Rolling Dice Read Free

hand over the check, leaving a ten-dollar bill, which is a huge tip for only a latte, but I feel like I owe him for the help with my cell phone.
    When I speak, he looks around and then smiles at me. “No problem. You’re heading off now?”
    I nod. “I need to be home for dinner, so … Well, um, I’ll … I’ll see you around,” I stammer. Then I flash another smile and give an awkward wave before heading for the door.
    “Hey! Uh, Madison?”
    One foot is poised to step through the open door, and I swivel around to look at him. “Yeah?”
    My voice is shockingly calm, seeing as how my heart is suddenly racing, my palms clammy. I clutch the plastic carrier tightly. My mouth turns dry, and I swallow hard.
    Because for a moment I think:
Oh my gosh, is he about to ask me out?
    Don’t be so ridiculous, Madison. You don’t look that good. You just met. He wouldn’t ask you out
.
    Then Dwight speaks, calling a halt to all my inner ramblings and bringing me back to reality.
    “What’re you doing tomorrow?”
    I blink.
    Was that … Did he just … ask me out?
    “Nothing. At least, I don’t think I’m doing anything. Why?” I think I’m babbling, so Iclamp my mouth closed.
    “Well, I was just thinking, since you’re new to town, if … Have you been to the beach yet?”
    “No, I haven’t had a chance.”
    “I’ve only got the afternoon shift tomorrow,” he says, with that easy lopsided smile. “There’s a party there—on the beach—tomorrow night. They do it every year—you know, like an end-of-summer thing. I just thought maybe you’d like to go. You can meet some new people.”
    All those rambling thoughts are gone; now my mind is blank, and it takes me a couple of seconds to respond. Because a) this guy has just asked me to a party and I’ve never been to a party before, and b) this guy, who’s actually quite cute, has
not
asked me out on a date. “Sure,” I manage to say eventually, with a smile. “I’ll have to check with my parents first, but …” I trail off. Was it too dorky of me to say I had to ask my parents?
    He grins back. “Awesome. Is your cell phone working okay now?” When I nod, he adds, “I’ll punch in my number. I’ll meet you somewhere before so you don’t have to turn up totally alone.”
    I know he’s just being friendly, but I can barely suppress a massive grin.
He’s giving me his number!
I think as I hand over my cell.
    “It usually starts up around eight,” he tells me.
    “Okay. Um. Okay. Thanks. I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow, then.”
    Would it make me look like even more of an idiot if I slapped my forehead? Jeez, can’t I just form a sentence?
    “Bye, Madison.”
    “Bye, Dwight.”
    As I leave, I’m on Cloud Nine. Seriously.
    I’m going to a party (as soon as I clear it with Mom and Dad)!
    I bounce down the road. Here, on the outskirts of the town, there’s a small strip of shops: the Langlois Café, and the hair salon, and the library; then a drugstore and a couple of independent record and clothes stores.
    I’m not sure what it is that catches my eye, but all of a sudden I stop to look at one shop. It’s not very big, and it’s a bit dark and not exactly highbrow, like the rest of the street. In big cursive writing on the window, I see:
Bette’s Urban Body Art Parlor
. And the windows are covered with photos of body piercings and tattoo templates. I stand there staring, totally mesmerized by it.
    I jump when there’s the noise of a door opening, almost dropping the carrier.
    There’s a woman standing in the open doorway, arms crossed, looking at me. I gulp. She’s like a catalogue for the place—piercings all over her ears and face, and tattoos on her arms. The soft, slightly tinny sound of an old Guns N’ Roses song plays from inside. She’s plump, with graying wavy hair to her shoulders.
    “Can I help you with anything, hon?” she asks me politely.
    I stare at her, and I know it’s rude, but I can’t help it. She looks