Клэр Донелли - Hiss And Tell

Dinner was another tedious affair. Conversation seemed to die around the Senator, except for topics like politics. Mrs. Kingsbury tried a couple of times to talk about the upcoming wedding, but even Fiona Ormond couldn’t keep the talk going. Sunny was a little surprised to learn that either Cillie’s grandmother was computer-literate or had somebody on staff who was, because she complimented Sunny on her blog post about the wedding gifts.

At last the meal ended, and people began to drift away. Sunny went back to her room to collect the beer pong rules she’d printed out earlier. When she emerged, she encountered Priscilla, her eyes sparkling and conspiratorial.

“Everybody’s looking forward to this,” she said in a hushed voice, as if her grandfather could hear her from hundreds of yards away. Downstairs, they met the Neals, who looked livelier than Sunny had seen them thus far. Tommy even said hello and chatted a bit as they walked over to the pool.

The sun was going down, and there were long shadows. But only a couple of lights were on, mainly in the area around the cabana, where Carson, Beau, and Peter were manhandling a decrepit-looking old Ping-Pong table out onto the deck surrounding the pool.

“That was down in the basement of the big house,” Cillie said. “I don’t know how Uncle Cale managed to smuggle it out here.”

Tommy joined the guys in setting up the table. “This will make the game simpler,” he said. “It’s the regulation size.”

Sunny held up the rules. “Okay, I assume you all know the basic idea of the game. Each side fills a certain number of cups one-third of the way with beer. Teams take alternate turns tossing or bouncing a Ping-Pong ball into their opponents’ cups.”

Sunny stopped. “We’ve got the table. Have we got a ball?”

Peter Van Twissel held up a crisp new package of Ping-Pong balls and a sleeve of plastic cups. “It looks as though Cale took care of everything.”

“Good.” Sunny resumed reading. “Each member of a team gets one shot. Whether a toss or a bounce, the shooter’s elbow must remain below the level of the table. If a ball lands in a team’s cup, one of the team members must drink that cup. If the ball lands in that cup again, the game is over, and the losing team must consume all of the cups remaining on the table. So, if the enemy’s ball lands in a cup, it’s a good idea to drink it right away, rather than risk a double hit. You can toss or you can bounce the ball toward your opponents’ cups. But if the ball is bounced, the opponents can try to deflect it away.”

“That’s not the way we played it at school,” Carson objected.

“It’s the way we played it,” Cillie replied.

“And this is why I was advised to download something.” Sunny waved the paper in her hand. “In case of arguments, these are the rules we’ll go by.” She went back to reading. “Twice in the course of a game, a team may rerack its cups. There’s a diagram showing how they can be arranged. If a ball circles the rim of a cup, the defending team can try to flick it away. Of course, if you spill the cup, it counts for the other side. If one team clears all the opposing team’s cups, the opposing team still has a turn. Each member of the team is allowed to keep shooting, until he or she misses. When all the team members have missed, and there are still cups on the table, they have to share the beer in those cups.”

She looked around. “So now we consider the question of teams. We’ve got an odd number of people—”

“Count me out,” Beau Bellingham said. “I’m not up for a night of drinking.”

“Well, Cillie and I will be a team,” Carson said.

“And Yardley and I will be one,” Tommy Neal announced.

Peter looked at Sunny. “I guess that leaves you and me.”

Sunny shrugged. “Next question—how many cups?”

They decided on six, which would make for a quicker game. Carson and Tommy went into the cabana, emerging with a heavy cooler. Peter had already unwrapped the package of plastic cups. The guys opened a couple bottles of beer and began pouring.

“They should be in a triangle,” Sunny called, “with the wide end flush with the end of the table.”

“So who goes first?” Cillie asked.

“One member of each team come to this end.” Sunny opened the package of Ping-Pong balls. Cillie, Tommy, and Peter joined her. She gave each of them a ball. “Now, without looking at the cups, toss your ball toward them.” Priscilla and Tommy both managed to get a ball into a cup. Peter missed altogether.

“So, Peter and I will play whoever wins this game.” Sunny said as Carson retrieved the balls. “Cillie, you and Tommy toss to see which team goes first.”

This time, Priscilla missed while Tommy hit, so the game proper began. It was a close-fought battle, but in the end, the Neals eliminated all of Carson and Cillie’s cups while two of theirs remained. The de Kruk-Kingsbury alliance drained the cups, and while the field of battle was being restored, Beau stood up. “Sorry, guys,” he said. “It’s been fun, but I think I’d rather sack out.” He gave Peter Van Twissel a tap on the arm. “Good luck, bro. You, too, Sunny.”

They didn’t have much, though. The game quickly developed into a slaughter. Sunny managed to clear three of the Neals’ cups, but Peter missed every shot. “I’ll drink the extra one,” he said, his voice gallant but a little slurred. The Belgian ale was already hitting him pretty hard.

Priscilla and Carson pulled off a victory in the next round, and proceeded to roll over Sunny and Peter in the next. This time, Peter managed to land one of his tosses not in the cup, but in the pool.

Tommy and Yardley Neal fought their way back to victory in the next go-round and made mincemeat of Sunny and Peter. This time, he attempted to block a bouncing ball and managed to spill two of their cups down the front of his pants. As he stood blinking down at the spreading stain on his khakis, Cale Kingsbury came strolling around the pool. “That doesn’t look good, Van Twissel.”

Peter jerked his eyes up to Cale’s, an ugly expression on his face. “I don’t need you to point out the obvious.”

Apparently, all that beer he’s taken on has made for a real Jekyll and Hyde transformation, Sunny thought as she took in the scene. Drunk, humiliated, angry—and now he’s found a focus.

Cale tried to smooth things over. “I just thought that maybe you’d want to take a break. I could pinch-hit—”

“Don’t talk down to me, old man!” Peter’s bony, capable hands clenched into a pair of dangerous-looking fists as he took a furious step forward. “I don’t—I don’t—” He suddenly stopped, his hands loosening to clutch at his stomach. “I don’t feel so good.”

“I think what you need is a chance to lie down,” Cale said.

At least he didn’t say, “sleep it off,” Sunny thought. Otherwise, he might have set Peter off again.

“I’ll help him back.” Carson put a supporting arm around Peter, whose face had gone from brick red to off green in mere moments.

“Yeah,” Priscilla said. “I think you’d better hurry.”

Carson guided Peter in a quick, if wobbly, walk. After they were through the gate Cale glanced around the remaining members of the party.

“So what do you say?” he asked. “Should I pinch-hit for Peter?”

By now, everybody had drunk enough beer to be in an agreeable mood, although Sunny warned Cale that he was probably boarding a sinking ship. She had him read the rules, which had gotten a bit smeary thanks to spilled beer, but he was able to understand enough. He took his position beside Sunny as Tommy Neal attempted to bounce another ball at their two remaining cups. Cale’s hand darted out to flick the ball away.