Save the Date(63)
Once we’d agreed to play, J.J. had yelled “Break!” and we’d dashed upstairs to change out of our rehearsal-dinner clothes. I knew from past experiences that when we played CTF, things could get very messy—J.J. especially was not above pushing you into the dirt if the flag was in his reach—and the last thing I wanted to do was wreck my dress.
Since I’d left Brooke and Danny in the kitchen, I figured I had at least a few seconds to duck into my room and grab some clothes before they made it up there, since none of the clothes I’d taken out of my room in preparation for this weekend were CTF-appropriate.
I opened the door and stepped inside, taken a little aback by how, after only a few hours, it felt like I was in a room I needed permission to be in, that somehow being here without asking was like trespassing. Danny’s suit for tomorrow was hanging in my closet, and there were three dresses next to it—just how many times was Brooke planning on changing during the wedding, anyway? The top of my dresser was now covered with a huge, professional-looking makeup case, a curling iron, a hair straightener, and three separate brushes. I just stared at it all for a second, a little amazed that Brooke had brought all this with her from California. When I heard footsteps coming up to the third floor, I realized I needed to get a move on. I grabbed my clothes, then hurried out the door, closing it quickly behind me.
Danny had turned on the outside lights, and then we’d all stood perfectly still in the kitchen, waiting to hear if it sounded like people were waking up, if the light coming in through windows was bothering anyone. When we didn’t hear anything after a solid minute of listening, we decided it was probably okay and had headed out to the backyard to wait for Linnie and Rodney, who were getting the flags. I’d put on sneakers, sweatpants, and a T-shirt with a sweatshirt over it, and while J.J. and Danny had also both changed into jeans and long-sleeved Tshirts, Brooke was still in her rehearsal-dinner dress, though she had taken off her heels and was standing barefoot on the lawn, a look of apprehension on her face as she glanced around, her arms crossed over her chest.
“It’ll be fun,” Danny said, smiling at her. “It’s always a good time.”
“I just don’t understand how this works,” Brooke snapped, sounding annoyed and tired. “And if someone’s not going to explain it—”
“It’s easy,” J.J. assured her. He pointed to one side of the lawn, then the other. “So, there are two bases. We divide into teams and the goal is to steal the other team’s flag and bring it back to your base without getting tagged.”
“When you get tagged,” I said, looking at my middle brother in the moonlight, “someone is supposed to lightly tap you. They are not supposed to shove you over, or push you into a pile of dirt, or pick you up—”
“Anyway,” J.J. said loudly, talking over me, “if you do get tagged, then you have to go to the other team’s jail.”
“Jail?” Brooke asked, looking from J.J. to Danny, her brow still furrowed—it didn’t seem like this was clearing anything up for her.
I nodded. “Yeah. We use the trampoline”—I pointed to it—“and the doorway of the greenhouse. If you get tagged you have to go to jail, and you can only get out if one of your teammates tags you for a jailbreak.”
“Or if they get the flag,” Danny said, snapping his fingers. “Didn’t we decide that was a get-out-of-jail-free card?”
“Yes,” J.J. said, nodding. “But if they don’t manage to get back to their base with the flag, then you have to go back to jail.”
“But don’t forget about the sixth amendment!” This was Rodney; I turned to see he was jogging toward us, wearing jeans and an ancient green Dartmouth sweatshirt.
“Rodney added this,” Danny said. “It’s how we should have known he would end up a lawyer.”
“It’s a good addition!” Rodney said, smiling wide. “So, if you’re in jail, you can yell ‘sixth amendment!’ and then you’re allowed to present your case for why you should be let out of jail. If even one person on the other team agrees, you get to go free.”
“It only ever works with Rodney, though,” J.J. said, shaking his head.
“What?” Rodney said with a shrug. “I believe in one’s right to represent oneself at trial. It’s my favorite amendment.”
“You have a favorite amendment?” J.J. asked.
“You don’t?”
“Got it?” Danny asked, smiling at Brooke.
“Um . . .” She looked around at us, then at the backyard. “I’m not sure . . .”
“Got the flags,” Linnie said, jogging up to us. “They were both pretty dusty. When was the last time we played this?”
“It’s been a while,” I said as I watched Linnie shake them out.
One was a beautifully handmade triangular flag that read GRANT on it—my mother had drawn a strip about us playing CTF and a reader had given it to her at a Comic-Con years ago. The other flag was a small white towel that read ANDERSON GENERAL LIFE INSURANCE in blue letters that were mostly faded out. This towel was one of our house’s many mysteries, since my parents didn’t have Anderson General Life Insurance and were baffled as to how a promotional towel had ended up in our house. But since we’d been playing, it had always been our other flag, mostly because it had a loop at the top so you could put it on a stick.