Gotcha (7 page)

“Have fun you two,” she calls as we’re getting into the car.

“We will, Miriam,” Joel assures her. “And we won’t be too late.” He waves as we pull out of the driveway. Mom waves back.

“You just want more of her cookies, Mr. Suck-up,” I tease.

“Damn right,” he agrees, and we both laugh. I can feel myself descending back to that easy place we were at this afternoon. I sink into the seat and breathe deeply. Joel hums to the tune on the radio and lightly taps the steering wheel. Why had I gotten into such a tizzy over this? I find myself rubbing the bead that’s on the chain around my neck.

“Still got yours?” I ask.

He glances over to see what I’m talking about. “Of course.”

“You never know.”

“You’re right. Forty people have lost theirs.”

“Really?” That’s a lot more than Paige told me about. “How do you know?”

“Warren has set up a group page on Facebook with all our names on it.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. It’s great. If you get tagged you leave the group. Then the rest of us know who is still in.”

“Who else has lost their beads?”

“Did you hear about Michelle?”

“Yep.”

“Kerry?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How about Taia?”

“No. Who got her?”

“Anthony. Marc told her that he knew for sure that Caitlin had her name, so when Anthony phoned her and
asked if he could come over and borrow her English notes, she thought it was safe. Turns out Anthony actually paid Marc ten dollars to tell her that.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yep.”

“I’ve only heard about girls who’ve lost their beads. Are there any boys?”

“Yeah, a few. You’ll have to check for yourself.”

“So, with this group page, what keeps people from saying they’re out when they’re really still in?”

“Why would they do that?”

“So that their victims would let their guard down when they’re around.”

“Hmm.” He thinks about that. “I guess people could do that, but someone else would post a rebuttal. There’s a lot of people posting notes on the wall.”

“But you wouldn’t know which one of them was lying.”

Joel glances over at me. “You’re not a very trusting person, are you, Katie?”

“Not when it comes to Gotcha,” I tell him.

He nods. “Yeah, I guess the proof is in the beads. You can either show them or you can’t.”

We drive along in comfortable silence for a minute or two. Then Joel asks, “So, do you have any strategies you’re willing to share?”

“And why would I share them with you?”

“Because when we were in grade two I always let you butt in front of me in line.”

“You did not!”

“I did too! You don’t remember?”

“No!” I laugh at the thought of it and then study his face to see if he’s serious. I can’t tell. His lips are turned up at the corners, but that’s their normal state. “What line?”

“The one at lunchtime. I was usually waiting for a soccer ball. I think you always took a skipping rope.”

“Probably,” I agree. I was useless at sports.

“I’m devastated,” he says. “I was being my most gentlemanly self, and you didn’t even notice.”

“So why did you let me butt in?” I ask. I’m sure he’s teasing me again, but I decide to play along.

“Because you were the cutest girl in second grade.”

“Oh shut up!”

“You were! Your pigtails really were pigs’ tails. They were these two perfect coils on either side of your head. I always had to resist the urge to pull on them, just to see them spring back up.”

It’s true, my mom did always tie my hair up that way. How did he remember that?

“And you had the sweetest smile. I remember how hard I had to work to make you laugh, though. You were so shy.”

“Seven-year-old boys don’t notice the girls.”

“I did.”

“Hmm.”

He looks me over. “You’ve grown, Katie.”

I laugh. “You too, Joel. Just a bit.”

“So you owe me. What’s your strategy?”

I still don’t know if he was making that all up, but I decide to humor him. “My strategy is not to get in the game until it pays big.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll wait until my victim has amassed enough beads that it’s worth the trouble.”

“Interesting strategy,” Joel says. “And how is your victim doing?”

“I’m not sure,” I tell him honestly. “If I don’t find out tonight, I guess I’ll have to check Facebook later.”

“And assume everyone is telling the truth.”

“Right.”

“Not a bad strategy. But not much fun, either.”

“What’s your strategy?”

“I don’t really have one. I’m just trying to stay in the game as long as possible, but I don’t expect to win.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not hungry enough for the money. All we each lose is ten dollars, but with some people you’d think their life savings was tied up in the game.”

“Maybe that is the life savings of some people.”

“Could be.” He smiles. “But I find it interesting to watch how crazy people get when they’re playing a game. It’s all or nothing. I can’t really relate.”

Neither can I. I decide to ask Joel his opinion on something that has been bothering me. “Do you think Warren and Paige and I could get suspended for running the game? Fetterly made it clear it wasn’t to be a grad activity this year.”

Joel shakes his head. “No, they’d have to suspend everyone who was playing it, all two hundred and twelve of us.”

I hope he’s right. At some point it dawned on me that a suspension noted on my permanent school record wouldn’t impress too many colleges.

When we pull up outside Tyson’s house, Joel leaps out of the car and grabs my crutches from the backseat. He hands them to me, and when I’m balanced, he wraps an arm securely around one crutch. “I guess this is how we’re going to have to link,” he says.

“Yeah,” I say, for lack of any better ideas.

“But I think I’m going to have to place my hand over yours on the crutch grip,” he says. “I don’t know what else to do with it. Is that okay?”

Before I can answer, his hand is warm on mine, and that swooning feeling is back. You’d think I was thirteen years old.

We make our way awkwardly up the path to the front door. I think of mentioning that we don’t need to be linked yet because there is no one else outside, but I’m enjoying the warmth of his hand on mine, and it’s fun trying to get into the rhythm of walking linked, with a set of crutches to maneuver.

The linked team of Tyson and Jason open the door, and if they’re surprised to see us together, neither one says so. As we make our way into the kitchen, I feel myself tensing up again, expecting to see Paige. I look around the crowded room, but it seems she hasn’t arrived yet. The music is loud
and I can see lots of people dancing in the living room, many of them with their arms strung through someone else’s. It makes for some pretty goofy dance moves.

“I’d get us a couple of drinks,” Joel yells into my ear, “but I don’t know how I can carry them and move around linked to you.”

“Then we’ll have to stand beside the bar to drink and sit when we’re not.”

“Do you want something now?”

I look around to see what’s available. There are beer and soda cans, liquor bottles and sticky-looking shot glasses scattered across the counter. When we arrived, Tyson told us that his older brother had done a run to the liquor store for us earlier and there was a cooler full of beverages that we could buy off him. Tyson’s girlfriend, who’s not in grade twelve, is sitting on a stool beside the cooler, collecting money. His parents both work in the travel industry and are away a lot, so he and his brother have become party-throwing experts. I consider asking for a cooler, thinking it might relax me, but decide that I don’t need anything that might make me even wobblier than I already am on crutches. I took a strong painkiller before we left, and I’m having enough trouble balancing as it is. “Not right now,” I yell back at him. I can feel my ankle throbbing and really want to put it up somewhere. “But if you want something, go ahead.”

“I don’t want anything either. It would just make me have to pee, and you know how that would complicate things.” He grins down at me. “Let’s go over to the kitchen
table and insist that a couple of able-bodied people give up their chairs for us,” he shouts in my ear. “There’s got to be some advantage in hanging with you tonight.”

I retaliate by elbowing him in the ribs, and then we gracelessly cross the room together. Amy and Megan rise as a linked pair and give us their chairs. Someone else pushes an ottoman into the kitchen for me to rest my foot on. Joel slides his chair close to mine so we can comfortably stay linked.

As people come through the kitchen, everyone asks about my ankle. Over and over I describe my fabricated snow-boarding accident. It’s harmless and way more entertaining and less klutzy sounding than tripping on a schoolbag. Joel enhances my story, even claiming to be right there when it happened.

“You should have seen her,” he says. “She went off a jump, did a twist in the air, looked set for a perfect landing and then wham!” He slams his palm on the table and gives a vivid description of my wipeout, and even I am impressed by what a spectacular one it was. No one seems to remember that I’m not the athletic type and that snowboarding would be right out of the question. There is just complete admiration that I could take such a spill and live to tell the tale. With each retelling, we embellish the story a little.

“It was a double black run,” Joel says.

“And as I was rolling over and over, heading toward the cliff face,” I add, “all I could think about was my bead and how it might rip off and get lost in the snow.”

The party gets louder as more drinks are consumed. I don’t see any beads being captured, but then people are not leaving themselves exposed. Those who have already lost their beads are the only ones free to move from room to room alone. Linked couples flow in and out of the kitchen, and each pair stops by the table to inquire about my elevated foot. By the eighth rendition, I find myself marveling at how easily Joel and I are able to play off one another. We’re a great team. I’m so absorbed in our little fantasy that I’m unaware of the arrival of some new partiers who are now standing behind us, listening. Someone decides to change the
CD
, and as the party noise diminishes momentarily, a familiar voice cuts through the room.

“A snowboarding accident?”

Everyone turns to see who is speaking.

Paige is linked with Tanysha but still manages to strike an authoritative pose. “And here I thought you simply tripped over your schoolbag.”

That’s all it takes, one snarky comment from Paige and the laid-back, cheerful party atmosphere completely changes. It’s like she’s the mood dictator. If she’s in the mood to party, we can have fun. If she’s ticked off, so is everyone else. The room gets completely still, and I can feel the tension build as people look from her to me. I’m tempted to turn to her and say,
“See? There you go again, stealing all the attention!”
but somehow I resist.

Joel and I make eye contact, and I wonder if we can telepathically plan our next move. I see the spark in his eyes, and then his palm slaps the table again. He throws his head back and laughs, hard. “I can’t believe we had so many of you guys going!” he says, looking around. Then he turns to Paige. “And you! You ruined our little game. And here I always thought you were a good sport.”

I decide to follow suit. “I don’t even snowboard,” I tell the room. “Not ever, not even once.” I laugh too, hoping it doesn’t sound half as phony as it is. No one laughs with me, and the room gets quieter still. The atmosphere feels menacing. What’s with these guys? It was just a joke. I would
have told the truth eventually. Maybe. And anyway, who really cares?

Tyson is leaning against a kitchen counter, still linked with Jason. “Very funny, you two,” he says. “You had me fooled.”

“Thanks,” Joel says, bowing his head.

“What I’m wondering now,” Tyson says, “is how bad Katie’s ankle really is. Maybe we should make her get up, alone
,
and walk across the kitchen, just to prove it’s sprained.”

He sounds like Captain Hook, ordering me to walk the plank.

There’s a chorus of “yeahs!” around the room. I’m surprised. Being elected to grad council immediately elevates your social status, and there’s a level of protection that goes with that. People don’t mess with me.

“Hey,” Joel says. He leans forward and tugs on the hem of my jeans, exposing more of my swollen ankle. “Just look at it. She could really mess it up if she did that.”

“Maybe,” Tyson says. “And she might lose her bead, too, which would be fair punishment for sucking us all in, don’t you think?” he asks, looking around the room for support.

There’s raucous applause, whistles and more “yeahs!”

Someone turns off the music. All eyes are fixed on the little kangaroo court playing itself out in the kitchen.

“C’mon, Tyson,” Joel argues. “It was just a joke.”

That prompts Tyson to turn his attention to Joel. “And for being Katie’s sidekick,” he suggests, “I think Joel has to remain unlinked and alone during Katie’s trek around the kitchen.”

The cheers and wolf whistles escalate. I’m reminded of a lynching. How did the party atmosphere turn this mean-spirited so quickly? I know Paige’s presence has a strong influence, but something else has taken over here. My classmates have become vulture-like, circling their prey. I force myself to appear relaxed because I know instinctively that, just like animals, if they smell my fear, they’ll grow even more malicious. It’s not so much losing my bead that I’m worried about, but the pack mentality that has possessed them.

Joel must sense it too. Gotcha has a reputation for turning vicious. “Very funny, Tyson,” he says, rising from his chair and pulling me up with him. “But if you can’t take a joke, I feel sorry for you. We were just having a little fun that has nothing to do with Gotcha, so I don’t feel one bit obliged to follow through on your stupid punishment. It’s been a great party, but I think it’s time for us to move on, so if you’ll excuse us...”

With Joel latched onto my arm, I turn toward the hallway that leads to the front entrance but come face to face with Paige and company, who are blocking the door. Despite Paige’s small stature, they’re standing firm. I hesitate, wondering if we should just push past them, and in that split second I feel the circle of grads growing tighter around us. Tyson and Jason lurch over, and Tyson begins tugging on the crutch that Joel’s not linked to. Joel reaches around me with his free hand and shoves Tyson, but with only one leg to stand on for balance, I quickly lose the tug-o-war.
Tyson passes my crutch to someone standing behind him and then grabs the one that Joel and I are sharing. I struggle to keep my balance, knowing how painful it will be to put weight on my foot, but I finally give up my grip. Joel doesn’t. He continues to fight Tyson for the crutch, with me clinging to his arm. The room explodes with cheering.