Cross Me Off Your List

by Nikki Godwin

  I scroll down the screen and realize nothing in my spring break wardrobe is suitable attire for this yacht club ordeal. If we’re going to crash this thing, we have to at least blend in long enough to get onto this yacht in the first place.

  “If we’re really doing this tonight, I have to go shopping,” I say. “We have to look the part.”

  Aralie jumps up. “Me too,” she says. “Let’s go. No boys. I seriously need a girls’ trip that doesn’t involve Darby or my sister’s Sebastian’s Shadow-slash-Milo drama.”

  I have to admit that Aralie has bigger balls than any of the guys in Spaceships Around Saturn. I haven’t seen any of their balls, but I know this girl’s are bigger.

  She shut down security and her boyfriend in under two minutes, took the car keys from Jules’s bodyguard, and got us past a horde of paparazzi quicker than I think anyone else could’ve managed.

  “There’s a thrift shop down this way that I wanted to check out,” she tells me, glimpsing out her window for Lorelei’s Second Stop. “Chloe’s not much of a thrift shopper, but I like the buried treasures you can find there.”

  She gives me the short version of lockdown and how she and Jules snuck around for three weeks and her entire family thought she liked Tate.

  The story behind her relationship isn’t what I’m interested in, though. I’m more concerned with how the rebellious Branson sister doesn’t seem to hang out with Noah at all. Jules is the “bad boy” of the band anyway. Why isn’t this a thing?

  She whips the car into the thrift shop’s parking lot and drops her sunglasses in the cup holder. Since going thrift shopping is number thirteen on my list, I snap a photo of the store’s sign.

  “So, you and Jules don’t hang out with Noah much?” I ask. “Seems like he’d gel better with you than Chloe. She seems more wrapped up in being a Saturn girlfriend than you. No offense to your sister.”

  Aralie laughs and shakes her head. She gets out of the car without answering my question. I follow her to the entrance, wondering if I screwed up by insulting her sister.

  “Chloe isn’t wrapped up in being Saturn girlfriend,” she finally says, walking directly toward the dresses. “She has a different level of pressure on her because she’s dating Milo Grayson, and he’s the epitome of wholesome.”

  She grabs a black dress with shimmers of silver and holds it up against herself, studying how she’d look wearing it in the mirror.

  “As far as Noah and Jules go, there’s friction,” she says to the mirror more than to me. “That’s one of those things you might want to ask Noah about. Anything I’d say would come from the Julian Rossi point-of-view, and that’s not the side of the story you want to hear.”

  She promptly spins around. “Little black dress,” she says. “What do you think? Classy enough for a yacht club party?”

  Looking at the dress, I almost wish I’d found it first. Then again, it suits her skin tone better.

  “It’s perfect,” I say. “Party crashing dress number one – done. Now, let’s find me something in red.”

  Chapter Nine

  The Golden Star sits at the end of the docks, sparkling in all its gold and white glory. A golden starfish is perched on the bow of the boat. It’s about as tacky and expensive as I expected. This must be the great doctor’s idea of class. The Golden Star sounds like a cheap southern restaurant or a cowboy saloon. Yet here it is, on the coast of California, hosting a lavish party for lavish people who think Noah Winters couldn’t afford their cars with his entire lifetime earnings.

  Twinkle lights hang around the ship’s railing as more midlife crises in name-brand suits and dresses creep on deck. We’re about twenty years too young to pull this off. We’ll stick out like a flip flop on a rack of Manolo Blahnik heels.

  “How the hell are we supposed to sneak in? We look like kids – well-dressed kids but, you know, still kids,” Aralie asks.

  “That’s what I was just thinking,” I say. And then I see our ticket into the party on deck – the guy from the boating store. Reed.

  “I think I just found our way in,” I say. “Let me do the talking. Just follow my lead.”

  I lock hands with Noah, and Aralie and Jules follow behind us. I warn them to just play it cool, to act classy. We wait in the line until we’re face to face with Reed Strickland and his list of names allowed onboard.

  “This isn’t exactly on the Strickland’s Boating activity list,” he says, swapping glances between Noah and me.

  “We sort of need a favor,” I say, wriggling my hand free from Noah’s. I ease a bit closer to Reed. “Look, here’s the thing. I’m competing in this spring break dare list against some of my friends. We were each given a list, and we have to document us doing these things, and whoever crosses the most items off – with proof – wins the competition.”

  He folds his arms and rocks back on the heels of his shoes. He looks so wholesome in his khakis and polo shirt. He has the entire Milo Grayson aura. There’s no way this short red dress and silver eyeshadow is going to work on him.

  “What exactly do you need me to do?” he asks. “I can’t afford to mess this up. My dad gets a ton of business from these people.”

  Oh, I hate this. I hate jeopardizing this guy’s job or his dad’s business. I hate lying to someone who seems like a genuinely nice person.

  “We just need to sneak onto the boat, snap a few pictures to prove we were here, and we’ll be right back off before this thing even leaves the dock,” I lie through my teeth with my best smile.

  Reed swishes his hair out of his face and glances over his shoulder. He peers into the party room of the boat and makes a few observations before turning back to me.

  “A few pictures and you’re gone, okay?” he says, a bit demanding for his demeanor. “Don’t make a scene. Don’t get in the way. In and out, got it?”

  “Got it. Thank you,” I say, flashing my best smile before pushing through with Noah, Aralie, and Jules right behind me.

  Once we’re on the deck, it’s nothing but business. Aralie and I slip away to find an escape route, just in case this thing sets sail before we can bail out. I’m not really up for hiding in the boiler room or jumping overboard, but the sharks may literally be better than staying on the ship if this ends badly.

  “Let’s see where this leads,” Aralie says, pointing to a hallway.

  We slip around the corner, careful to make sure no one sees us, and then we follow the narrow corridor until we wind up at a stairway that leads back to the upper deck. There’s a straight shot to the ramp. Escape route – check.

  “I think we’ve found our way out,” Aralie says. “We’ll let whatever happens happen, and we’ll make a run for the hallway, back upstairs, and off the boat.”

  “And hopefully Reed Strickland won’t capture and slaughter me in the process,” I say.

  I hate that my conscience is getting in the way of crashing a party. This is the kind of thing I’m good at – breaking the rules, having some fun, finding the party. My head is a bit of a mess right now. If I’d really thought this through, I’d have worn shoes other than heels. There’s no way I’ll be able to make a running getaway in these things.

  We take a quick selfie with Aralie’s phone, as documentation that I can’t share, and then slip back into the party room which is fortunately full of people. They sip champagne while discussing political offices, construction projects, and who has the biggest bank account.

  My parents would love this. Dad could brag about the software company that writes him a fat paycheck while Mom slinked around in her designer dresses offering to help with so many committees and volunteer groups that you’d never realize she actually has a daughter that might need her every now and then. She’s the perfect trophy wife, and I love my parents. They’ve given me everything I’ve ever asked for except the attention I never admit to actually wanting.

  Noah and Jules stand against a wall, talking to each other with their backs somewhat turned toward the rest of the roo
m. We quickly work through the crowd to meet back up with them. Aralie explains the escape route while I skim the room for some way to actually crash the party.

  “We have an idea,” Jules says. “It’s dumb and Noah thinks I’ll fuck it up. They have a band area set up, but we haven’t seen a band yet.”

  “Probably some little orchestra quartet or something,” Noah says, making no sense because an orchestra and a quartet can’t even be compared to each other.

  “Uh, yeah, anyway,” Jules interrupts. “Once things start to chill out, Noah’s going to get on those drums, and I’m going to jump on one of the tables. I’m thinking about the one with that giant ice sculpture.”

  I scan the room in search of a table with an ice sculpture. It’s not hard to find. It’s massive, right in the center of the room. My heart hurts just a little when I realize it’s an anchor, just like the charm on the bracelet I forced myself to take off for tonight. As much as I love it, it didn’t match the little red dress. I hate that I love this sculpture. I’d have it at my own wedding. And I feel like a hypocrite for feeling this way, on this boat, with these snobby rich people.

  Aralie leans against the wall. “And what exactly do you plan to do once you’re on the table?”

  “I’m going to sing something,” Jules says. “Nothing SAS-related. I haven’t really figured it out yet. I think I’m going to wing it. If I go in with a plan, I’ll probably choke, so I’m just going for it.”

  We slowly circle the room, trying to blend in and pretend to mingle as everyone else is, until Dr. Richardson takes center stage and silences his audience. He thanks everyone for being here, blabs on about his successful year, makes a few chiropractor jokes, and then says that dinner and entertainment will be served shortly.

  This is our move.

  Noah and Jules reach into their jacket pockets and hand us each a pair of cheap plastic sunglasses. They’re like kindergarten birthday party kind of sunglasses. I’ve seen better quality in dollar stores. Jules demands that we keep our faces hidden as best we can, and because this could be terrible publicity for Spaceships Around Saturn, Aralie agrees to wear them, and I suck it up as well.

  The guys both pull their shades on, like completely goofy secret agents, and Jules gives Noah the nod. He casually makes his way over to the area set aside for the entertainment, and he plants himself behind the drum set.

  Aralie slides to the edge of her seat, poising herself to jump up and run in an instant. I mimic her idea. Fighting to push a chair back and run like hell is not something we need. No one seems to pay much attention to Noah, probably assuming he’s the first member of the entertainment to arrive.

  Jules walks by, snatches a microphone, and continues on his way, as if nothing just happened. Noah rattles the drumsticks against the cymbals, decorating the air with a pretty little sound. A few eyes glance his way – a perfect decoy – while the real man of the hour makes his move.

  That’s our cue. We slip our cheap sunglasses on, and I hope the guys hurry with whatever they’re going to do because we can’t sit here for long without looking suspicious.

  “Is this thing on?” Jules’s voice echoes around the room. “Alright, good. Welcome.”

  He steps up on a chair and plants his shoe on the shiny gold tablecloth. I fight the urge to giggle like a preschooler.

  “Let’s get this thing started,” Jules says. “Come dance with me to the drumming–” He pauses for dramatic effect. Noah beats the hell out of a few drums before letting Jules finish.

  “As I was saying, to the drumming…of our once-beating hearts!” The words echo throughout the speakers.

  A few people gasp and look around, frantically searching for an answer to what’s going on, but Jules pushes forward. He steps onto the table, mounting himself next to the giant ice anchor.

  Then he shouts. “Stay with me forever at this undead masquerade!”

  Noah picks up a beat on the drums while Jules chants the words “We’re already dead!” over and over and over.

  Aralie says something about this being a Mutilated Arteries song. She’s more excited than I’ve seen her in the time I’ve known her, and I don’t think it’s because we’re crashing a party.

  Someone shouts for security, and Noah tosses the drumsticks.

  “Now!” Aralie yells. She jumps up and runs toward our exit, toward the hallway that leads back around to the upper deck.

  Jules screams, “Thank you, Golden Star!” before kicking the ice sculpture. The ice anchor crashes on the floor, shattering into shards of frozen water, bursting like a firework. He jumps down and dashes away, closing in quickly on Aralie.

  I break the cardinal rule of never looking back because I can’t bail without Noah. This was my list. This was my adventure. I can’t leave him here to take the fall for us. He runs toward me, screaming for me to go, go, go.

  Chaos spills around us. People scream, and a group of older men aren’t far behind us, screaming things about security. So I keep moving as fast as these heels will let me.

  “Here! This way!” I shout, pointing to our escape route. But a man in a white uniform spots us from the other end of the hallway. He points and shouts, but we have no time to fight him.

  Noah grabs my hand and rushes up a set of nearby stairs. We stop long enough for me to rip off my heels because they’re slowing us down way too much.

  We reach a different deck on the boat, sort of like those fancy hallways with the white railings on cruise ships. We have a nice view of the night sky and the black ocean, which appears to be moving.

  “Oh God,” I say, realizing we’re too late. “We’ve left the dock. We’re screwed.”

  “No,” Noah says, shaking his head. “I don’t think so. I don’t think we’re moving. You’re panicking.”

  Um, well, yeah. We’re on a boat that I’m certain has set sail, and we’re party crashers who are hiding from security. Noah pulls me behind a potted plant. We crouch down when we hear footsteps.

  “That way,” someone orders. “I’ll check here. If you find them, just holler for me.”

  Damn it. Someone’s coming.

  I cuddle closer to Noah, hoping that somehow a girl in a red dress and a famous guy in sunglasses won’t be noticed behind this skinny excuse for a palm tree.

  As the footsteps grow louder, a shadow rounds the corner, and I know this is it. This is our fate. We’re going to get caught by…a guy in a polo shirt and khakis with swishy hair. It’s Reed. He spots us immediately, but he doesn’t alert the other crew members.

  “Off the boat before it even leaves the dock, huh?” he asks, folding his arms and staring down at us. “You know, I could easily call Deputy Pittman right now and have him haul you guys in. He has a thing for messing with guys with tattoos. He’s thrown my friend A.J. in jail for nothing more times than I can count. He’d at least have a charge this time.”

  I rip off the sunglasses and debate throwing them overboard for a moment, but I’d hate for some poor dolphin to find them and sport awful fashion under the sea.

  “If you were going to rat us out, you would’ve done it the moment you saw us,” I say.

  “You’re right,” Reed says. “Luckily for you, Dr. Richardson’s son Dominic has bad blood with some of my friends in Horn Island. So in honor of the Hooligans, I’ll just call this karma and look the other way.”

  Noah spazzes out at the word Hooligans. He tells Reed that he’s met them and that we jumped off the collapsed pier with Theo and that Miles was actually the one who gave him the party crashing idea. I don’t believe in dropping names, but I fully support it in this moment.

  “You picked the right friends,” Reed says. He turns and looks back. “I’ll hold them off, but I can’t hide you. You’ll have to jump. Like, now. Fast.”

  The thought of jumping into the ocean at night, with a crescent moon attempting to light my way, scares the living hell out of me. I’m afraid I’ll hit the water and splatter apart like that ice anchor did when Jules kic
ked it to its doom.

  But being arrested by this Deputy Pittman dude isn’t on my bucket list and I don’t intend for it to be.

  “Okay, let’s make a jump for it,” I say, pulling Noah up with me. I slip my heels back on and pray they don’t take flight when we do.

  “Go,” Reed orders. “Seriously, if you jumped off that pier in Horn Island, this will be nothing. Over the railing. Now.”

  He rushes back to give the report that no one is on this level, and I climb the railing much less gracefully than Kate Winslet in Titanic. She made it look so easy, even in her long dress. I could never make it in Hollywood. Noah hops over with more ease and grabs my hand.

  “On three, just like the pier,” he says.

  Sirens wail in the distance, and I wonder for a second if they’re coming because of us. I hope Aralie and Jules made it back to safety. They don’t need to go down on my account.

  “Okay…one, two, three!” Noah shouts.

  In those few seconds between railing and salt water, I hear someone’s voice in the depths of my mind. I hear Theo, and he’s screaming, “For Sharrrrrk!”

  When I bob to the surface for air, I grab onto Noah and begin swimming toward the docks. But in my mind, I can’t help wondering if Theo’s words are going to haunt me forever.

  Chapter Ten

  A bang on the door jerks me out of my afternoon slumber. What’s the point of placing a ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door when housekeeping doesn’t respect it? I bury my face into the pillow, but the knocking only grows louder.

  I force myself out of bed and peek through the peephole on the door before I open it for the world to see last night’s leftover makeup and crazy hair. I showered just enough to rinse away the salt water. Then I crashed. But it’s not housekeeping begging to be let in.

  “Aralie?” I stare at her in a semi-sleep when I open the door.

  She wastes no time. She barges in, pushing the door behind her, and then she holds up the Crescent Cove Gazette. Teens Crash Richardson’s Party. Info Wanted. Damn, this place moves fast. How did they even get a story printed overnight?