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her feet.
    “A chaperone is―”
    “I know what the word means,” I respond calmly so
as not to alarm the dog any further. “You do know that the legal
drinking age in France is sixteen, right? And I’m already
seventeen.”
    “I am wholly aware of these facts.”
    “Well, what’s the problem then?”
    “The contract we signed with your school stated
that we must provide adequate supervision and discipline that is
consistent with being a responsible parent and in accordance with
school district requirements.”
    The way she recites the words so precisely, I
wouldn’t doubt she mesmerized the entire document. It’s completely
unexpected. Of all people, I didn’t think she’d be the one to
enforce rules. Although, I guess there are less cool chaperones in
the world. Like Madame Lefèvre. It isn’t exactly the end of the
world. In how many other scenarios would I be able to hang out in
public with a hot tattoo artist? I relent, imitating her Gallic
shrug, before heading off to meet Madison and Josh.
    We spend the morning goofing off before heading to
the Golden Arches, which is abbreviated to McDo’s in France. Insert
Homer Simpson jokes ad nauseum. In any case, it’s Madison’s idea to
play Truth or Dare. When Josh balks at the suggestion, I become
even more nervous, because he knows her better than I do. She
doesn’t seem to have any filter, so these kinds of games must come
easy to her. Personally, I’d rather leave my embarrassing stories
buried somewhere in my subconscious where I don’t have to deal with
them. Like the time I was concentrating so hard on my moves that I
fell off a dance floor. Oh, I hope she doesn’t ask me why I don’t
like to dance.
    “Truth or dare,” Madison demands of me. I’m her
first victim.
    “Dare,” I say.
    Josh groans.
    “Why you gotta be like that, Connor?” she
asks.
    “What? I’m going with a dare. The game is called
Truth or Dare.”
    “Bro, you do not want to take a dare from Madison.
Trust me, there’s no truth worth hiding.”
    I grimace and persist defiantly. “Dare.”
    She takes out her iPhone and has me roll dice on an
app. It comes up a six.
    “That’s how many ice cubes you have to put down
your pants until they melt,” she informs me.
    Josh shakes his head. “Don’t say I didn’t give you
fair warning.”
    To ensure I play by her rules, Madison follows me to
the counter and asks specifically for six cubes of ice with an
order of fries. She refuses to let me out of her sight, so I have
to discreetly follow her instructions in the hallway outside the
bathrooms, feeling my face flush under her watchful eye. When we
return to the game around the table, I can’t concentrate because
I’m shivering. Seated on the plastic chair, I already feel the
melting cubes soaking through the fabric of my jeans. I wind up
asking Josh, “What’s your worst fear?”
    “That’s easy,” he replies. “Madison’s
dares.”
    “Not funny, Josh,” she interjects.
    “Your turn. Truth or dare?” he asks
her.
    “Come on,” she protests. “You’re supposed to
answer honestly.”
    “You already know all my worst fears.”
    “Connor doesn’t. Besides, maybe they’ve
changed.”
    His blue eyes search hers. “I haven’t changed.”
    Rather than pursuing it, she lets it slide.
“Truth.”
    “Alright, what’s the one question you don’t want
me to ask?”
    In that moment she goes very still, and I think that
maybe she’s going to take a dare instead. But, from what I know of
her, she doesn’t seem to be a hypocrite. Besides, she obviously
doesn’t think the dares are the more interesting part of the
game.
    “I’ll answer any question,” she replies
glibly.
    “That’s not what I asked. There has to be at least
one question you don’t want me to ask.”
    “Okay,” she finally submits. “I don’t want you to
ask me if I’ve forgiven you.”
    The game has taken an uncomfortable turn, but she
doesn’t even seem to realize it. Or maybe she’s