☐ Do donuts on the Gold Coast football field
☐ Put a Gold Coast Prep sweatshirt on the Teddy Roosevelt statue at Cartwright High
☐ Make out with someone in a different class
☐ Smash a plate in a public place and yell, “Opa!”
☐ Juul with Mr. Beaumont
☐ Make a Dairy Barn drive-thru run . . . naked
☐ String a bra up to the top of the Gold Coast flagpole
☐ Make out with someone of the same sex
☐ Lie in a lawn chair in a bathing suit with a tropical drink in ShopRite
☐ House 4 pizzas, 15 garlic knots, and 2 gallons of ice cream from Luigi’s in 15 minutes. NO PUKING!
“Jill, you ready to go?” Henry holds Bruce’s door open for me and I slide in the back seat with Nikki, our knees knocking together.
He takes off, and we head to our first destination, Diane’s. The tiny bell chimes when we push through the door and Diane turns to throw us a look, different than the one I get when I come here with Adam or Jared. Skeptical.
“Look at you, dawlings,” she says in her twang. She walks over to the booth by the window and drops a few menus on the table.
“Hiya, sugar,” Quentin says. “Don’t you look mah-velous.” He bows like we’re in the presence of royalty. Gold Coast royalty, at least. Diane rolls her eyes.
“What can I get fo’ ya? Road Rally tonight, is that right?” she asks.
My head snaps up. “How’d you know that?” I ask.
“Oh honey, you can’t hide anything from us. We all know when you have your little pawties.” Her accent is thicker than usual, meaning she’s probably slipped a little nip into her nighttime coffee. “What’ll it be?”
“Mozzy sticks and fries,” Henry says. “Please.” He flashes her a toothy grin.
“You got it,” Diane says. “Just tell yuh buddies no games in here! Last year, that Gardner boy tried to steal all our ketchup bottles. Not cool.” She jabs a finger, painted in a bright red that matches her hair.
Nikki leans in and whispers, “We gotta be more chill.”
“Everyone knows everything. If someone wanted to shut this shit down, they would,” Henry says, stretching his arms out to span the entire back of the booth. His fingertips press against my shoulder.
He’s right. Everyone at Gold Coast knows. They’re in on it, but they just let it lie. It’s kids being kids. They’re just blowing off steam. The hands-off approach to our social lives kicked into overdrive sophomore year, when our grades were steady, a miracle after what had happened.
By the time midnight rolls around, I am ready for this whole night to be over. My head is pounding from a few too many Jell-O shots, taken at the Mussel Bay tollbooth while we watched Jordana Washington pierce Raquel Garza’s soft, fleshy earlobe. Raquel bit down on an orange and winced while the rest of her team howled in delight, checking off one more item on their list.
Nikki’s all in on her Toastmaster role, clutching her phone and waiting for updates to come in from Marla and Robert, who volunteered to lead two of the teams. “They’re not fucking responding,” she says as we barrel back toward her house. “They know they’re supposed to check in with me every thirty minutes. This is ridiculous.” Nikki crosses her arms and grabs at the bottle of vodka between her feet on the floor of the car.
“Chill, Nikki,” I say softly, rubbing my temples where a sugary headache has taken hold.
“I don’t need to hear that from you,” she says, her tongue a whip.
Henry and Quentin exchange a look in the front seat but stay silent. I fight back tears and clench my fists together, trying to remind myself that she’s just stressed. She just wants this night to be fun.
But when everyone arrives back at her house and the designated drivers hand their sheets to Quentin, I feel relieved, grateful Road Rally is almost over. The teams stand huddled together in little clusters. It’s easy to spot the new friendships, little tethers extended between juniors and freshmen. These stories will become inside jokes months down the road, legendary in a few short years.
“Hey,” Jared says, out of breath. He knocks his shoulder into mine and when I look at his face, hovering a few inches above me, I see his eyes are dilated, his face flushed. “Wild, huh?” he says, grinning and raising his eyebrows.
He looks strange and off-kilter. “You okay?” I whisper, my breath an icy cloud. But he’s already on his way back to his team, trotting like a wild horse left unbridled.
“Judges, assemble!” Nikki calls. I roll my eyes and drag my feet to where she stands with Quentin and Henry.
Henry swipes through the photos on Marla’s phone first, pointing out flashes of naked butts and beer cans, someone drenched in mustard, until he pauses on one image. Henry’s mouth falls open and he nudges me. “Uh, Jill . . .”
“What?” My head pounds harder than it did before, and the little area of skin above my eye begins to ache. He hands me Marla’s phone. A blur of flesh and platinum hair appears. A boy and a girl, with just a few bits of fabric in between. The photo was taken on the sand, which makes it hard to discern where the beach begins and the boy ends. The two are lip-locked, mid-passion, but there’s no mistaking who’s in the photo. Jared and Marla.
A flush creeps up my chest. My hands start shaking and I close my eyes but all I can see are naked bodies rolling around in the sand.
I swipe to see the next photo and find the tiny freshman Sierra McKinley in only a bikini, her eyes wide with fear. She’s standing in front of the ShopRite alone. I swipe again to find another girl, one I can’t make out, leaning down, meeting Sierra’s lips in an open-mouthed mess. The girl, some sophomore, I think, looks wasted, her hair stringy, her bikini bottoms sagging. But it’s Sierra’s face I fixate on. Her eyes are open, her fear obvious. She didn’t want this, not in front of everyone, not for their amusement. Her gaze is fixed on someone off to the side, hoping for an acknowledgment. I zoom in on the corner of the screen, trying to discern who she’s looking to for help. Jared’s face is instantly recognizable. I expect him to look uncomfortable, to at least avert his eyes. To stop Sierra’s humiliation.
But instead, he’s laughing, cackling, even, and throwing up a hand to high-five someone else. He doesn’t look like my sweet, kind baby brother. He looks like someone else entirely. He looks like a Player. I scan the circle for Jared. But he’s not there. Instead I find the easier target.
“What the hell?” I nearly scream, charging at Marla. All motion around us stops.
“What’s your problem, Jill?” she says, crossing her arms.
“My problem?” I scoff. “You hooked up with my brother! You can’t do that!”
She laughs. “Are you serious, Jill? It’s Road Rally. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Marla, he’s my brother.” I spit the word out like it’s poison. My head feels like it’s about to spin off my neck. A circle has formed around us. We have an audience.
“What is your deal?” Nikki screams. She’s come around to Marla’s side so they stand in front of me like a wall. “It’s a joke. It’s not like she forced him. Right, Jared?”
The Players turn and face my little brother. There he is, standing at the back of the circle, leaning against the house, next to Nikki’s side door. And for the first time I see him for what he is becoming, just like all the others. He is tall, broad-shouldered, and flushed, awakened to what he’s been missing. He aches to expend all that pent-up, furious energy, just like the rest of us. But why does it have to be like this?
Jared smirks. I wonder if this is when he decides that maybe his big sister Jill Newman isn’t so great after all. That he doesn’t need to keep up with me or play by my same rules. He can create his own without worrying about the consequences. “Yeah,” he says. “Just having fun.”
“See?” Nikki says. “Stop being dramatic.
” I swear I can feel my heart break. My chest throbs and my throat tightens. And, then, suddenly, I don’t care. About the Players, about Nikki or Marla, or any of this. None of it makes sense. None of it is real. I see everything so clearly now.
“Jesus, Nikki,” I say. “Take a look at yourself. Gallivanting around like you run the Players, like you run Gold Coast. You know the only reason you’re class president is because Shaila died and you took her place. If she were still alive, if we had protected her, she’d have gotten elected sophomore year. And junior. And senior! She’d be Toastmaster. And you’d just be regular.”
Someone gasps and the air around us grows still and tense. Nikki’s eyes are wet and black, full of rage and fury. Her fists are clenched but she doesn’t say a word. She knows it’s true. I’ve struck a nerve and I can’t go back.
I know what I have to do.
I steady myself. “You know what?” I say slowly. I scan the circle, meeting eyes of people I’ve doused in ketchup, forced to perform vile skits, goaded into doing bitch work, into cheating on exams. Something deep inside my chest bursts into a million shards. “This is all bullshit.”
I pause and close my eyes, breathing in the cold night.
“We’re all just following rules and we don’t even know where they came from. We’re just trying to feel alive, to run away from everything. But none of this matters. It’s all made up. It’s all a lie.” I pause, realizing tears and snot are dripping down my nose. “We said this year was going to be different.” A snort escapes me. “But Shaila is still dead. Graham is off somewhere claiming innocence and we’re all just . . .” Gasps ring out around the circle and I catch myself. No one knows about the blood, that someone else could be guilty.
Someone here, even.
I turn my head to the sky. It’s cloudy now, ominous and foreboding. I can’t see a thing. No one says a word and the only sounds come from the ocean crashing violently on the sand behind Nikki’s house. It beats like a heart. For the first time in a long time I am totally sure of the words that are about to come out of my mouth.
“I quit.”
They’re quiet but echo into the night. Nikki’s eyes narrow and she takes a step back. Marla’s mouth drops open in shock. Only Quentin speaks and when he does, he just lets out a slow, low “Whoa.”
I avoid looking at Henry, whose reaction I can’t quite stomach. I wait a beat and turn, walking slowly to the road, away from all this.
I quit.
FOURTEEN
WAKING UP ON Monday morning is like emerging from a fog. It only takes a second before I remember what I have done, the line I have drawn, and who I have to face in just a few hours. No one has spoken to me since Road Rally. Not Jared, who stayed locked in his room yesterday, faking sick. Not Nikki, whose absence I already feel deep in my stomach. Not even sweet Henry, who I thought, out of everyone, might have my back and ask to talk it out.
The enormity of my decision has pushed aside any worries I had about paying for Brown, about Graham, Rachel, or Shaila, and I inhale, sipping shallow breaths. No one has ever quit the Players before. No one has come close. But I don’t feel like a pioneer. I feel lost and abandoned, even though I’m the one who did the leaving. I wonder if I overreacted, if the Jell-O shots and the cold made me so mad. If I made something that was just so not about me . . . totally about me.
But when I remember the photos, my baby brother’s flesh bleeding into someone else’s, and then seeing him laugh at Sierra, the sting of betrayal beats into my brain. Marla would freak if we ever made a pass at one of her brothers. Siblings are a no-go. Incorruptible. And Jared is becoming someone different. Someone who scares me, who reminds me of that terrible night and how the boys’ presence dominated everything they touched. Someone I recognize and hate.
So instead of making amends, I reach for my phone with shaky hands. I pull up Rachel’s texts before I can convince myself not to. I look at our last exchange and conjure the smell of her apartment, of her new life. It feels like a doorway. Responding doesn’t mean forgiving, I think.
I squeeze my eyes together and hold my breath, trying to summon Shaila, willing her to let me know if she approves, if she, too, would cave to curiosity, the possibility of redemption. I let all the air whoosh out of my mouth and try to find Shaila’s voice within my own. What would Shaila do?
There’s no time to know. Mom beats a fist on my door. “Henry’s here! You’re gonna be late!”
I exhale and my heart steadies. Someone’s still on my side. Henry just needed some time to cool off. But he’s back. We’re good. So, I pull on my Gold Coast uniform, even though it feels like a straitjacket, and push through the front door, where Bruce idles in the driveway. Just another Monday. I’m still Jill Newman, I tell myself. No one can take that away from me.
I heave my backpack into Bruce and climb in.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hi.”
“For a second I thought you weren’t going to talk to me again.” Tears prick my eyes. I didn’t know I needed this. Him. But I do. I so do.
“I thought about it,” he says. His face is round and forgiving and the edges of his mouth turn downward. “But it’s okay. Everyone will forgive you. We all say things we don’t mean. It’ll blow over.”
Henry peels out of the driveway but the air grows stale and my stomach drops. My mouth is dry when I open it to speak. “I don’t regret it.”
Henry furrows his brow but keeps his eyes on the road. His blond hair is still dark at the roots, damp from a shower. “Of course you do, babe. You can’t quit the Players.” He moves to grab my hand in the console between us, but I keep my fingers limp. His skin is waxy to the touch.
I shake my head. “I don’t regret it. If this is the Players, I’m out. I can’t watch this happen to Jared. I can’t trust . . .”
Henry moves his hand back to the steering wheel, clocking in at ten and two. “Is this about what you said about Graham the other night? Do you actually think he’s telling the truth? Come on.”
I want so badly to tell him about what Rachel told me, about the blood. But I think back to his reaction when I asked at intro night, the way he recoiled from the article in the Gazette. He wouldn’t understand. He wants this to go away, just like the others. “No,” I whisper. “It’s about everything else.”
Henry sighs and makes a left turn. “You’ll come around.”
“You’re not listening to me.” My voice is shaky but I have to get the words out. I know what I have to do and I brace myself for yet another tie I’m about to sever. “We have to break up.”
“What?” A sedan stops short in front of us and Henry slams his foot down on the brake. We’re only a block away from the Gold Coast parking lot, but I don’t know if I can stay in his presence much longer. I don’t know if I can watch him crumble, if I can handle his rage when I have to tend to my own. “You don’t mean this, Jill.”
I swallow hard. “I do. I don’t want to be a Player anymore. And you think you can change my mind. If that’s true, you don’t know me at all. It’s better we just end this now.”
Henry turns swiftly into the senior lot and throws Bruce into park in one quick move. He stares straight forward, totally unreadable.
“Henry?” I ask.
He looks back at me with those gorgeous eyes, now glossy and wet. His top lip begins to quiver. I already hate myself for hurting him like this. But then his future flashes in front of me again. The finance job he doesn’t want. A closet full of designer suits. A mansion out east. We never would have worked. If it wasn’t my quitting the Players, it would be something else.
I blink and when I open my eyes, Henry is slumped over the steering wheel, his shoulders heaving up and down.
“Jill, please,” he says, his voice almost a whisper.
Something tugs inside my chest, but I lean back farther in my seat, away from him. Why don’
t I want to salvage this? It would be so much easier if I did. Everything would be simple.
“I’m sorry.”
A gurgle erupts from Henry’s throat and his breathing becomes labored. “But I love you,” he says. It’s the first time he’s said it. Words I’ve dreamed of hearing. Words I couldn’t wait to be said to me. But my hands are clammy and I fight the urge to bolt out of the car. I don’t feel anything. And I realize I never wanted to hear those words from Henry. I wanted them from someone else.
“I have to go,” I say.
“Wait.” Henry lifts his body off the steering wheel and turns to me, his eyes red and his cheeks puffy.
But I can’t. It’s too much to see him like this. Too awkward. Too grotesque. I shake my head and push myself out, leaving Henry alone in Bruce. I slam the door behind me and don’t look back. The parking lot buzzes with chatter and muffled sharp words. I force myself to breathe in, then out, to swallow the screams I so desperately want to unleash. I hear Shaila’s voice in my head, the line she repeated when we needed it the most. Don’t let them see you hurt.
The bell rings and I know that nowhere will be safe today. So I keep going, my head down, my skin on fire, and dash through the front door, past the senior lounge, and into AP Physics.
When I get there, my usual place next to Nikki is already taken. Amos Ritter, a pimply-faced junior on the baseball team, leans back in the swivel lab chair and makes himself at home, pulling out two binders and a graphing calculator. He’s not a Player, but he’s well-liked enough that he gets invitations to parties, slaps on the back when he chugs a beer fast enough. He’s a warm body to keep the party going. Nikki only knows him because she made out with him after Spring Fling last year.
I try to make eye contact with her but her dark hair blocks her face from my view. Her skin looks perfect from afar. I wonder if the blackhead she was freaking out about last week is still there. When I take the only empty seat—it must be Amos’s usual place—I flip open my notebook and try to focus, recording everything Dr. Jarvis says, even though it just doesn’t matter.
They Wish They Were Us Page 15