't mean it?"

Christina fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"Well, for starters, you're one of the most popular guys in our grade. I'm sure any girl at our school would love to go out with you. And me…I'm just the new girl."

"Yeah, the really cute, smart new girl. Plus…" John scooted closer to her, their arms now touching. "When you stuck your neck out for me that day I showed up late. You didn't have to do that, but you did. It was really sweet."

"I still don't know why I did that. I guess I thought you looked like a good guy."

"See, that's what I'm talking about. You do what you want. You're not pretending like the rest of us."

Their eyes met then.

"Do you pretend?" Christina asked.

"Probably more than I would like to think. But not about you." He leaned in even closer, their faces now practically touching. "Can I kiss you?"

Her tongue darted across her lips, almost involuntarily.

"You—you don't care about what happened downstairs? With Billy?"

"It was all part of the game. Besides, I agree with him…you were the cutest girl at the table."

John closed the small gap that was left between them, gently pressing his lips to hers. All thoughts of Billy Loomis were discarded. The kiss quickly became a searing embrace. They stumbled back into the bedroom and fell onto his bed, their mouths never separating. John was on top of Christina, hovering so as to not put his full weight against her much tinier frame. But Christina wrapped her arms around him, deepening the kiss, and he fell into her, his body pressing against hers. The taste of beer was faint on his soft, full lips. It was divine.

"Wait—" John gasped. They stared at each other, breathless. "I don't want you to think I'm trying to…you know. I didn't bring you in here for that."

"I'm the one who trespassed into your room, remember?"

He chuckled lightly.

"Oh yeah, you did. Are you sure I don't need to check my drawers to make sure you didn't steal my allowance?"

"Hmm," said Christina, affecting a contemplative stare. "I think you're all right."

"Good." He gazed down at her, the humor of their exchange fading as quickly as it had come, being replaced by a thick, nearly tangible longing hanging in the air between them. "So, are you my girl now?"

"I—uh—yeah."

"Awesome," John concluded, breaking into a wide grin.

"But—um—" As much as she did not want to, Christina broke the embrace to sit up and lean against the large wooden headboard; John followed suit. "You should know, John, I've never really had a boyfriend before. You'll have to be patient with me."

"We can go as slow as you want, babe. But I told you: I'm not after that." He grinned all the wider, almost sheepishly, and rubbed his hand on the back of his head. "I am glad I can call you my girlfriend now, though. So creeps like Billy Loomis don't get any ideas," he added, only half-serious.

"Yeah," Christina replied, her lips still tingling, "what a creep."