by Gina Ciocca
“He was standing in his driveway with his car and a puddle.” Jadie shakes her head as she backs out of my driveway. “That poor car looked as guilty as my dog after he pees on the carpet. I couldn’t leave his ass there.”
Noah reaches up and squeezes Jadie’s shoulder. Not that he has far to go. The car is so small that he’s practically sitting between us. “Appreciate it.”
Jadie’s eyebrows lift and she casts a sidelong glance at Noah’s fingers. “He’s a handsy one, isn’t he?”
A laugh that’s half snort bursts from my throat, and I smile at Noah. “Yeah, he is.”
“Sorry.” Noah coughs and shifts back a little, or as much as he can when he’s taking up half the car and sharing his seat with the Yearbook Club camera and Jadie’s purse. He nods toward the lens staring up at him. “So how’d you both end up on photographer duty? Didn’t feel like flipping a coin?”
“It’s too hard for one person to cover the whole park after everyone scatters like cockroaches. Two people makes it easier,” Jadie says.
“Plus Jadie is lost without me.”
“Damn right. Oh!” Jadie holds up her pointer finger. “That reminds me—I recruited Renata Higgins and Criselle Woodley to help us with the homecoming bulletin board. It’s gonna be awesome.”
“Are they going to homecoming together?”
Jadie nods. “Renata posted a picture on the RF page this morning. You didn’t see it?”
“These two girls?” Noah asks. To my surprise, he has the Ridgedale’s Finest page up on his phone. He turns it toward me, and I smile at the picture of Criselle holding an armful of sunflowers while Renata beams next to her, dreadlocks wound atop her head.
“That’s them,” I confirm.
“Huh. Two girls going to homecoming together.” There’s definite appreciation in Noah’s voice, but the way he looks at me when he says it makes me squirm. Like he’s reminding me that he also did some asking, and never got an answer.
Jadie looks at him in the rearview mirror. “They do have lady parts, yes. Would you also like me to verify that they’re black?” They both laugh, and I can tell that she’s warming up to him. Even if she does call him “Pirate Booty.”
“No, I think that’s great,” Noah says. “And even greater that no one’s giving them shit for it.”
“Give it five minutes,” Jadie scoffs.
I nod, recalling the time someone wrote the word “dyke” on Renata’s locker after she came out freshman year.
Noah settles into the seat and folds his hands behind his head. “Still. Some schools won’t even allow same-sex couples at dances and stuff like that. Ridgedale’s at least got the right idea.”
“Too bad a school’s policies can’t change all the ignorant people who go there,” Jadie grumbles, and I know she’s not just talking about Renata anymore.
Noah leans forward so that his face is right between ours. “Well, I’d be the last person to have a problem with it. Especially since they both have a date for homecoming”—he turns and fixes an expectant stare on me—“and that puts them one step ahead of me.”
Jadie’s jaw drops. “Not exactly the king of subtlety there, are you, Pirate Booty?”
Both of their eyes are on me now, and I practically jump out of the car when I realize we’ve reached the Old Mill parking lot. “We’re here!” I announce a little too loudly.
We all climb out, and Noah hands Jadie her camera. She snaps a picture as he scoops me off the ground and throws me over his shoulder like a sack of flour.
“Forget I said that,” he whispers.
“Put me down first.”
He does, and holds out his hand. When I hesitate to take it, he adds, “No pressure, I swear.”
The camera clicks again as my hand slides into his. “I’ll deny saying this later,” Jadie says as she adjusts the lens. “But you two make a cute couple.”
As if by mutual agreement, Noah and I drop our hands. There are a lot of words I’d use to describe the relationship between him and me. But I’m not sure “couple” is one of them. And I think we both realize we need to make that call before anyone else gets used to the idea.
* * *
Meredith is in her element as leader of the hunt. We’re all gathered at the large, semicircular observation deck that overlooks the creek, where she and Tyrell are standing with their hands behind their backs, scanning the group like camp counselors taking stock of their charges. Jadie and I have drifted to opposite sides of the group, circling with our cameras.
“Listen up, everybody!” Meredith calls, clapping her hands. As well as she can, anyway, considering she’s holding an air horn. A few of the football players hoot and holler, and Tyrell holds his arms out toward her like he’s giving her the floor. The look on his face says, Shut up and pay attention. Except for when he winks at Jadie. “Thanks for coming to the new and improved pennant hunt!” Meredith lets out a whoop, and Tyrell claps his hands, prompting the rest of the group to do the same.
I have to wonder what’s so new and improved about it.
“So y’all know the rules,” Tyrell says. “Six flags per team are hidden somewhere on the grounds, and your job is to recover as many as you can of your team’s assigned color. You have one hour to report back here with your pennants.”
“And,” Meredith adds, stepping forward to quiet the predispersal rumblings. “Thanks to Noah Granger, number forty-two”—she points to the back of the crowd, where Noah is standing with his arms folded across his chest—“we have a little added incentive this year. The winning team gets Friday Night Eats on the losers. And.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “In addition to the blue and white flags you know to look for, there is also a purple flag hidden somewhere in the park. The person who finds it and brings it to Tyrell or me will get an automatic nomination for homecoming court.” She waits, a look of satisfaction on her face at the excited claps and gasps ringing out around us.
If Noah was looking for a way to charm the pants off Meredith Kopala, getting people excited about the pennant hunt is definitely it. I catch his eye, silently asking when this happened and why I didn’t know about it. He responds with a satisfied quirk of his lips.
“There’s more,” Meredith adds. “The person who finds the purple flag will also get to choose one more name to add to the ballot.”
More enthusiastic buzz hums through the group, and a few of the football players give Noah looks of approval.
“Okay, guys,” Tyrell shouts before he can lose us to the increasing frequency of chatter. “Try to stay in groups of two or more. When you find a flag, deliver it here to Meredith or me at this observation deck. When all the flags have been recovered, or at the end of one hour, whichever comes first, we’ll sound the air horn.” He points to Meredith, who holds it over her head. “That’s your cue to stop what you’re doing and report back. Everybody ready?”
There’s a chorus of shouting and clapping, and then Meredith yells, “And . . . GO!” sending the first shrill blare into the sky.
Everyone takes off running, and Jadie seizes the opportunity to leap into Tyrell’s arms and smack a giant kiss on his lips. “You start at the bridge,” she calls out to me. “I’ll go down to the creek. Meet me back here ten minutes before time’s up.”
It’s not as surreal as I thought it would be, being on the flip side of the pennant hunt. I’m still at the center of the action, even if I’m not scaling trees and bridge posts in order to oust felt triangles from their hiding spots. It’s a different kind of reward to chase the players with my camera, to capture their determination and their flails of victory. And I kind of like seeing it from this angle.
Still, it’s hard not to feel a little nostalgic when I pass by the piece of abandoned machinery where I snatched the final pennant of the sophomore-year hunt. I almost broke my ankle in the process, but I limped to the finish line waving that flag over my head like it was one of Willy Wonka’s golden tickets.
I pause when there’s a rus
tle of movement on the opposite side of the wood barricade that surrounds the potbellied hunk of black metal. And raise my camera to my face when I spy a familiar muscular frame on tiptoe, reaching toward a ribbon of blue concealed in the same overgrowth as my flag two years ago.
Noah’s footing falters at the sound of my camera’s click, and the grin he flashes when he spots me makes me laugh—like he’s embarrassed that he got caught taking this seriously.
“Found one,” he says, brandishing the blue felt.
“Look at that. You don’t even need to use it to cover your junk,” I tease, recalling our first conversation about the hunt. I snap a picture of the face he makes at me. “Or is that your real plan for the purple one?”
“Were you surprised by that little tidbit?”
“You’ve been surprising me since the minute we met, Noah Granger.”
He looks beyond pleased with himself. “There’s no point in sweating our asses off out here for bragging rights and a picture. There needed to be more to it. So I brought up the idea to Tyrell, he ran it by Meredith, and they got it approved. It’s no extra work to put another name on the ballot, and this way, maybe someone gets a shot who might not have had one.” He fakes like he’s going to throw the pennant at my face, then snatches it back at the last second. “I’m all about helping the underdog.”
“I don’t know if I’d call a crew of cheerleaders and football players ‘underdogs,’ but I admit”—I give him an approving once-over—“I’m impressed with the thought you put into it.”
“Who knows? Maybe we’ll end up on the homecoming court together. You and me, at the same time.”
“That is generally the definition of ‘together,’ ” I counter. “Though there’s a better chance that unicorns will fly out of my ass.”
Noah raises an eyebrow. “Are you talking about the odds of making the court, or the odds of the word ‘together’ describing you and me at homecoming?”
I twist the lens of my camera, knowing I can’t put this off much longer. “It’s not that I don’t want to go to homecoming with you, Noah. It’s that I . . . I have conditions.”
He tucks the flags into his pocket and folds his arms across his chest. “And they are?”
“First, we go as friends.” Noah’s expression doesn’t change, so I can only assume he expected me to say as much. Which is more than I can say for myself. I take a deep breath. “And second, you said you had not-so-honorable intentions when you asked me the first time. I want to know what they were.”
At this he sighs like he would’ve preferred I ask him to shave my name into his hair. “It’s not that big a deal—”
“Good.” I make the word clipped, with no room for argument. “Then you won’t have a problem telling me. Because last year I ended up dateless and on the outs with two of my best friends, and I’d rather not do that again.”
Noah’s eyebrows slant. “Wait, really?”
I nod. “Joel ditched me at the last minute. And then our homecoming float burned down that same night. He, um, takes full responsibility for one. But not the other.”
Noah rubs at his chin, and from the pensive expression on his face, I can tell that at least some of this is news to him. And that he’s not happy about it.
“Wow.” He runs his palm along the underside of his jaw. “I heard about the fire. I saw it in the paper, or something. But I didn’t know that you thought Joel had anything to do with it. Or that he bailed on taking you to the dance.” He laughs, but there’s an uncharacteristic skittishness to it. “I guess I should feel a little less like a prick in comparison.”
“Because?”
He exhales another quick huff like he wants to get this over with. “Because you were right. I know you think that my asking you was part of the shit between Hargrove and me, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t at least a small one.” He squeezes my arm like he’s afraid I might make a run for it. “I don’t want you to think for a second that I don’t really like you, Mace. I do.”
There’s a but. I know there’s a but, because suddenly he’s looking at me the same way that Joel does. Like there’s something he can’t say, and he’s begging me to read his mind and say it for him.
“But you lied about kissing me on the football field,” I say softly.
“Hey, what are you two doing back there?”
My and Noah’s heads snap in the direction of the intruding voice. The ivy rustles as Ken Davenport lumbers into our hiding spot, the look on his face as smarmy as if he’d caught us with our pants down.
“Wow, Macy, you’ve really got a thing for Pirate dick, don’t you?”
My face contorts with disgust, but I don’t get the chance to respond before Noah steps in front of me and gets right in Ken’s face.
“I don’t see any Pirates, but I sure as hell see a dick.” He spits the words with pure venom and then knocks Ken to the ground with an effortless, one-handed shove. Noah pulls me out of the brush while Ken’s friend, a kid whose name I always forget but I know that his number is eighty-eight, scrambles to help him up. “Let’s go, Mace.”
I don’t get a chance to say anything else, even though I’m dying for him to answer the question that Ken interrupted. But Jadie is waving me over in the distance, and Meredith and Tyrell are yelling the ten-minute warning from the observation deck above. So I tell Noah we’ll pick this up later, and we part ways.
“No one’s found the purple flag yet,” Jadie says. “We might have to go into overtime. That’s our moneymaker.”
“ ‘Moneymaker’? How did you go from joining Yearbook Club out of boredom to talking like paparazzi?”
She sticks her tongue out, her camera beeping as she flips through her shots. “Tyrell told me to stay near the waterfall, but I don’t know how we’re supposed to hang out there without giving it away.”
“I think whoever finds it should nominate you,” I say. “Right in front of Ken. It’ll be the perfect revenge. I could highlight you on the blog and every—”
“Don’t want it,” Jadie cuts in. “I already told Tyrell. If anyone nominates me, I’m declining.”
“Why?”
She looks up from her camera. “I love him. So I can’t blame everybody else for loving him too. It basically goes without saying that he’ll make the court, but that doesn’t mean I want in. I’d rather shave my head as bald as Tyrell’s before I accept pity votes from the same people who treated me like a joke at the diner last year.”
“You really don’t want to be on the homecoming court? I think you deserve it more than anyone else.”
“That’s just it, Macy. I don’t need to earn my place with Tyrell, no matter what anyone thinks. Whichever girl stands next to him wearing a sash and a fake crown, he’s still leaving with me. It’s all a popularity contest, and I don’t care enough about what other people think to put on a show for them.”
I close my hand over my locket. Maybe, while she’s being brutally honest, there’s something else I should get her opinion on.
“Jadie, do you think I’m making a huge mistake by trying to be friends with Joel again?”
An expression that resembles nausea crosses her face. “Does this mean you said yes to homecoming?”
“He actually took back the invitation. He told me to go with Noah.”
Jadie’s jaw drops. “He did not.”
“He did so.”
She stops again and pulls me aside. “Honestly? Know what that sounds like to me? A giant. Red.” She holds up the review pane of her camera, tapping the white pennant being waved by Anna Chen on the screen. “Flag.” She lowers the camera and touches my wrist, guiding me up the rocky path toward the waterfall. “Look, I’m not saying this because I think Joel is, like, inherently a douche-us maximus, or even totally unredeemable. But you know how my parents bought me that book of Chinese fables as part of the whole keeping-in-touch-with-my-heritage thing? This situation with Joel reminds me of one of them.
“So in it, an officer
is interrogating a bunch of suspects about a crime that no one is fessing up to. He tells them he has a magical clock that will chime when the perp touches it—or, you know, whatever you call an ancient Chinese criminal. So anyway, they all go into a room one by one to touch the clock, and as they come out, the officer examines their hands. Even though the clock didn’t chime, he grabs one of the men and screams that he’s the guilty one, and the guy faints in terror. Because, obvs, he committed the crime. And the way the officer figured it out was because he’d painted a layer of ink on top of the clock, knowing that the culprit’s guilt would probably make him too afraid to touch it.”
“Okay,” I say, not sure where she’s going with this. “Interesting.”
“So what I’m saying is, Joel did an über-crappy thing by bailing on you last year. And the float burning down right after is beyond suspicious, and I think he knows both of those things. But. No matter how bad he feels, or how much he wants to take you to the dance this year, something is stopping him. So I have to wonder if homecoming is Joel’s version of the clock. Or maybe it’s you. The thing he feels too guilty to get close to, you know? It just seems like if he’s inviting you and then taking it back, then maybe it’s not such a good idea to trust him. Because it sounds like he doesn’t even trust himself.”
Her words settle deeper into my brain as we continue walking. I’m not sure I want to admit how much sense they actually make. Not only does it explain why Joel seems to be withdrawing—again—but it also explains why he hasn’t come forward if he’s the one who kissed me at the football game. I’ve been wavering over whether or not I’m willing to go down this road with him, but it looks more and more like Joel has already made the decision for me.
Twenty-Three
JUNIOR YEAR
My first stop on Monday morning is Meredith’s locker.
“Hey,” I say as I come up beside her. “I’m sorry I’ve been MIA all weekend. My parents confiscated my phone as soon as I got home.”
“The float came out awesome, in case you were wondering. And I saw the pictures you probably don’t remember texting me. Looks like the crime was worth the punishment.”