In Truth,” I said, “there are no rules other than you have to tell the truth.”
“How do you win?” he asked.
“That,” I said, “is such a boy question.”
“What, girls don’t like to win?” He snorted. “Please. You’re the one who got all rule driven on me claiming Instant Breakfast isn’t a food.”
“It’s not,” I told him. “It’s a beverage.”
He rolled his eyes. I can’t believe this, I thought. A week or two ago putting a full sentence together in front of Wes was a challenge. Now we were arguing about liquids.
“Okay,” he said, “back to Truth. You were saying?”
I took in a breath. “To win, one person has to refuse to answer a question,” I said. “So, for example, let’s say I ask you a question and you don’t answer it. Then you get to ask me a question, and if I answer it, I win.”
“But that’s too simple,” he said. “What if I ask you something easy?”
“You wouldn’t,” I told him. “It has to be a really hard question, because you don’t want me to win.”
“Ahhh,” he said, nodding. Then, after mulling it for a second he said, “Man. This is diabolical.”
“It’s a girl’s game,” I explained, tilting my head back and looking at the stars. “Always good for a little drama at the slumber party. I told you, you don’t want to play.”
“No. I do,” he squared his shoulders. “I can handle it.

Sarah Dessen