“This Toastmaster shit is exhausting,” Nikki says, splayed out on the couch, the tiny gavel still by her side. “Even more so than student council. At least there, no one questions me.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Quentin says. His stomach is covered in stray pizza crust crumbs. “You love this.”
Nikki sinks deeper into the couch. “Damn right, I love it. This time next year, we’re going to be pond scum, back at the bottom after years climbing our way to the top. You’re nuts if you think I’m not going to savor every second. I’m not ready to go back there yet.”
I reach for her hand and squeeze it.
“Intro night is gonna be amazing,” Quentin mumbles.
He’s right. It’s always my favorite, ever since we had ours. It’s a big party on the beach, the only one that is filled with hope and anticipation instead of dread.
Our intro happened on a warm night in October, just as the weather was starting to turn. Shaila suggested we all gather at Nikki’s since her parents would be away and Nikki jumped at the chance to host for the first time, to be a leader.
She broke out a bottle of tequila and we all took swigs, sizing each other up. I was close with Shaila, Nikki, and Graham, of course, but it was the first time I had really hung out with Robert or Marla outside of school. Robert had secretly always intimidated me. And Marla was still new, unattached to any solid friend group. At that point, Henry was just the cute, lanky kid on the school news channel. He had yet to make varsity lacrosse or fill out his six-foot frame. And Quentin was his best friend, the artsy guy, whose paintings hung in the middle school hallways. But somehow, for some reason, Adam, Jake, Rachel, and the rest of the senior Players had picked the eight of us and changed our lives forever.
That night, I looked around at the weird group and wondered what we each had to offer. I wondered what made me special. Why I had been plucked, instead of one of my eighty-two other classmates. Everyone else looked so ready, so alive, that my heart swelled with affection. I hoped they would become family or something like it.
After an hour, Graham’s phone buzzed with the go-ahead from Rachel. He whispered something into Shaila’s ear, and they both erupted into a fit of giggles. Nikki rolled her eyes at me, and we shared an annoyed smirk. Classic couple shit.
Then Graham cleared his throat. “Let’s go.”
He led us in a single-file line behind Nikki’s house, where the grass kissed the sand before it became beach. From there, her house looked like a UFO, dropped down to earth by chance. The eight of us continued silently, guided by the inky sky and a million little stars.
I looked up to find Orion and then Aries, the Little Dipper, too. Each one set me at ease, more signs this was all so right. My stomach flipped and I felt like I was on the brink of greatness. I knew that this was the night I had been waiting for my entire life. It had to be. It was the brightest I’d ever seen the Milky Way. We continued marching across the sand in silence for another mile until we heard the sounds of drunk people who thought they were whispering. “Shhh! They’re coming.”
A blazing bonfire came into view and soon we could hear the grainy sounds of some house song coming from a portable speaker. Graham stopped as two headlights approached. Shit, I thought. The cops.
Shaila grabbed at his hand in the dark, and they glued their shoulders together as the brightness grew bigger.
But there were no uniforms or sirens. A sand buggy stopped and someone stepped out. I squinted into the darkness. It was Adam. His eyes met mine but he didn’t smile, didn’t show any sign of recognition.
“Be quiet,” Adam said, his mouth in a hard line. “Follow me and do as I say. If you don’t there will be consequences.” He looked at me again before turning the buggy around, heading back toward the flames.
We ran after him, breathing heavily to keep up. The fire grew taller as we got closer and when we were standing right in front of it I felt like we had found the center of the earth. “Line up!” Adam yelled.
We scrambled into a row and I found myself in between Nikki and Shaila, standing so close that my fingers grazed theirs. My eyes adjusted and I made out familiar faces. Rachel. Jake. Tina. Derek Garry. They stood by class, a handful of sophomores off to the right, a smattering of juniors to the left, and the seniors in the middle with their arms crossed, holding bottles. They looked ready for a fight.
Adam cleared his throat. “Players.”
The voices rose in unison and I made out the words, crisp and clipped.
Gold Coast Prep, hear our cries
Born and bred until we die
For years and years, our fair sea
Has held us up and kept us free
From brush to waves and dusk till dawn
We rise and fall, like kings and pawns
We’ve read the rules, we’ve learned them well
We’re Players till the end, we yell.
A chill ran down my spine and the sand stretched before us, echoing the chanted words. Wind rustled the tall grass of the dunes and waves crashed onto the shore.
And then Jake spoke. “You have been chosen by this year’s senior class to be Players. But that doesn’t mean you are Players. It just means we think you could be. This year you’ll be faced with challenges, some fun, some . . . not. If you make it through, if you choose to continue, then you will be Players. You’ll get access to things you never dreamed about.”
Along the edge of the circle, the other Players nodded their heads in solemn motions. It sounded like Jake was offering us the world.
But what would we have to do to get it?
“You’ll need to prove yourself first,” he continued. “You’ll have to show us you’re worth it, that you deserve this. Those standing before you have gone through it all.” He gestured behind him, eight in each cluster. Shadows danced on their faces. “We’ve worked hard to make this group what it is, to uphold the values and foundation of the Players before us.” He paused and flashed a devilish smile, one that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. “We’ve also had a fuck ton of fun.”
Cheers erupted all around.
“Do as we say, listen to me, your Toastmaster, and you’ll be fine,” Jake continued. “Are you ready?” He raised a plastic cup.
“Yes!” Shaila said. Her voice rang out alone, solid, and bounced against the crackling fire.
“Very good!” Jake said. “You get first sip, then.” He winked at her and I felt the tequila sloshing in my stomach. I snuck a peek at Adam standing next to Rachel, huddled against her for warmth. His cheeks were flushed and I willed him to look my way, to remember we were in this together. But his eyes lingered on Shaila, curious if she would take the bait.
Jake walked toward Shaila and brushed his moppy light brown hair out of his eyes. He handed her a glass jug full of clear liquid. She took a hearty sip but didn’t cough or burp or make any noise at all. “Pretty good,” she said, sending giggles around the circle.
Who is this freshman? The one with courage, they must have thought. I wanted that freshman to be me.
Shaila passed me the jug and I finally felt Adam’s gaze. I sipped and held back disgust as best I could. It smelled like the inside of an ear piercing, and tasted like sweat and salt and my own fluids. I handed it off and felt fire in my lungs. Later, I learned this was our first pop. We had passed.
“Now,” Jake said. “Let’s have some fun. The real shit starts tomorrow.” He lit a sparkler and the Players broke from their rigid lineup. Someone sent a tiny firework into the air and it exploded overhead. The beach was silent for a minute and then a sophmore yelled, “Let’s do it!” Right on cue, the music grew louder, blaring into the night.
“Ready for this?” Adam said into my ear, suddenly by my side. His hair was damp and sand had stuck to the tips. He was the real Adam again. My Adam, with his big, dimpled smile. I nodded
and sensed the liquor make its way through my limbs.
“I’m so excited for you,” he said. “C’mon.” He grabbed my hand and led me to a circle of juniors. I was enveloped in a hug so tight I could barely breathe. Before I was released, Adam had retreated to Rachel’s side and slid an arm around her waist. She danced in front of him and laughed as he spun her around. When she saw me staring, she ran over and wrapped her arms around me tight.
“I knew you’d get in,” she said, her voice smooth and electric over the music. “Welcome to the rest of your life.”
“Thanks,” I managed. Her eyes searched mine, and her lips were chapped from the wind. She had tied her hair into a high pony so little wisps of her dark hair fell neatly around her face. She was magnetic.
“Wanna know a secret?” Rachel whispered, leaning into my ear. Her breath was hot on my skin.
I nodded.
“You’re just like me,” she said softly in a maternal voice. “Scared. Young.” My stomach sank. Those didn’t sound like good things. “You’ll survive, though,” she continued. “We’re the strong ones.”
Her words didn’t make any sense at the time, and in an instant she was gone, flitting across the sand to Shaila. They had known each other practically since birth and that night Rachel hugged her like they were sisters. I wondered what secrets they shared.
It was too intimate a moment to watch. I averted my eyes and looked to the sky. The full moon hung as high and big as a ship, directing stars to shine their spotlights brighter on us.
As a kid, I would come to this stretch of beach with my parents to make sandcastles with Jared, pretending we were deep-sea creatures just looking for a gritty new home. We took turns sucking in our cheeks and turning our faces into little fish mouths, pressing our palms out like flippers. We waved to the teenagers in Gold Coast Prep windbreakers arriving just as we were packing up our pails and shovels, dusting the sand off our butts with damp towels. They look so old, I thought. “You’ll be them one day,” my mom had said as if she read my mind. But at the time, that seemed impossible.
EIGHT
“JARED!” I YELL when I swing open the door. It’s almost noon and I’m famished, even after polishing off half a pizza at Nikki’s last night, and another slice this morning. When no one answers I run up the stairs and knock on his bedroom door.
“Come on!” I call. “Wake up.”
I hear a muffled groan through the door. “No.”
“I’ll take you to Diane’s.”
More heavy sighs. But within a few minutes, Jared has somehow managed to pull on jeans, slap a baseball hat over his matted hair, and look presentable enough to be seen in public.
“Good enough?”
I throw my hands up. “Good enough. Let’s go.”
When we get to Diane’s I grab my and Adam’s booth, the one with the thick crack down the middle of one seat, and shuffle all the way in so my shoulder knocks the wall. Jared does the same.
“Well, what did I do to deserve both Newmans today?” Diane asks, grinning. Her red mountain of hair is particularly voluminous today, nestled against her waitress’s cap, and her skin is dewy and flushed, like she’s been rushing around since dawn. “Such a delight, you two!”
Jared’s face turns red and I laugh. “You know you’re the best person in this town, Diane?”
“Don’t I know it!” Diane throws her head back and shimmies her shoulders. Someone behind the griddle lets out a guffaw. “What’ll it be?”
“Diane’s Home Plate for me,” Jared says. “And a coffee.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Since when do you drink coffee?”
Jared shrugs, his face still pink.
“Look how sleepy he is,” Diane says. “He needs it. The usual, dear?”
I nod and Diane winks as she walks away.
“I can’t believe you have a usual here,” Jared says, lifting his fingers to form air quotes. “Guess you’re here a lot.”
“Sometimes.” A silence extends between us and I glance up above Jared’s head, where Shaila smiles back at me from inside the Gold Coast Prep frame. Her head rests on Graham’s shoulder and he’s smushed up against Rachel’s side. He and Rachel look so obviously related with their hair parted the same way, their angular jaws.
Jared turns to look, too. “Must be weird, huh?” he asks.
Before I can respond, Diane comes back with our mugs. While she pours the coffee, I peek out the window. The sugar maples that line the parking lot have turned a deep cherry red. They’re so bright they look fluorescent. Neon, maybe. Even in here, the air smells like fall, crisp and biting.
“Thanks, Diane,” I say. She tips her little white cap and disappears into the kitchen.
“I saw that article about Shay,” Jared says. His voice is small. “Is that why you wanted to come here? To talk about it?”
My chest tightens. I never even thought to talk to Jared about Graham or Shaila or Rachel’s texts. I shake my head but can’t figure out what to say.
“You must miss her,” he says.
“I do. So much.” I blink back tears. This was not how I wanted this to go. “But don’t worry about all that,” I say. “The police are on it. We have to trust they’ll figure everything out.”
“I guess.”
I take a deep breath and tuck my hair back behind my ears. “So, how’s school?” I ask.
“Fine,” he says. “But . . .”
“But what?”
Jared sighs, letting out a whoosh of air, like a balloon being deflated. “I feel like I’m gonna fail bio.”
“What?” I lean in closer. The edge of the table digs into my ribs.
Jared looks down and taps his fingers against his mug. “I don’t know. It’s just so hard. Not my thing.”
“Did you have your first midterm yet?”
He nods. “Sixty-eight.”
“Jesus, Jared. Why didn’t you tell me?” I hiss. “I could have helped you.”
Jared lolls his head back and half closes his eyes. “Come on. You’re like perfect at this stuff.”
I shake my head. I want him to know the truth, the real truth. I was always deemed the smart one by Newman children standards. We had both been at Cartwright Elementary through fifth grade. The classes were big and the expectations were low. But I was labeled gifted back in kindergarten with Miss Becky, when I had moved up a reading level before anyone else. So when Jared announced that he, too, had Miss Becky for kindergarten, I clasped my hands together at the dinner table. “You are so lucky,” I had whispered to him. “Miss Becky is the best.”
But Jared had a harder time with letters and numbers, at first. It would be another few years before he was actually diagnosed with dyslexia. He got into Gold Coast as part of their learning disability outreach program. No reduced tuition for him. Just the promise of being taken care of with small classes and specially trained teachers and tutors. My parents jumped at the chance. They never talked about how they found a way to pay for it. My guess was a second mortgage and a shit ton of debt. But back then in Miss Becky’s class, he just couldn’t keep up at the rate I had.
“Miss Becky doesn’t like me,” he said one day after school. His huge eyes filled with tears and spilled down his cheeks in big wet plunks.
“Of course she does!” I said to him, holding his hand and petting his hair.
“She doesn’t,” he said. “I’m not like you.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just hugged his warm little body to mine, trying not to cry, too. We were not the same, I learned. That was the first time I realized there was actually a possibility that we could grow up to not have the same favorite foods or the same taste in books or the same grades. It was a horrifying thought, that our little lives could diverge at any point without warning. Was this only the beginning? I wondered.
But we were so similar wi
th our saucer-size green-brown eyes and our shared hatred of mayo. We both loved the stars, thanks to Dad. As we grew, we began to look more and more alike, too. The only thing keeping us from being considered twins was our age. Our dark wavy hair curled in the same places. Even our arms sported the same freckles we turned into constellations every summer. Cut from the same cloth, Mom would say. Two sides of the same coin.
I look at him across the booth at Diane’s now and I see all those years he spent trying to catch up to me, jumping over hurdles that seemed too high for him to reach in order to impress teachers like Miss Becky, to get into Gold Coast, to be friends with kids like Bryce at school. It’s then I realize it must be exhausting trying to keep up with Jill Newman. Just like it was exhausting trying to keep up with Shaila Arnold.
“You’ll bring it up,” I say. “You’re not going to fail. Maybe a C, sure, but that’ll straighten itself out by the time you graduate.” My brain starts calculating, trying to figure out what his average will be if he aces this semester’s final with a little help. There’s gotta be a bio answer key, or at least a study guide, in the Files. The C won’t affect his overall GPA too badly by the time he’s a second-semester junior. That’s when it really counts.
“Easy for you to say,” he mumbles as Diane drops giant plates in front of us. Jared lifts the sticky glass bottle of syrup and drenches his stack of pancakes in a thick, sweet stream.
“Not easy for me to say. I had so much help, you don’t even know.”
“Oh yeah? From who?”
Suddenly, I’m not hungry anymore and the eggs in front of me start to look like barf. “The Players . . .” I start, trying to figure out how to explain this to him. “It’s just . . .”
I pause. I swear I feel a vibration in my pocket. Rachel. I whip my phone out under the table to check, but there’s nothing. Phantom sirens. Where is she? I wonder. Why hasn’t she responded? I slide my phone back into my pocket and look up at Jared, remembering what we were discussing, why we’re here.
They Wish They Were Us Page 9