Even a tall one with blue eyes and strong arms and a laugh like bubbles popping.
CHAPTER 10
BY THE END OF THE WEEK, WORD HAD SPREAD THAT the Senior Scramble was going underground because of me, and I was finally out of everyone’s crosshairs. The name-calling stopped, the food-throwing stopped, and people stopped looking at me like they wanted to sink their fangs into my skull. It felt better than any day at Meriton ever had.
Luke had set up the members-only website anonymously, and its address had not-so-mysteriously circulated throughout the entire school in about seventeen minutes. He’d named the site the Revolting Phoenix. Phoenix because it came out of Buried Ashes (out of the ashes, get it?) and Revolting because it was a revolt against the administration. But the graphic he created for the homepage banner was this hideous, messed-up bird on fire so that it seemed the “revolting” meant disgusting. Pretty clever, actually.
After school on Friday, I went online in my bedroom and opened a private web browser so my browsing history would be clean in case my parents or Zach came snooping. I pulled up the Revolting Phoenix website. I clicked on the Join button and typed my name into the membership application, but a pop-up appeared saying that a profile had already been made under that name. What? I tried again and got the same result. Almost immediately, my phone pinged. I clicked over to my e-mail in-box. It was from Luke. It read: I took the liberty of signing you up already. Hope you don’t mind. Enjoy! Underneath were what I assumed were my profile user name and password:
kate4eva
iluvpetruchio
Kate forever? I love Petruchio? Oh my God, Luke was calling me a shrew in need of taming. Ugh! So evil! Yet hilarious. I could tell he was just aggravating me for kicks. Still quasi-jerky, but I could let it go. I logged on and almost immediately a window popped up with an IM from someone called profmarvel. When I started to read it, though, my stomach started squirming. In a good way.
profmarvel: it’s luke. found your way in, i see. like your name?
kate4eva: i’m sure you’re enjoying it more than i am. how did you know i was on the site?
profmarvel: ip address tracking program. you’re the only one whose hub city is meriton
kate4eva: how big brother of you
profmarvel: thanks, i thought so too
kate4eva: what does your name mean?
profmarvel: professor marvel in wizard of oz film—the guy behind the curtain pretending to be oz
kate4eva: “pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!”
profmarvel: you got it
kate4eva: ah, i see. v. clever
profmarvel: gracias
kate4eva: the book was better than the movie
profmarvel: they always are
kate4eva: surprised you didn’t use shakespeare
profmarvel: i love the bard, but this worked
kate4eva: my dad (& family by default) = huge shakespeare nuts
profmarvel: my mom used to be an actor & made me read s’peare plays out loud with her
kate4eva: omg me too! dad did same
profmarvel: freaky
kate4eva: very
kate4eva: so what time does the hunt start?
profmarvel: 1st item’s clue drops @ midnite
kate4eva: how many juniors have signed up so far?
profmarvel: 97
kate4eva: holy crap
profmarvel: no kidding
kate4eva: we are going to be so busted
kate4eva: not “we.” i mean “i”
profmarvel: nah. the admin will find out about it, but they can’t find out who’s behind it
kate4eva: not unless you blab
profmarvel: as if. journalists protect their sources
kate4eva: how many are in the jr class?
profmarvel: around 250. not everyone will do it. too risky
kate4eva: wimps
profmarvel: i never pegged you as a rebel
kate4eva: me neither
kate4eva: thought i’d feel more guilty
profmarvel: lol
kate4eva: gotta go. parentals calling me for dinner
profmarvel: be back @ midnite
kate4eva: just like cinderella
profmarvel: see ya. don’t forget to delete your browsing history
kate4eva: already in private browser
profmarvel: smart move, kid. bye
kate4eva: GRRR! BYE!
profmarvel: heh heh
I exited the site and closed the browser. I checked my history anyway, just to make sure the web address wasn’t there. Then I trotted downstairs.
It was odd sitting at the dinner table with my dad, knowing that I had entered into an act of subterfuge against him. I tried to pick apart the threads of emotions that had balled themselves up inside me. There was fear, sure, but there was a deliciousness about it. I think it came from the bond of secrecy I shared with Luke and the other juniors now. Yet I also felt an edgy anticipation, like when I was a kid on the country club swim team and I stood on the blocks getting ready to dive into the water. Was I feeling competitive? I didn’t consider myself competitive. Mom believed that a competitive spirit was highly undignified in a young woman. All that bravado and trash talk of opponents were at cross-purposes to the humility and graciousness she believed a young lady should exemplify.
As I sat there at the dinner table, I realized that I hadn’t been involved in any kind of competition since the swim team. At Meriton, I’d been fairly aggressive about maintaining my grade-point average and my class standing, but that wasn’t a true competition like the Senior Scramble. The only person I had worked against was myself.
Now I found myself completely unprepared to handle a hot desire to win that smoldered inside me. It grew hotter and hotter with each minute closer to midnight that passed. Should I smother and suppress it? Should I fan it? Do I let it consume me? Should I just keep it on a slow burn?
I also had to figure out how to deal with the guilt. I’d never blatantly disobeyed either of my parents before. I’d never even lied to them. I had little doubt that I’d have to lie over the next few weeks. I didn’t like it, but it had to be done. I figured I should practice alone a few times first, though. I’d rehearse like an actor in a play.
Unfortunately, I never got the chance to practice. Right there above my plate of pre-made cheesy chicken casserole, I was forced to improvise.
“So tomorrow,” Mom said, “there are two showings, one at ten thirty and the other at one o’clock.” She delicately coaxed one saucy noodle onto her fork with her knife. “I don’t want any messes happening in between, so everyone needs to be out of the house until after the second showing.” She eased the food into her mouth and gingerly chewed.
Excellent, I thought. I’ll probably need all day to search for the first scavenger hunt item anyway.
Then she said, “So we’re going to spend the day at Gran and Granddad’s house. They’ve offered to take us to the club for lunch.”
Gran and Granddad had retired to an exclusive gated community about an hour away. Lunch at their ultra-swanky country club took at least three hours. Plus, there would be visiting time before and after. We wouldn’t be home before five o’clock, I was sure. By then, everyone else in the Senior Scramble would probably have the first item turned in and be on to the second. Or maybe even the third! That strange competitive ember inside me flared up into a flame.
“I can’t go,” I blurted without having thought of what to say next. Big mistake. First rule of lying: Figure out your lie before you open your mouth.
Mom shot me a scolding look. “Why not?”
I shoved a hunk of chicken in my mouth to buy some time. Mom wouldn’t expect an answer until after I swallowed. No talking with our mouths full!
I chewed and chewed and kept chewing as my brain spun. Should I say I was meeting Tara? No, not important enough. Mom would make me cancel. Homework or an essay? Nope. She’d say I had plenty of time tonight and Sunday. My excuse ha
d to be something she couldn’t override and had to happen tomorrow.
I had it.
I swallowed and said, “There’s a special afternoon tea over at Shady Acres tomorrow at one o’clock. I volunteered to help.” I added, “They’re really short-staffed because it’s Saturday.” Pretty good, I thought. Mom’s a firm believer in honoring commitments. She’d never abide by my skipping out on Shady Acres.
It worked.
“Well, if they’re counting on you, then you should go. Just don’t come home until after the buyers leave from the second showing, okay?” Mom said.
“No problem.” Maybe I didn’t need lying practice after all.
Second rule of lying: Play on your opponent’s sympathies and weaknesses.
“Speaking of the club,” Dad said, “did you cancel our membership yet, Anne?”
Cancel the club? Was he kidding? Mom’s entire social life revolved around the Meriton Country Club. She played golf; she played tennis; she played bridge. We spent every summer at the club pool. She had lunch in the restaurant weekly with all her club friends. They were iconic examples of Ladies Who Lunch.
“Not yet,” she said to her plate. “I want to wait until we have a sales contract on the house.”
Zach opened his mouth to talk, and I could see that it was full of pulpy food. He had selective memory when it came to table manners, much to Mom’s dismay. “How come you can’t stay in the club?” he asked.
Mom answered, but there was a rigidity to her demeanor that I could tell she was trying to repress. “To be a member of the Meriton Country Club, you must live in Meriton.”
“So join the Ash Grove Country Club,” Zach said before slurping his milk loudly.
I knew for a fact that there was no Ash Grove Country Club, but even if I hadn’t known, the shudder that rattled through Mom would have spelled it out loud and clear. Ash Grove had a public pool, a mini-putt golf course, and a Denny’s. Not exactly country club standards, if you know what I mean.
“Unfortunately, that’s impossible,” she said. Her voice sounded like it had snagged on something in her throat. Her face, however, presented a flawless lady look. “We all must make sacrifices.”
Sure, I thought. Everyone except Dad, that is.
How could Mom bear to give up her club membership? How could Dad bear to force her to? Who was this guy? Who had he become? Had he always been like this, but I never noticed? Because until then, I’d seen him as a model father who put his family first. Not anymore, though. I couldn’t believe that his whole superintendent fantasy was going to upend us all. Even Mom. Yet he didn’t care.
I didn’t need any more justification than that to do the Senior Scramble. My guilt evaporated. My resolve hardened. As much as I was doing the Senior Scramble to resurrect my reputation, from that moment on, I was doing it even more to defy my father. I couldn’t wait. I couldn’t wait for midnight and for the hunt to start.
I learned something at that dinner table that would be confirmed many times later in life: the propulsive nature of anger overrides the immobilizing nature of fear, every time.
After dinner, I was on dish duty, which, since there were showings tomorrow, really meant scrubbing the dishes, sink, counter, cupboards, floor, appliances, molding, light fixtures, knobs, cookbook shelf, top of the fridge, and windows. Followed by organization of the pantry, pots and pans, plastic containers, silverware, and cooking utensils. I truly couldn’t imagine how a cleaning person could finish an entire house in an afternoon. It took me nearly two hours just to do the kitchen. I was tempted to cut corners, believe me. Even to cut so many that the buyers would run away in disgust and horror. But I knew that Mom saw her house as a reflection of herself. The kitchen especially represented her.
By the time I finished, I was exhausted and stank of sweat, grease, and Knock-Out All-Purpose Spray Cleaner. Which, for future reference, isn’t for all purposes. It leaves streaks on the windows and won’t bleach the black mold growing in the caulk behind the faucet. Truly, no sixteen-year-old girl should know this.
Mom came to inspect my work, and once she approved it, I bolted straight upstairs for a shower. She hollered after me to be sure to wipe down the tiles when I was done. On second thought, wipe down the whole bathroom, she said. I called myself an indentured servant under my breath, but I did as I was told. Good, reliable, obedient Blythe.
Maybe not so much anymore.
By the time midnight came around, my body was rested, but my nerves were lit up. They were frantic little live wires coursing and sparking through every crook and bend in my anatomy. I sat at my desk, staring at my laptop and watching more and more members log on to the Revolting Phoenix. The count topped out at 123. So many. I checked the clock on my screen: 11:58. Two minutes until I was fully committed to rebellion. Was I sure? Should I bail?
No.
At midnight, the first clue popped up on the screen and my new, ferocious, competitive spirit kicked in. It obliterated any doubts I might’ve had. I was absolutely, totally, unequivocally sure.
The Senior Scramble was mine.
CHAPTER 11
Welcome to the Senior Scramble: Underground Version!
Due to recent events of which you’re surely aware, the Senior Scramble is going commando this year. No, that doesn’t mean that everyone will play without underwear; it means that we have to work fast. Get in and get out quickly. Strike and then vanish.
Obviously, we must take certain new precautions to protect everyone. So instead of turning in a scavenged item to a senior at a drop-off point, this year contestants will upload a photo of the found item. Yes, this makes it possible to cheat in a variety of ways, but we’ll be on the lookout for fakes and Photoshops.
Any player who submits one will be disqualified.
Besides, if you cheat, you’re a butthole and everyone will hate you.
So play nice.
Once your photo is verified, you’ll receive the next clue. There will be ten clues in all. Be sure that nothing identifying is in the background or foreground of your snapshot and clear any properties from the picture that might point to you.
For security reasons, you’ll only be able to access this site from the IP address you registered under, so don’t count on uploading pictures from your phones.
Also, when you log off the forum, remember to delete your browsing history or use a private browser from the start.
We know you’ve taken great risks to play this year, so let’s make this Senior Scramble the best one ever. Keep your eyes open and your mouths shut. Try not to be seen. Protect each other. And above all, have a fantastic time.
Here is your clue to item #1:
1812–1903 was when I walked around.
Now I lie forever here beneath the freezing ground.
Find that spot and of my stone a picture you must take.
One more hint: the place I am is right beside a lake.
GOOD LUCK, PLAYERS!
THE GAME’S AFOOT!
He used the phrase. What an adorable geek.
Okay, so clearly the clue was referring to a grave. I needed a picture of a certain grave. The problem was, I had no idea where the Ash Grove cemetery was. Or cemeteries. There could be a few. There probably was only one near a lake, though. Hopefully it would be a small cemetery so there wouldn’t be too many graves to check before I found the one with those exact dates.
I pulled up a satellite map of Ash Grove. I scanned every inch of the entire township, but I didn’t see a lake anywhere. There were a few ponds in housing developments, but there weren’t cemeteries anywhere nearby.
I opened another tab and Googled cemeteries in Ash Grove, PA. Maybe if there were only one or two in town, I could just search the whole cemetery for the grave.
There were six cemeteries. Six! Two public and four church ones. There was no way I could search every grave in six cemeteries.
I had a brain wave: maybe lake was actually a word in the name or address of the cemetery. I scrutin
ized each name and address, but the word lake didn’t appear anywhere. Oh, no! Maybe Lake was the name of the person buried next to this guy. How could I possibly find this? What was I going to do?
I knew what I was going to do. As soon as my family left tomorrow morning, I was going to drive by those cemeteries and see what I could find out. Maybe if I was lucky, I’d notice a junior or two somewhere. Reconnaissance was definitely in order.
I scribbled down the dates from the clue. The rest I could remember; I wanted as little physical evidence as possible around. I logged off, double-checked my history, and shut down my laptop. I shoved the paper into the bottom of my purse and then crawled into bed. My body still thrummed with the adrenaline that had rushed through it when the clue first appeared. It wasn’t until sometime after one o’clock that I finally fell asleep.
I woke to the sound of my mother clucking and sighing in my doorway. I peeled open one eye and knew right away that she was already at DEFCON 1. She didn’t think I was awake, so she made no effort to disguise her displeasure. Her eyes darted around my room and finally settled on my open eye.
“Why are you just waking up now?” she asked. “It’s after nine! I need you to get up and straighten up this room right away. Please.” That was one of those pleases that didn’t really mean “please.” It meant “do it now.”
7 Clues to Winning You Page 10