They Wish They Were Us(30)
“C’mon, Jill. What?” He looks at me with one brow raised.
Something turns inside me and I feel the need to tell him everything, to fill him in on what’s to come even though it’s totally against the rules. But fuck the rules. Rachel broke them and it worked for me—at least for a little while. The fact that she hasn’t answered my text, even though it was an arrow of pity lobbed her way, makes no difference right now. My brother needs to know what’s coming. Maybe not everything, but at least the beginning. “Next week,” I say. “You’re gonna get invited to join the Players. It’ll all make sense soon. But . . . it’s more than parties and the best lunch table. It’s a lifeline. A . . . group. I’m in it. So is Nikki. Shaila was, too. It’s been around Gold Coast for decades and every year we bring in new freshmen. It’s your turn now. You got in.”
He crosses his arms and leans back, trying to hide his excitement, but not connecting the dots. “How’s that gonna help me with bio?”
I sigh, exasperated. I’ll have to show him. I pull my phone from my pocket and swipe until I find the app I’m looking for, the encrypted one that’s only knowable by its green-and-gray icon. Within a few taps, I’m in. I set my phone down on the vinyl table and spin it around so the screen faces Jared. I drag my forefinger up. The titles are endless. Bio. Chem. AP US History. Calculus. French. Past SATs. Admissions officer database. African History. Nutrition 1. Nutrition 2. East Asian Studies. College-level Russian Literature. The list goes on forever.
Jared’s eyes grow wide and his mouth drops open. I can see a piece of half-chewed pancake flop against his cheek. “This is the Players?” he asks, his voice a whisper.
I nod. “This is the Players.”
* * *
—
By the time Nikki, Marla, and I get to the beach, the boys have the fire going a few feet in the air. A massive pile of wood sits next to the pit and they’re passing around a bottle of Jameson.
“Jill!” Henry runs to meet us as we tread down the sand. It’s damp and cold, squishing between my bare toes. We’re all bundled up in our finest gorpcore attire. For some weird reason, expensive fleece half-zips and comfy beanies are the ultimate status symbol at Gold Coast. “You guys excited?” Henry asks.
“Yes,” I say. “Gonna be the best intro night ever.” And I mean it. I am ready to start fresh with a new class. With my brother. Things are going to be different this year. The bonfire burns higher as the rest of the Players file in and soon it’s time. More bottles appear and our voices grow louder. My phone buzzes and my heart stops. Of course Rachel would respond now. I sneak a peek at the screen. It’s Adam. A slow smile spreads across my face.
Have so much fun tonight. Take care of B.
Wish you were here, I type but then delete. Always, I say instead.
He responds in a second. Thanks, Newman.
A warmth spreads through my chest and I watch the sophomores light sparklers, making the whole beach look like a birthday cake. Henry’s hand catches mine. His eyes shine with wonder and mischief, and I lean closer to him, shoving my shoulder under his armpit and burrowing my face against his fleecy chest.
“I wish Shaila was here,” I whisper, surprising even myself.
Henry pulls me closer. “I know, babe.”
My throat starts to burn and I’m desperate to test my luck. “Henry, what if . . .” I start. “What if Graham didn’t do it?”
Henry drops his arm from around my shoulders and shakes his head with a slow stoicism. “Come on, Jill,” he says. “I thought we decided this was bullshit.”
Before I can respond Nikki climbs onto a cement block near the fire. “They’re here!” she yells. “Everyone, shut up!”
A hush washes over us. I glance quickly at Henry, trying to read him, but he turns away, toward the path that leads to the beach. Out they come. Like little ducklings, the eight freshmen ascend from behind tall, thick reeds. Jared walks in the middle, standing in between Bryce and Sierra. Her eyes are wild and unfocused, and she tries to smother a smile. They reach the fire and fan out in a line, facing us. The seven-foot kid, Larry Kramer, launches into a quad stretch, like he’s preparing for sprints at basketball practice. I try to make eye contact with Jared, but he keeps his focus on Nikki, his gaze unwavering.
“As you may have guessed,” Nikki says, taking her spot at the front, “you have been chosen by this year’s senior class to be Players.” Bryce nods and grins. He must have spoken to Adam. I wonder what he said.
“But that doesn’t mean you are a Player,” Nikki continues, echoing Jake Horowitz’s words from three years ago. Coming from her they sound gentle and stern, not menacing or scary. It’s the same voice she uses when speaking at all-school assemblies. She’d be an insanely good politician and she knows it. “It just means we think you could be. This year you’ll be faced with a series of challenges, some fun, some . . . not so fun. If you make it through, if you choose to continue, then you’ll be a Player. You’ll reap the rewards and you’ll endure the losses. You’ll become part of a group that will have your back for life.” Quentin shifts awkwardly on his feet next to me and lets out a puff of air. I grab his hand and he squeezes back.
“Are you ready?” Nikki asks, raising an eyebrow and her plastic cup.