The Bottle

Some random senior at the party opened the door from the bedroom where we were hiding. He didn’t say anything, just handed us both beers, then left again.

“What was up with that?” I asked.

“They’re probably trying to get rid of the beer before my parents get home tomorrow,” he answered. “Here give it to me, I’ll dump it later. Sorry. My brother’s friends are idiots.”

But I just stared at it, thinking. “Have you ever had beer?”

“Yeah. Why? It’s so gross, I don’t understand why people drink it.”

There was a pause. I didn’t give him the beer.

“Can I tell you a secret?” I asked him, spinning the bottle around in my hands.

“Um, sure.” He was looking at it, probably wondering why I hadn’t given it to him yet.

“Can I tell you a secret that you probably won’t like?”

He looked up at me, his brows furrowed. He finally took his attention off of the bottle. “Um… sure,” he said, a little more hesitantly this time.

I didn’t say anything for a moment. I just sat on his bed, spinning the bottle around and around.

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