by Diana Urban
I often found Mom working at the kitchen table on her freelance editing projects when I padded in for water at three in the morning, but usually not on Fridays. “Yeah, they usually turn in by nine to watch Netflix. Can’t be long now.”
Priya adjusted the camera on its tripod. “Think we have time for one more take?”
“Maybe practice that waterfall thing a couple times first.” Apparently making the cards waterfall from one hand into the other before the reveal would make the trick more impressive, but so far the cards found themselves in every possible square inch of my room except for Priya’s other hand.
“Sorry! I swear I did it right a bazillion times before. But as soon as someone else is watching, I mess up.” She positioned the deck in her hand. “Ready? Ready? I can do this.”
I held my breath as she squeezed the edges of the deck to create a half-moon. She released the deck, and the cards flew toward her other outstretched hand, hit her palm, and scattered in every direction. She gave me a sheepish look as I pressed my lips together, struggling to contain a laugh. But it was no use—after a moment’s pause, we both collapsed into a fit of giggles.
“I think you’re supposed to catch them,” I said, catching my breath.
“Obviously.”
“You sure you’re not feeling dizzy?”
“Positive.” She held out her hands, checking for tremors. “I just had a granola bar a half hour ago.” Priya had the misfortune of having non-diabetic hypoglycemia. She constantly munched on trail mix or nutty granola bars, otherwise she’d get all dizzy and trembly. In her words, it made her a “perpetually hangry klutz.”
She rubbed her eyes. “Maybe you can just write the music, and I can plan my reveal around it?”
“Well, I have it most of the way there, but I need to see the final beats of the act. Here’s what I have so far.” I unplugged my headphones from the keyboard so she could listen. “The music will be discreet—sort of light and ethereal.” Priya nodded along as my fingers danced across my keyboard. “We mainly want it to emphasize key moments, without being distracting. And a crescendo will cut to silence at the reveal, but I can’t get the timing right until we record the whole act.”
“Ah, that’s great.” She wiped a hand down her face. “I can try it without the waterfall.”
“No, no, no.” I crossed my arms. “This all hinges on the waterfall. Besides, I’ve watched you toss those cards like fifteen times. You’re not giving up on it now—”
Mom rapped on my open door. “Hey, guys. Need anything before Dad and I turn in?”
Oh, God. It was almost time. I rolled my eyes, hiding my anxiety. “Fortunately, I’ve been blessed with the talent of microwaving popcorn myself.”
Mom snorted. “Aren’t you so clever?” She had dark rings under her eyes, and had probably been editing all night. I used to think she was escaping into words like I escaped into music, but when I heard her and Dad fighting about dipping too deep into their retirement savings, I realized she was taking on more clients to supplement his reduced income. I’d offered to get a job last year to help out, but Mom insisted I focus on school and my music. “Hey, weren’t you two going to a party tonight?”
Priya and I exchanged a look. “Yeah,” I said, “but we want to finish up this project first.”
“Okay. Just remember, text me when you get there.” Ever since Maggie died, Mom constantly needed reassurance that I was still alive, and my phone buzzed with check-ins throughout the day. “And if you need me to come pick you up, you call me, no matter what time it is.”
“I know, I know. Night, Mom.”
“Night, honey. You two have fun doing . . .” She glanced at the camera on its tripod and the cards all over the place. “. . . well, whatever it is you’re doing.”
When she disappeared, Priya whispered, “How long should we wait?”
“Like, five minutes?” My heart was already trying to jam itself through my throat. “She was already washed up.”
“Is that long enough?”
I checked my phone. “We can’t wait any longer. I don’t know how late Zane’s party will go.” My insides jittered. It wasn’t just that I had to be on point with the drama club—I’d also never been to a real high school party before, let alone one with the most popular kids in school. A mix of nerves and excitement buzzed in my veins.
I put on my jacket and slipped my messenger bag over my shoulder. “Okay, so first I’ll get the key from my dad’s desk. Then I’ll sneak into the living room and grab a bottle. You keep a lookout at the staircase, and start coughing if my parents open their door. Then we’ll head out the back door.”
“Got it.”
“Oh, wait.” I grabbed my new deck of Cards Against Humanity from my desk in case Robbie was serious about playing. My stomach wobbled . . . and it wasn’t just from nerves. “Okay. Ready.”
We tiptoed upstairs, and I waved Priya toward the other staircase while I slipped into my dad’s office. I inched toward his desk in the darkness, arms outstretched, my heartbeat thundering in my ears.
Careful not to make a peep, I slid open the drawer. Suddenly, something thudded to my left. I gasped and leapt back. Two glowing eyes stared up at me.
“Mittens,” I whispered. He’d jumped down from the bookshelf. “Silly cat.” I patted him on the head as he slinked between my legs, purring.
Using the light from my phone, I quickly pocketed the right key and tiptoed to the living room, nodding at Priya as I passed. Her eyes were wide, but she nodded back. Muffled voices from my parents’ TV floated downstairs. I edged across the living room, the dim light from the streetlamps filtering through the curtains, and unlocked the liquor cabinet.
As I opened the door, the hinges squeaked like they hadn’t seen use in ages. Just then, Priya burst into a coughing fit, signaling a warning. I froze. Oh, God. Did my parents hear that noise? I’m so busted, I thought as Dad called down the stairs, “Everything okay?” How was I going to explain this? My fingers tingled with fear.
“Yeah, totally fine!” Priya called back up, somehow managing to keep her voice steady. “Just choking on my own spit.” She coughed for emphasis. “Going to get some water.”
“Alright. G’night, kiddo.” The staircase glowed as he flicked on the bathroom light, and dimmed as he shut the door.
Priya peeked into the living room. “Hurry!” she whispered.
I grabbed the first bottle within reach and dropped it into my bag—the drama club would have to make do with whatever it was—locked the liquor cabinet, and returned the key to my dad’s desk. Priya followed me outside through the kitchen to grab our bikes.
Zane’s house was only a few blocks away. He lived in a generic three-story colonial with perfectly groomed shrubberies dotting its front lawn, and a rusty old basketball hoop at the end of the driveway. The booming bass of a rap song seeped through his front door. I texted Mom to let her know our bikes hadn’t committed murder as Priya rang the doorbell.
“Well, well, well.” Sasha opened the door, her smile instantly calming my nerves. “I didn’t think you were going to make it.”
I looked past her to the empty foyer. “Where is everyone?” Priya asked. Laughter floated from somewhere down the hall, as if in response.
“In the basement.”
“Ah.” Shifting my weight on my feet, I swallowed hard, unsure what to do next. I reached into my messenger bag to pull out the bottle, but Sasha leapt forward and grabbed my wrist.
“Not here! Do you want the neighbors to see?” Giggling, she pulled me inside, beckoning for Priya to follow. “Your timing’s perfect—we just ran out of beer. So, listen . . . nobody from the drama club could make it tonight. Well, except for Maria.”
My stomach dropped. “Seriously?” I’d stolen booze from my parents for nothing?
“Yeah . . . but that’s okay—we should talk strategy first anyway. And I should probably listen to some of your music.”
“Right, of course. I have plenty
of samples you could listen to.” I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my library.
“Awesome. Email me some, and I’ll listen later, okay? Let’s just have fun tonight.” She threw her arms over her head. “You ladies ready to party?”
I grinned, trying to hide my surprise. “Sure!” I couldn’t believe Sasha still wanted to hang out with us even though the drama club hadn’t shown. Maybe she wasn’t such a bitch after all. I’d assumed those rumors about her were true—but maybe I should have given her the benefit of the doubt. She entwined her arm with mine and led us downstairs, where a couple dozen kids were lounging around in clusters holding red cups or cans of beer.
Robbie, Zane, and a couple girls from the cheerleading squad sat cross-legged in a circle. Robbie stared at his phone with a surly frown, his thick brows furrowed. But when he glanced up and spotted me, a grin broke out on his face. “Heyyy!” he called over. “You made it! Did you bring the game?”
My insides turned to mush. “I did!” He pumped his fist. “Hey, Zane, you’re in, too, right?” I said, hooking my arm through Priya’s so she felt included. I wanted to make sure she had a good time. “It’s fun, I promise.”
Robbie slapped Zane’s shoulder. “C’mon, man.”
“Okay, okay,” said Zane.
As they stood, Sasha extended two red Solo cups to me and Priya. “Awkward shot glasses, but whatevs.”
Priya shook her head and clasped her hands behind her back. Her mother would homeschool her if she ever caught her drinking. I bit my lip. “Er . . . no thanks.”
“Aw, c’mon.” She shoved a cup into my hand. “If you’re gonna party with us, you’re gonna party.” Amy and Maria whooped, and something in my chest fluttered.
Priya and I used to have dorky sleepovers with friends like Becky Wallace, but our version of “partying” meant playing Truth or Dare (mainly Truth, because we were all wimps) and using Becky’s pink karaoke machine. But this was a real party. I never imagined the cheerleaders and jocks would be so welcoming to a couple of nerds.
Sasha sidled close, rested her forearm on my shoulder, and flicked my messenger bag. “So, what’ve you got?”
I freed the bottle from my bag and handed it to her. “Here you go.”
“Ooh, Jack Daniel’s.” Sasha examined the label. “Nice. My parents love this stuff. Our pantry’s full of it.”
“Oh, cool. Did you bring some, too?”
A sly smile inched across her lips. “What, and risk getting caught?”
57 Minutes Left
“Let’s not panic, okay?” I said to Sasha. “Nobody’s going to make us kill anyone. This has to be a prank.”
“How do you know that?” said Sasha, her voice trembling. “It can’t be me. It can’t be. I don’t want to die!”
“Oh my God!” Scott suddenly shrieked at the top of his lungs. Everyone jumped a mile high. He stood and approached Sasha. “Can I . . . can I get your autograph?” he pleaded with wide eyes, clasping his chest.
Sasha furrowed her brow. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“It’s just . . . I never thought I’d meet the person the world revolves around.”
Her expression soured. “Oh, for the love of God,” she muttered, raking back her hair with shaking fingers.
“Will you stop kidding around, man?” Robbie shoved Scott away from Sasha.
“Yeah,” Sasha agreed. “You don’t know this is a joke.”
Scott wiped the starstruck expression off his face. “And you don’t know it’s real.”
I set a reassuring hand on Sasha’s shoulder. “You’re being ridiculous. This is just some stupid prank. We’re not killing anyone. So let’s just calm down and find a way out of here.” I glanced around the room. There weren’t any other visible exits besides the door and two windows.
“You read the note.” Sasha shoved Scott out of her way and plucked the note from the table. “Within the hour, you must choose someone in this room to die. If you don’t, everyone dies. Who would joke about something like that? We’ll have to pick someone.” Her eyes were wide and frantic.
A wave of nausea rolled over me. She truly believed this was real. But I could never kill anyone. I’d seen death before. I shuddered to think of that instant the soul leaves a body. That instant when a person becomes nothing more than an empty shell, a decaying carcass. Besides, this was just a sick joke. And we had an hour—well, fifty-six minutes—to figure this out. But panicking was the worst thing we could do. Panicking solved nothing.
“Listen,” I said, “even if it’s not a joke, it’s probably some sort of test to see how we’ll react.”
Diego met my gaze. “You mean . . . you think it’s part of the scholarship?”
“Exactly.”
“Nifty prize.” Scott took off his beanie and threw it on the table, ruffling his hair. “Maybe next year they’ll lock the winners in a graveyard and convince them zombies are after them.” He chortled. “That sounds way more fun than this.”
“No, it’s not the prize, obviously.” Diego rested his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers. “Maybe they’re running a scenario to see who has the best leadership qualities. Who can see past the threat and find a way to get everyone out safely.”
“I dunno . . .” Robbie rubbed his jaw. “That’s a little far-fetched.”
“Is it?” I raised my eyebrows. “You don’t think it’s more far-fetched for that poison and bomb to be real? Maybe it’s like one of those Escape the Room games.”
“Yes!” said Diego.
“What’s that?” asked Priya.
“I love those games.” Diego whipped out his phone and scrolled through his apps. “I’ve got a few of them here. You’re trapped in a room and need to find enough clues to open the door, or the elevator, or whatever. Usually you need to solve a few puzzles to get out.”
We all glanced around the room. “Should we start looking for clues?” I asked.
“What if there are no clues?” said Sasha, her voice laced with panic. “What if some psycho put us in here wanting to torture us, and this is just what the letter says it is?”
“Oh my God,” Priya whispered, squeezing her eyes shut.
I shook my head. “No way. It has to be some sort of test or game, like in that app.”
“I agree,” said Diego.
“Yeah, okay, I buy that,” Robbie nodded, rubbing my back. “I say we look for clues.”
“Alright.” Sasha stood along with everyone else, taking a deep breath. “Let’s do it.”
I traced the edge of the sideboard next to the door, trying to spot anything that could pass as a secret panel or serve as a clue. The china cabinets sandwiching the fireplace were crammed with glasses, decorative trinkets, and figurines. Anything in there could be interpreted as a clue in some way.
Priya turned in a slow circle. “What kinds of things are usually clues in that app?”
“Well, it could be anything.” Diego scratched his head. “A key in a grate. Numbers in a painting that correspond with a combination lock. And it’s not just an app anymore—they have real-life Escape the Room venues now. People pay like forty bucks to get locked in a room and find their way out, it’s nuts.”
“People pay fifteen bucks for a sponge,” I quipped. “People are dumb.” Diego tilted his head, like he was trying to puzzle out if I’d wrung out that grudge.
After all, my dad lost his job over Diego’s stupid sponges.
Diego finally lifted the corner of his mouth. “Touché.” He knelt, running his fingers over the Oriental rug. “There could be a clue behind a painting, or under the rug.” He flipped over the corner, but there was nothing but gleaming hardwood underneath.
I scoured the area near my seat at the table. Robbie knelt next to the door, peering through the keyhole.
“See anything?” said Diego.
Robbie shook his head. “Nah, man. Nothing.”
Priya dashed to the coatrack and dug through her jacket pockets.
Scott picked up an incense vase from one of the sideboards and sniffed the bamboo sticks. He shrugged and set it back down. “Hey maybe . . .” He pointed at the bamboo sticks, then scratched his head. “Yeah, yeah, that’s it. Maybe it’s the number of sticks, and the number of plates, and the number of chairs . . . maybe that’s the combination for a lock.”
Sasha brandished her arms. “Do you see any combination locks?”
“Oh wait, sorry, that’s not right.” Scott tapped his chin. “It’s not the number of chairs. It’s the number of assholes in the room.”
“Oh, go to hell—”
“Wait, you guys,” Priya said, an octave too high, gripping her dinner invitation. “Nobody signed the invitation. There’s no signature or anything.”
“So?” I asked.
“It’s from the mayor’s office, right?” Sasha pulled her invitation from her purse.
“Well,” said Priya, scanning the invitation, “it says ‘Scholarship Chair, Brewster Town Hall Scholarship Committee.’ But why wouldn’t they sign a name to it? Shouldn’t the mayor at least have signed this?” Almost everyone shook their heads, baffled.
“Also,” said Diego, “don’t they usually give out this scholarship in May?”
“I don’t exactly keep a calendar of these things,” said Robbie.
“You’re right, they do.” Sasha rubbed her forehead. “I thought it seemed early, but didn’t think much of it . . .” She trailed off.
Scott threw his head back and laughed.
“What the hell’s so funny?” said Robbie.
“We’re obviously being punked. There’s no scholarship.”
“Yes, there is,” said Diego. “They give it out every year.”
“Yeah, well, whoever did this knows that, too,” said Scott. “And the real scholarship doesn’t even have winners yet. This was no scholarship dinner. There’s no test. No clues. It’s just some prank to freak us out.”