“Is she here? Do you see her?” I jump out of the car with Peyton and Melanie Jane trailing behind me. “Split up so we have a better chance of finding her.”
Melanie Jane puts a hand on my arm. “I’m sure everything’s fine.”
“No. No, it isn’t. Not until we find her.”
She opens her mouth like she wants to say something else but instead she just nods and heads toward the circle of truck beds in the middle of the field.
I peek in every car window—the ones outside the main circle—he’d have taken her somewhere secluded. Most of the cars are empty. Every once in a while I see half-naked bodies and flailing limbs. Luckily, Liv’s hair is so blonde and so curly I almost never have to rap on the windows. It should make me feel better, but every time I spot a couple and realize it isn’t them, my apprehension grows. What if he didn’t take her to a car? What if they’re in the woods somewhere? He could be doing anything to her right now, and we’ll never be able to—
I get a tap on the shoulder and nearly have a heart attack. It’s Peyton. And she’s got Liv.
All the fear and dread and adrenaline I’m feeling crashes against a wall. I am made of skin and muscle again instead of electricity. I throw my arms around her and squeeze her so tight it probably hurts, but I don’t care.
“You found her!”
I pull back to see Melanie Jane has joined us, but my focus is Liv.
“Are you okay? Did you drink anything he gave you?” I’m holding her hands and practically shaking them.
She gives me a puzzled look. “I’m fine. We were just talking when Peyton grabbed me and said there was something urgent she had to talk to me about.”
She’s fine. She’s completely and totally fine. I crush her in another hug—I’m so relieved tears start melting out of my eyelids. Liv pats me on the back.
“I can take care of myself, you know. You guys didn’t have to rescue me.”
“Not with him. You have to promise me you’ll never try this again. We don’t need the key that badly.” I lean back so I can look her straight in the eye. “Promise me.”
She thinks I’m crazy. So do Peyton and Melanie Jane. They’re all staring at me like I’m some kind of circus freak.
“I promise,” says Liv, and the tension I’m feeling releases in one giant breath. “Did something happen with him?”
“Um.” I wipe under my eyes with my fingers and hope my mascara isn’t a mess. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Peyton and Liv look to Melanie Jane like she’s supposed to know how to fix me. She puts an arm around me like we’re still best friends, and I don’t flinch away. I let her lead me to a log at the edge of the tree line. And when we get there, I sit down and put my head in my hands and crumble into a sobbing, hiccupping mess.
“It seems like there’s more to tonight than you’re telling us,” she says softly. “Is everything okay?”
She’s looking at me so sincerely, and her eyes are red like she’s about to start crying too, and even though she totally abandoned me and was partially responsible for ruining my life, I think about telling her. Because for a second, she isn’t Melanie Jane Montgomery, Head Bitch in Charge of the Sophomore Class. For a second, it’s last year, and she’s my best friend, and I know if I tell her she’ll listen and hug me and help me figure out the torrent inside me. But then I imagine her face when I tell her I don’t know if Chad had sex with me that night. And I remember that it’s not last year.
“Yes.” I can’t meet her eyes. “I mean, I guess it isn’t really, but I just can’t talk about it, okay?”
She waits like she’s hoping I’ll say something else, and when I don’t, she hugs me, my first hug from her in a year. Having her arms wrapped around me is both strange and familiar. It’s also kind of nice.
“Okay. But I’m here.” She hesitates. “And I’m sorry.”
She stands there watching me, her eyes so intense, like if she stares hard enough, she’ll beam everything she’s thinking right into my head and I’ll understand her. I’ve tried to do that with people so many times over the last year. Which shows you how well it works.
She walks back to the others, and I follow behind her.
“I’m fine, you guys. Really. I just wanted to make sure Liv was okay, and she is, so everything’s fine. Better than fine. I think I know how we’re going to get that football.”
There’s a second of awkward silence where I can see them shift from wanting something more to being willing to let it go.
“Good.” Liv pulls a few sheets of paper from her purse and slaps them into my hands. “Because I want that football more than ever.”
We make our way back to my car and read The List huddled around my trunk under the glow of a flashlight. My dad makes me keep one in there as part of an emergency kit. The reading is accompanied by ranting and swearing and several instances of holding Melanie Jane back so she doesn’t haul off and punch Weston. Or Chad. Or the first football player she runs into.
“Okay, well, what are we going to do?” she asks, her cheeks still flaming. “What’s your big plan, Ana? Because I really need it to work this time.”
“The scavenger hunt,” I say. “During the scavenger hunt, the football is out of its case for the whole night. And . . .”—I pause to heighten the suspense—“the person who’s guarding it is a woman.”
“What?”
“No way.”
“They’d never let anyone without a penis touch that thing.”
“They would if she’s a stripper,” I say.
“You’re not serious,” says Melanie Jane.
“Oh, I am. The scavenger hunt ends every year at some middle-of-nowhere strip club between Ranburne and Nashville. They drop it off with this stripper at the start of the hunt, and it stays there while they’re out running amok. If we go there after they leave, it’ll be all alone and ready for the taking.” I flash them a triumphant grin.
“Well, not all alone,” says Liv. “The stripper will have it.”
I shrug. “So, we’ll ask her for it.”
“Do you really think she’d give it to us?” asks Peyton.
“Sure. I mean, girl power and solidarity and all that. I know we can convince her.”
“It’s worth a shot,” says Melanie Jane. “In fact, it’s probably our last shot.”
She’s right, but that only makes me more determined. “Then we better make it count.”
RANBURNE PANTHER SCAVENGER HUNT
In Ranburne:
1. Fill a condom up with water. Draw a face on it. Put it on Principal Corso’s doormat, and ding-dong ditch. (One person)
2. The egg-on-a-string trick. Hang an egg from a power line by a string and watch a car run into it. (Everyone)
3. Paint the David Bowie statue at Old Lady Howard’s corn maze. (Everyone)
4. Chair race through Walmart. (Everyone)
5. Get a picture of the team with the Ranburne Panther. (Everyone)
6. Go to the Dawsonville football field. Find that stupid rock they touch before their games. Pee on it. (Everyone)
In Nashville:
7. Visit the illustrious Delta Tau Beta fraternity at Vanderbilt. Have a beer with Panther alum TJ McNeil and take a picture of the legendary scar he got during a game-winning play against Dawsonville. (One person)
8. Go to LP Field and reenact the “Music City Miracle.” (Everyone)
9. Go to Centennial Park and jump into the pond behind the Parthenon. (Everyone)
10. Go to The Jackrabbit Saloon. Walk to the very middle of the dance floor and attempt to do the worm. (One person)
11. Go up to a girl who is totally out of your league, get down on your knees, and ask her to marry you. (One person)
12. Go up to a fat girl and tell her “You’re so beautiful . . . for a fat chick.” Bonus points if she throws her drink on you. (One person)
13. Hug a biker. Bonus points if he has a mullet. (One person)
14. Get a girl to give you
her thong. (One person)
DARES REMAINING: 2
1:30 A.M.
LIV
By the time we pass by the front of The Jackrabbit Saloon in Ana’s car, Weston is being ejected by a bouncer and appears to have at least one black eye.
Melanie Jane claps her hands gleefully. “That’ll slow them down.”
“We still have two things left, though.” Ana turns right at the light and floors it. “They could easily beat us.”
I pull up the YouTube video of the Music City Miracle again so we’ll know how to properly re-create it. Turns out it’s some super important football play the Tennessee Titans made, like, a million years ago. I’ve got the play memorized. I know what our parts will be. We’re all set. Until we get to the parking lot at LP Field and realize none of us thought to buy a football.
We decide Melanie Jane’s Kate Spade clutch is the next best thing. We get to work reenacting the play (we can’t actually get inside and run around on the Titans’ field, but there’s a nice stretch of grass between the stadium and the Cumberland River) while Ana videotapes.
Melanie Jane covers her eyes as I hold the clutch in front of me. “I can’t believe I’m about to let you punt Kate Spade.”
“Pay attention. You’re going to have to catch that,” says Ana. “We need to get this in one take.”
My foot hits the bag, and it goes tumbling end over end through the air. Melanie Jane’s eyes snap open, and she taps into punt-returner powers I never knew she had.
“Don’t let it touch the ground,” she shrieks like it’s an American flag or something.
She rushes to get in position under the falling clutch, and in what really is a feat of miraculous proportions, she catches it. She slings it to Peyton, as per the video. Peyton catches it too—she’s probably terrified of what Mel-Jay will do to her if she doesn’t. Then, she sprints to the end of the grass and does a victory dance that I seriously doubt you would ever catch a Titan doing.
Ana rushes us back to her car and on to our last dare. The excitement in the car could power Nashville. We’re so close. We can do this. Last. One.
Centennial Park closed hours ago, but we sneak in with our flashlights. We’re power walking, then jogging, then full-on running by the time we pass the Parthenon. It’s a full-scale replica of the one in Athens and the site of many a field trip. Lightning bugs flick on and off around us. At any given time, one of us is bursting into giggles, almost like we’re playing a game of hot potato with our laughter.
The heat and moisture press at us from all sides. My clothes stick to my skin in patches.
“This is absolutely disgusting,” Melanie Jane says. “I feel like I’m running through a cloud.”
I pull my hair off the back of my neck. “It’s going to feel so good to jump in that water.”
“Do you think this is illegal?” Peyton almost whispers it, like if someone overhears, a SWAT team will jump out of the bushes and handcuff us.
“It’s a public place,” says Ana. “But it’s after hours. So maybe. All the more reason to hurry.”
“If we skinny-dip, it’s public indecency.” I grin, and Melanie Jane shakes her head.
“I’m not taking off my clothes.”
When we see the pond, Peyton and Melanie stop, but Ana and I are already drifting toward it as if invisible fishing lines are reeling us closer. I kick off my sandals and break into a sprint, leaving pieces of clothing in my wake like a trail of bread crumbs inviting the rest of them to follow me. I leap through the air with a loud “Woo-hoo!” and make a huge splash. The water is so cool, I half expect to see steam rise from my hot skin with a hiss.
“You have to come in. This is exhilarating!” I call.
Melanie Jane grimaces. “Really? Because that water looks disgusting.”
Ana reaches the water next, stripping off her clothes with military precision and using them as a pile for the camera to rest on as it captures our awesomeness. She keeps on her black bra and matching bikini-style bottoms and throws her hands in the air as she jumps in beside me. Melanie Jane removes her shoes a few yards away from the pond. We look up, interested to see if they’re getting in.
“We don’t have much time, and I’m not losing to Chad MacAllistair. I will drag the two of you in if I need to.” Ana says it like she’s joking, but I saw her face when she said his name. I didn’t think it was possible to squeeze so much pure ferocity into five syllables.
When Melanie Jane starts to remove her skirt, Ana yells triumphantly, and I wolf whistle. She mumbles something about not being able to believe she’s doing this, but I can see her smiling. She folds her skirt and top with perfect creases and daintily places them on top of her shoes, I’m assuming so they don’t touch the ground. Then she sashays to the edge of the water and gracefully hops in with pointed toes and an almost imperceptible splash. I frolic around and try, unsuccessfully, to engage Ana in a splash fight.
“Peyton, are you coming in?” she asks.
“It really does feel amazing,” chimes in Melanie Jane. “As long as you ignore the smell.”
Peyton hovers at the edge of the pond like a skittish cat. “What if we get caught?”
I pause mid-flail. “By who? There’s no one around. Don’t worry.”
“Just jump in and jump right back out.” Ana wades over to the edge where Peyton is standing. “It’ll only take a second, and then we’ll be done with everything.”
She hesitates and looks in every direction.
“C’mon,” I say. “You can keep your clothes on if that’s what you’re worried about. You can even do the thing where you inch in by degrees. We won’t judge.”
A faux tough look settles on her face. “No. If I’m doing this, I’m doing it right.”
After a moment where she appears to be having a silent argument with herself, she strips down to her underwear and jumps in after us.
I fling handfuls of water into the air like I’m throwing confetti. “Woo-hoo! We did it! We are the champions of the universe! We are golden goddesses of success! We are untouchable and amazing and 2,000 percent BADASS!”
The other girls laugh, but Ana frowns. “I just hope it’s enough.”
10
Saturday, September 26
ANA
I know more than I’ve ever wanted to about Chad MacAllistair. That he looks both ways before eating his boogers. That he thinks butt scratching is an Olympic sport, and he’s going for the gold. That he will not, for the love of all that is holy, leave his freaking house and pick up the Football of ’76 already. We have been staking him out for two hours, but it feels like several lifetimes. Even Liv looks dejected—she gave up cataloguing his questionable hygiene practices using my video camera and her best Animal Planet reporter voice forty-five minutes ago. Melanie Jane’s binoculars sit on the floorboard of my car. We don’t really need to watch him through his window. We just need to know when he leaves the house.
Which is apparently going to be never.
Liv cracks first. “I can’t take this anymore!” she almost yells, effectively spiking everyone’s blood pressure. “I am literally going to die of boredom. We’re playing the questions game.”
“What’s that?” asks Peyton.
“It’s where someone asks a question, and everyone else has to answer honestly.” No one argues. It’s not like we have anything better to do. “I’ll start. If you could hook up with anyone—regular person, movie star, whatever, who would it be?”
“Austin Butler,” says Melanie Jane without missing a beat. “He is six feet tall, and he is yummy.”
Peyton turns pink. “Taylor Lautner. Or maybe that British diver. Chris Mears? Somebody with lots of muscles.”
“I’d pick Hunter Hayes. I’m a sucker for musicians,” says Liv. “What about you, Ana?”
I consider my options. “Anyone at all?”
“Anyone at all,” says Liv.
That settles it. “Legolas.”
Peyton giggles. “I thi
nk you mean Orlando Bloom.”
“No, I’m pretty sure she means Legolas,” says Melanie Jane.
I nod. “Yes. Only as Legolas.”
“They are the same person,” says Liv.
And then I have to explain to her how they aren’t at all the same because long, blond hair and bow skills and elf ears, hello!
We get through almost an entire round before Chad’s front door opens and we all have to duck.
Liv peeks up from the backseat. “There he is! Follow him! Follow him!”
“Try to keep at least a couple of cars in between you,” says Melanie Jane. “And don’t turn on your lights.”
I raise my eyebrows. “It’s daytime, champ.”
“Oh, yeah.”
We tail him to school, but that’s where things get tricky. The parking lot is almost empty because it’s a Saturday, and I can’t risk him recognizing my car. We have to wait around the corner near the entrance for several agonizing minutes and hope when we see his car again that the football is inside it. We follow him to the highway, and he heads in the direction of Nashville. A very good sign. I try to keep a couple of cars between us while also keeping him in viewing range and ignoring “helpful” advice from the peanut gallery.
He eventually turns off at an exit that seems to have a truck stop and not much else. We pass by eighteen-wheelers, buildings with peeling paint and rust stains, dirt roads leading to nowhere. Even the trees out here look sad. Finally, at the top of a hill, shining like a beacon, is a tired neon sign that says CATCALLS. Chad pulls into the parking lot. I turn into the Wendy’s next door, the only establishment nearby. Because nothing says strippers like a junior bacon cheeseburger. I park by the Dumpster and wait.
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