Snitch (20 page)

“Shit!” someone shouted as I threw myself on the ground trying to do the “keep low” part of Wes’s directions. I ended up in a dirty, sticky heap looking up at a very surprised Johnny who wore a tomato splat over the left lens of his goggles. An unstoppable giggle bubbled from my chest
,
which became unmanageable, hysterical laughter. I probably sounded like my sister, but
,
I swear, I couldn’t stop. The rush was amazing!

“Dang,” Johnny said. “We got hit a few times.”

“Yep,” was all I could say between gulps of
air.
“Ouch.”

“Isn’t this great?” Johnny smiled the way only Johnny-boy can, with his eyes, mouth, and whole body.

When Russ interrupted us by screaming, “You two!
Put on your barrel sleeves and get to the stag
ing
area!” it only made us laugh harder, which probably pissed him off, but by that time I really didn’t care. Five minutes later, we lost the game and Russ blew his air horn for round two.

I held my marker up as we marched out of the staging area. “Let’s go score some points for the green team.”

Johnny led with me following. We alternated between running and creeping, being super careful and totally reckless. My shots were horrible but since I was so new and nervous I tended to shoot a lot and managed to make a few points just because I sprayed anything that moved with green.

A few times we met up as a team and tried to carry out Wes’s elaborate plans, but we could never make them work. Most of the time, we just shot, ran, crouched, ran, shot, and got shot.

Sizzle was the hero, though. During the fourth or fifth game, we were hopelessly surrounded, Charlie, Seth, Johnny and me, caught behind a pile of dirt and old bags of cement that looked safe when we first saw it and then turned into nothing more than a trap. Red pellets exploded left and right with no way out when a Tarzan yodel exploded from one of the surrounding trees. Someone had tied a rope to one of the branches and
Sizzle had found it. He saved our asses the way he had saved so many of our
games
,
by
doing something no one else had thought of doing and being too crazy to stop himself from succeeding.

Sizzle swung into the center of the fight, yelling and pumping shots. Even though I don’t think he hit one thing, Nick’s team couldn’t help using him for target practice
,
which
took the focus off us.

Sizzle jumped from the rope and held his ground in the center of the arena twirling and firing, twirling and firing. We scattered. Suddenly, without warning, Seth jumped behind him, using him as a human shield, firing over his shoulders. Poor Sizzle was trapped, his face twisted with the sudden realization that he was no longer in control of his movements. Seth, easily forty pounds heavier, moved him about like a little puppet.

“Let go!” Sizzle screamed. “I’m dead! Let me go.”

Seth didn’t hear and certainly didn’t let him go. Red paint splashed the front of Sizzle’s body as Seth danced him around the corner of a metal bunker, threw him forward, and ducked inside. Sizzle recovered his balance and dove into the same bunker. By then the two of them had bought the time needed for us to escape our corner. Russ finally caught up with them and sent both of them to the staging area; we were saved.

“Did you see that?” Charlie yelled. “Did you see that maneuver?”

We were on the move with no time for discussion, but I couldn’t help wondering if what Seth had done was really teamwork. A red streak exploding on the tree next to me put all thoughts out of my head, and I spent the rest of the time crouching and aiming.

Suddenly my gun was empty.

“That couldn’t have been f
ive
hundred shots,” I said out loud to no one in particular.

Johnny shook his head
.

“Time flies when you’re having fun. My gun’s been empty for a while now.” He stood up from the bush he was crouching behind and surveyed his clothes. “Only fifty percent red,” he said. “I
gotta
’ get into the middle of things more.”

I laughed grabbing my gun
,
which felt more comfortable now. I replaced its orange barrel sleeve and raised my hands.

“We have to do this again! This was unbelievable!”

As I left the safety of cover and headed towards the staging area where I could see Wes and
Sizzle
waiting, the most powerful rush of pain slammed into my chest knocking my breath out. It pushed me down onto my butt where I gasped for air, my eyes looking at the sky, and my brain trying to figure out why.

Nick peered down at me smirking.

“
Shhh
,” he said
smirking
. “Get up before anyone sees you. Now you can say you’ve been marked by a 315
-
plus.”

He held out his hand and pulled me up. That’s when I realized how strong Nick was
.
I don’t even think he had to flex a muscle, and I’m not
tha
t
much of a lightweight. One mi
nute I was on my butt; the next, I found myself
flung into a standing position.

Nick turned from me laughing. “We kicked your asses, ladies. But, it was still fun.”

His team, much less covered in green paint than we were in red, high fived and fist butted each other, turned and left the field.

“I was dead.” I told Wes
insistently
. “He shot me after I was dead.”

“Yep.
He did.” Wes watched me rub the welt that was quickly rising on my chest. “Didn’t you ever play BB gun tag when you were a kid? It hurts way more than this does.”

I watched the wall of Wes walk towards the parking lot, finally understanding why he had grown up so big and strong. He probably had to in order to survive
working
on the
family
farm
and
being
Nick’s little brother.

“Wait up!” I yelled, following him where I helped line the seats of the POS with a tarp so Sizzle could sit down.

Even though I had several little welts and one big one, I couldn’t wait to call Liz and tell her how much fun I had.

I waited until Sunday afternoon to call Liz so she would think I was giving
her
enough space to be with Kate. It’s not good for a guy to appear too eager and be all “I can’t live without you.” So, I was surprised to hear a voice at the end of the line that sounded like Liz but not like Liz at all.

“I’m sick,” she said. “I caught the flu. I never even went to Kate’s. I feel horrible.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“Because I spent most of yesterday and today throwing u
p.
I’m pretty gross. In fact, I’ve got to
go. Sorry. I’m either going to pass out or spend some more time on the bathroom floor.”

The phone went dead, and I was left looking at it. Half of me felt sorry for her, the other half felt sorry for me: Liz hadn’t used the weekend to be with Kate, so she would want more time away from me. And I didn’t even have time to tell her about paintball. Thinking like that made me feel immature and guilty. Feeling guilty made my stomach do a flip.

Girls can make life so difficult.

Liz wasn’t in school the first part of the week, so before school every day
I ended up back at my old table
talking smack with the boys. I was surprised how much I missed all the hilarity. It was like I never left.

Tammera
was still leading Johnny on, Ben was still playing Romeo to half the ninth grade, and Wes was still taking heat about POS breaking down every other day. Seth and Charlie were full of stats from the track team they had joined after quitting theat
er
, and most of the talk alternated between the play and conditioning for football next year.

After school we rehearsed
our play
every day well until supper time. We had to have everything ready: costumes, props, and makeup.

“I’m not wearing makeup,” I told Johnny. “No one said anything about makeup.”

“You’ve got to. Everybody does. Otherwise the audience can’t see your face from the back row.”

That made sense but if going on stage was outside my comfort zone, makeup was…well
,
so far outside it may as well have been on Mars.

“It’s not like regular girl makeup. It’s called greasepaint. It comes in tubes, and you smear it everywhere. Then you put on a little blush, eye liner, and lipstick. Don’t worry; the ladies will do that part for you. Have Liz do it.”

Right.
Like I would feel even close to comfortable having Liz
see
me in makeup let alone put it on me.

“I’m not wearing lipstick,” I said, meaning it.

“It’s no big deal. I even have to have my hair grayed. That stuff is hard to wash out.”

“I’m not wearing lipstick,” I repeated.

Johnny smiled. “Tell that to Ms.
Miller.”

Rehearsals dragged on. A few more kids
fell
victim to the flu, but they were mostly in the chorus. M
s.
Miller had heart attacks every time someone was
late,
sure they were the newest sickies, which gave Johnny the best idea for the perfect prank.

We were practicing the restaurant scene
,
so the whole cast was on stage either as a waiter or customer. Johnny was at the table on the front of the stage right next to the newly
-
borrowed cash register
,
taking a sip of “wine” when he suddenly cleared his throat and let out a little cough.

“
Waita
’,” he said in his horrible British accent. “
Mor
’ wine,
pleaze
.”

He raised his glass and Sizzle, wearing a fake mustache, crossed over to him and poured some red colored water from a pitcher.

“A toast,” Johnny said, standing. He coughed again. We all watched M
s.
Miller out of the corners of our eyes. She was frozen, all her attention on Johnny.

“I’d like to make a toast,” he said, still on book.

That was our cue. A few chorus members at other tables began to cough.

“I’d…” Johnny coughed again and cleared his throat. “I’d like…”

Ms.
Miller began to shake her head, worry spreading over her face. Johnny coughed a good one and suddenly the whole chorus joined in, cuing him to survey the stage and elaborately change his lines.

“I’d
luike
to say my
luine
, but
I’um
afraid I ‘
ave
the flu!” he announced. The stage erupted in coughs and sneezes. People clutched at their
chests,
fell out of their chairs and on to the floor.

“Someone must
‘
ave
been
sharing food and drinks!” Johnny screamed, falling to the floor. For a finishing touch, the backstage crew entered from both sides of the stage, dramatically coughing
,
pounding their chests,
and r
unning back and forth before melodramatically dying in a pile, center stage.

“Fine!”
M
s.
Miller yelled above the noise.
“Fine!
I get it! In fact,” she said, running to the apron of the stage and jumping on with us, “I think
I’ve
got it!” She fell coughing and sneezing next to Johnny.

Like I said, theat
er
geeks will do just about anything for fun, and M
s.
Miller is probably the biggest theat
er
geek of them all!

I decided, for her, I would wear makeup opening night.
Just not lipstick.
I was drawing the line at lipstick.

***

Liz came back Wednesday still hoarse but able to make it through dress rehearsal.

“I feel like I’ve been gone forever,” she complained. “I’ve
missed so much: Kate’s grandma
, the rehearsals, a ton of homework.
You.”
She smeared greasepaint on me. It was thick and smelly and generally nasty. “Hold still. I have to line your eyes next.”

“You girls wear this every day?”

“Not this. Real makeup isn’t anything like this.
Except the eyeliner pencil.
Look up and don’t blink.”

Johnny sauntered over wearing an old suit, fake mustache, and full stage makeup. His hair had been whitened with something that hardened it into a kind of helmet.