The Lies About Truth(44)

If we kept this up, life would be easier.

The announcer blew the air horn and called, “Five minutes until Pirates and Paintball. Please listen up for a reading of the rules.”

We tuned them out, knowing the rules backward and forward. Pirates and Paintball differed from most paintball games. It was typical Capture the Flag style, but had a kill-shot rule that allowed everyone to play a little longer. A hit to the face or chest—a kill shot—put you down, but any other hit on the body required two shots before you were out.

Max screwed the new CO2 cartridges onto our guns and dumped extra paint into his pockets. Gina and Gray did the same.

It wasn’t until the official call to assemble into teams that Gray put on a blue jersey from his bag, and Gina put on a green. Gray cut challenging eyes at Max, slung an arm around me, and asked, “Ready, teammate?”





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT


Max swore, but it was more like a Nertz swear than a worry swear.

I mouthed, This is going to be so fun, and he blew me a kiss. Confident. Happy. Not jealous. In control of who he was and what he wanted. Ironically, he was all those things without looking like an imitation of his brother.

People weren’t perfect, ever, but sometimes moments were. That one was flawless. It wormed its way into my history and onto a piece of mental paper.

Max McCall stepped into the sun and out of Trent’s shadow.

Don’t shoot me, he mouthed back.

I held up my gun. Don’t get in my way, I advised with a wink.

Max touched the X on his chest before he followed Gina and a sea of green jerseys off the beach to the preassigned meeting place for privateers. Those two would last most of the game. Gina was a brilliant shot, and Max was light and quick on his feet.

Gray and I had an edge. We’d moved and hunted this island together since the games began, getting better and better every year. One year Gray sweet-talked Marge into a different jersey, so we’d be together. Other than that, we’d been lucky enough to land on the same team.

“Gina swapped me,” he said.

“I figured.”

“Can’t break up a team like ours.”

Uh, actually, you can. You did.

I kept that thought to myself.

Some self-appointed team captain circled up the group and gave us the winning strategy. According to him, half of us would hunt for the flag, half of us would guard the flag, and . . . another four of us were supposed to hide and wait for everyone else to shoot one another.

“Not much on math, is he?” Gray whispered.

“Half and half, and four. Yeah, that equals a whole. Noted.” Our team captain was no General Patton.

Gray ignored all instructions we’d be given. “Where do you want to go, Sadie May?”

I gritted my teeth. “Seriously? I’m armed, dude.”

“You won’t shoot me. I’m on your team,” Gray said confidently.

“Don’t tempt me.”

Gray nudged me with the business end of his gun and said, “Let’s just get out of here before Half-Half-Four Guy sees us.”

No one went in the direction we headed, but Patton yelled at us to hide. Guess we were half of the elusive four. I picked up my pace and forced Gray to match me. Mr. Muscles needed to up his cardio game; he was breathing hard and a step behind. The island was small, but for paintball, it was a huge playing field.

“When we’re here, I always feel like we’re in an episode of Lost,” Gray said as he ducked through the sea grass without disturbing it.

“Me too.”

We were a five-minute hard jog from the beach when the air horn signaled the beginning of the game.

“Are we really going to hide out?” he asked.

“For a bit,” I suggested.

Hiding meant we’d have to be quiet while, hopefully, the bloodthirsty competitors took each other out. That approach had worked the year Gina and I won, and it was worth an attempt today. The competitor in me awakened like a sleeping dragon. I didn’t want to play; I wanted to win. Even if that meant sharing the honor with Gray.

“No one will think we took this direction. Limited coverage,” he said.

“Shh.”

He nodded, and together we dug a foot-deep trench. We both lay down in the dunes, sand crabs and sharp shells be damned. Like this, only a kill shot to the face could take us out. Around us, but not close, we heard the game being played. The thwack of CO2 gunfire echoed from the north and an occasional scream of “I’m out! I’m out! Stop shooting!” carried toward us on the wind.

“A long way off,” he assessed.

“Someone else could still be close,” I whispered back.

“Sadie, look at me.”

His words were so delicate, they felt like a walk around a glass shop.

I looked at him and for the first time, he didn’t look away. He even lifted his mask above his eyes, which were as gray as his name.

“I want to tell you something,” he whispered.

You. Gina. Max. Jesus, did I have Tell me something on my forehead?

“Right now?” I asked.

“Right now.” He spoke loud enough to draw enemy fire. “Before I lose my nerve.”

Sweat glistened on his forehead. I stared at those tiny beads, and a barrage of paint flew over our heads. Gray rolled over on top of me to shield me.