Chapter 1: The Dare That Changed Everything

After a lot of effort, I finally managed to sleep with the campus genius.

It should’ve felt like a win. Instead, it felt like I’d crossed a finish line only to find out the race was rigged. Even now, the memory hits like a punchline—something you’d see on Barstool or hear your roommate gossip about after too many mimosas at brunch. I can still taste the cheap tequila from that night, feel my palms sweating as the dare card landed in my hand. My dare? Pick any guy in the room and give him a full-on French kiss. Only in college.

My heart thudded like a drumline at a Friday night football game as I scanned the room. Every eye locked on me, even the dollar store fairy lights seemed to flicker in anticipation. I let my gaze land on the campus genius—Caleb Turner. If I was about to embarrass myself, might as well do it with style.

The music faded into a muffled thump in my ears as I pointed at Caleb. Every pair of eyes in the room burned into me. He just sat there, frozen.

The silence grew thick, sticky and uncomfortable. Caleb stared at the cards, his jaw tight, knuckles white around his drink. You could practically hear the fake TikTok live chat running wild.

"Sorry, Nat. Not tonight."

His words were soft, but they ricocheted off the cheap drywall. His voice was tight, like he was holding something back. Heat prickled up my neck. I stared at my shoes, fighting the urge to laugh it off or just bolt.

A stream of comments flashed through my mind, like a social media feed:

[Girl’s about to get ratio’d in real life. Ouch.]

[Bro, she’s getting curved harder than the Nike swoosh.]

[Can’t believe she tried this with his main girl right there.]

[Wait for it—main girl’s about to get a dare and show her how it’s done.]

The imaginary Reddit, Twitter, and TikTok peanut gallery was ruthless, the likes and upvotes piling up on my humiliation.

Trying to save face, I forced a laugh, waving the dare card like it was no big deal. "If it’s not a good time, then forget it. I’ll pick someone else to kiss."

Somebody cranked up the volume on a Post Malone track, and someone else started passing around a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. But the room was still silent, everyone waiting for the next move.

It was that loaded, breath-holding quiet you get in a sitcom before someone drops a bomb. You could almost hear the hum of the mini-fridge from the corner.

Someone piped up, "What’s wrong, Natalie? Isn’t Caleb your boyfriend?"

Their tone was part confusion, part nosy—as if we were the halftime show at a tailgate party. Another voice jumped in, eager for drama: "Yeah, what’s going on between you two? Did you have a fight?"

"Everyone knows how much he spoils you. Didn’t the campus gossip page say he fished your promise ring out of the fountain?"

I could picture Caleb, soaked and shivering, grinning as he handed me back that cheap ring. Trust the rumor mill to remember everything. If it happened within a mile of the student union, it was public record by sunrise.

"Come on, it’s just a game. No need to be so serious. Just have a drink instead. Aren’t all couples like this? Fight at the party, make up later."

Someone shoved a Solo cup into my hand—the universal college olive branch. The laughter sounded forced, the glances sharp.

Caleb’s eyes flicked to me, worried. "Natalie, are you mad?"

He looked so earnest, so lost, like he truly didn’t get why I was upset. I wanted to cry, scream, or maybe both.

"No."

I pressed my lips together, trying to sound steady, but my jaw was tight and my throat was bone dry. I grabbed the wine bottle and poured myself a glass, cheap pinot grigio sloshing over the rim.

Caleb hadn’t actually done anything wrong yet, so I really had no reason to kiss someone else just to vent. That’s what I told myself—the kind of logic that sounds good in therapy but never works in real life.

Rules are rules—no one wanted to be the one to kill the vibe or break beer pong protocol. Since I didn’t complete the dare, I had to drink as punishment. I tipped back my glass, the wine burning on the way down.

Caleb poured himself a full glass and said softly, "This round is my fault. I’ll take the punishment."

He drained his cup, jaw clenched, not looking at me. For a second, I thought he might say something, but he just set the cup down with a thud.

The game kept rolling, everyone pretending to laugh and joke, but the air was heavy with secondhand embarrassment. I kept up my act—smiling, tossing out one-liners, pretending not to care.

But inside, my heart twisted up like a wrung-out dishcloth—bitter, squeezed dry. I picked at the wine label, wishing I could disappear.

I couldn’t focus on the game. My brain kept circling back to the main girl comments. Every joke or laugh made me feel like a background character in someone else’s TikTok drama.

Just then, sophomore Aubrey fidgeted with the sleeve of her oversized hoodie, her voice barely louder than a whisper: "Um… I think I also drew the one where I have to pick a guy to kiss."

She held up the card, hands trembling. The room locked in, tension thick as cold pizza cheese.

She scanned the group, her watery eyes finally landing on Caleb. "Caleb, you’re the only guy I know here. Can you help me?"

People started whispering, the room shrinking with anticipation.

The mental comments in my head went wild:

[Girl’s got guts. Someone cue the Curb Your Enthusiasm music.]

[Bro, she’s about to go full crazy ex-girlfriend.]

[But isn’t the main girl out of line?]

[Who cares, side girl’s just a prop.]

[After they break up, side girl’s gonna threaten to jump off a building, dude won’t care.]

My palms went icy cold, the kind of chill that creeps up your spine when you realize you’re the joke. I squeezed my hands into fists, trying to ground myself.

But I wasn’t about to lose it and turn this into a Barstool meme. I wanted to see how Caleb would react.

Caleb’s expression darkened. "I thought it was clear—I have a girlfriend."

His tone was sharp, like he was talking to the whole room. A tiny spark of hope flickered in me.

Aubrey’s shoulders hunched, her eyes red. "I’m allergic to alcohol, Caleb. If you can’t kiss me, could you at least drink the punishment for me?"

It was a soft plea, but there was steel behind it. Everyone looked at me, waiting for fireworks.

Caleb’s brow furrowed. He looked at me: "Natalie, do you mind? I’ll only listen to you."

The whole room stared, and I felt like a judge on The Bachelor. My internal feed was brutal:

[Did he really just ask the side girl?]

[He’s not even taking initiative with the main girl?]

[He’s just putting on a show.]

I clenched my hand, forcing a bored tone: "Do as you like."

But deep down, I awkwardly hoped Caleb would refuse her. I wanted to believe I mattered enough for him to draw a line.

But—

Caleb’s eyes dimmed. He looked away, something unreadable flashing across his face. He picked up the wine glass and drank for Aubrey. The room whooped, but all I heard was the dull thud of my own heart.

My heart twisted with pain. It was like someone snapped a rubber band around my chest, each pulse a fresh sting.

I tried desperately to excuse him. Aubrey’s allergic, I told myself. It’s not about me. But the comments in my head were merciless:

[See? He drank for her. Cold-hearted romance, I love it.]

[You can’t let your girl lose face in public. Dude’s in the doghouse now.]

[Haven’t you noticed? He’s taking a stand for her.]

[He didn’t kiss her because he was worried about his, um, situation.]

A sick sense of dread swept over me. My eyes flicked downward—God, why did I even look? The evidence was right there, and it felt like a slap.

I sucked in a shaky breath, willing myself not to cry. I could already imagine the TikTok memes: “Girl sees boyfriend’s tent, instantly regrets her life choices.”

My heart went cold. I was just a sidekick, never the star. No matter what, a body doesn’t lie.

Tears stung my eyes. I blinked hard, refusing to give anyone the satisfaction.

Caleb finished the drink, looking away. I pretended to study the empty pizza box, willing the moment to pass.

The game rolled on, but I was done. Every laugh felt personal, every joke a dig. I just wanted out.

The comments in my head buzzed, already spinning the next plot twist:

[Friendly reminder: main girl’s about to get the hotel dare.]

[The guy’s a control freak. He’ll lose it if she goes with someone else.]

My fingernails dug into my palm, the anxiety clawing at me. Sitting beside me, Derek squeezed my shoulder—just like he did when my prom date ditched me sophomore year. "What’s wrong?"

I shook my head. "I’m fine."

Derek, my cousin—basically my big brother since I was six—never let anyone mess with me. Neither of us ever mentioned our family ties, so here, we were just two faces in the crowd.

Derek drew a dare. His smile faded as he read: "Take any girl to a Motel 6 and send proof."

The room erupted in whoops and fake scandalized gasps. People started daring Derek to pick someone. I felt my headache pulse.

The imagined comments cheered:

[Main girl’s gonna do the hotel dare next!]

[If she goes with another guy, dude will lose his mind.]

Derek sighed, about to take the punishment drink. But I grabbed his wrist, hand shaking.

"Did you forget? You just had a stomach problem last week, you can’t drink."

I said it loud enough for everyone to hear, playing the protective friend. "I’ll go book a room with you."

He blinked, stunned. "What did you say?"

Before he could object, I pulled him up. Derek’s always spoiled me. Even confused, he went along, squeezing my hand as we left.

I marched out, pulling another man to the hotel dare, leaving Caleb alone. Caleb’s chair scraped the floor as he stood up, eyes blazing.

"Natalie!"

His voice cracked, desperate. Aubrey blocked him, red-eyed. "Caleb, don’t go. You’re the only one I know here. If you leave, I’ll be scared."

Her words sounded sweet but sharp. My heart ached, but I didn’t look back.

I walked out with Derek, vision blurry, counting every step.

The comments in my head cursed:

[Why isn’t she making a scene? Why’s she leaving with someone else?]

[If she goes to a hotel with another guy, who’ll push the ship?]

I squeezed Derek’s hand, clinging to the warmth. Just as predicted, Caleb shoved past Aubrey and chased after us. I didn’t look back. I wanted to walk away for once.

"Go, Derek, just drive!" I blurted as we hit the parking lot. Derek didn’t ask questions—he just floored it. The engine roared, and the party house vanished behind us.