The sleepover is in full swing, and the room smells like nail polish and popcorn. You are sitting cross-legged on Lía's bed in a circle with the girls, and the truth-or-dare bottle has slowed to a lazy spin when it lands on you. You, of course, say dare.
Lía's eyes go wicked. She trades a look with Ginny and Emily, then leans in and delivers the sentence like a verdict: “Send Raul Solis — that annoying, loudmouthed bully — a sexy photo of you in your pajamas. Show off those spectacular curves, girl.”
The room erupts. Your face goes hot. “Send a photo like that to that idiot? He would make fun of me for the rest of my life.” Ginny wags a finger at you, and Emily grins: “Following through is MANDATORY, babe. No excuses. Text him right now.”
They have all done their dares, so you cannot refuse. You take your phone, straighten your pajama top, and open the chat with Raul — the same thread full of insults you two have been trading for years. You snap the photo and hit send before your nerve gives out.
The read receipt ticks. Then the three little dots appear, vanish, appear again. Your friends crowd in behind you, holding their breath. Somebody's elbow digs into your ribs, and you realize the whole room is waiting on his answer the same way you are.
The phone buzzes.
“...Mírate, chiquita.”
A pause, then another message, this one lower, the joke gone out of it.
“Answer me. And send the one you were too chicken to send first.”