The Revenge Playbook (17 page)

“I'll go,” I say.

Liv takes a half step like she wants to stop me. “No, Peyton, you don't have to.”

“It's fine.” I step onto the first rung of the ladder. “I don't mind.”

It makes me feel good, like I can do something useful, like I'm not just some pathetic girl tagging along behind these shining goddesses. Once I've climbed to the top, the other girls follow, but not without reservations.

Melanie Jane seems hesitant to touch the rungs. “Ew! I am going to get ringworm!”

“Do you think there are rodents in here?” asks Liv. “Because I'm
terrified
of rodents.”

It takes a while for them to get comfortable (and by comfortable, I mean non-terrified) and for Ana to set up her video camera so it'll record even in next-to-no lighting. She wants every second of the football-stealing recorded for posterity. There's a blanket behind some hay bales, and it's nice enough to sit on as long as you don't stop to think about why Big Tom would have a blanket in his hayloft.

We get to talking and kind of forget why we're here. I wonder if my parents suspected anything when I said I was going to a sleepover. I thought about telling someone—not them, but
someone
—what we're up to in case we get caught and are never heard from again, but it didn't seem right. None of the other girls told anyone, and I keep my promises.

“Mel-Jay, aren't you supposed to be watching the window?” asks Liv.

“Oh, right.” She skips over to the window and peeks out. “Someone's coming.”

Ana crosses her arms. “Ha-ha.”

“No, really. I see flashlights.”

Liv stands on her toes so she can see over Melanie Jane. “Someone
is
coming. A lot of someones.”

We rush to our positions on the blanket behind the hay bales, and just in time, because the barn door creaks open with a noise straight out of a horror movie. Liv squeezes my hand in excitement.
We can't see anything without getting up on our knees, so for now we just listen. It's not enough for Ana, though. She tries to push herself up into a crouch so she can see what's going on, but she can't keep her balance. At the last second, she saves herself from falling out from behind the hay bale (aka certain death), but she can't hold it in. She squeaks. Loudly. Melanie Jane claps her hand over Ana's mouth, and we all duck.
Please don't let them notice. Please don't.

“Hey, did you hear something?”

Crap.

“Yeah, I think it was coming from the loft.”

Flashlights cut back and forth over our heads. I close my eyes tight like that'll help hide me.

“Should we go check it out?”

No. No, you shouldn't. You should go back to setting up for your stupid thirteen-year-old sleepover séance.

“Naw, it's all right,” says Big Tom, and I'm finally able to breathe again. “There's a pack of rats living up there. That's probably all it was.”

My eyes snap open in time to see Liv mouth,
“Rats!”
with a panicked look. I grab her hand and force her to lock eyes with me.
It's going to be okay. Calm down. I've got you.
I try to beam these thoughts directly into her brain, but I don't think our mind meld is working because her breathing keeps getting faster and louder. If I can't think of some way to calm her down soon, they're going to hear her, and who knows what they'll do to us.

Whenever my mom's stressed out (which is often), I give her a hand massage, so I try it now with Liv because I don't have any better ideas. All I do is take her hand between my thumb and fingers and massage out the tension, working my way around so I get her fingers and knuckles and especially that loose skin beside her thumb. By the time I switch to her other hand, her breathing has reached subaudible levels. She smiles sheepishly and mouths,
“Thanks.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

T
hat was close. Waaay too close. I stay put for a while even though I desperately need to record what's happening. Dozens of feet shuffle against the barn floor below, but other than that, the boys are silent. At first. Someone must be setting things up, and the tribe is getting restless because I hear rustling and a few clanks and then a thunk followed by the f-bomb and several “shhhhs.” Ha. When it comes to their man ceremonies, these guys can shush like old ladies.

As quietly as we can, we slip onto our knees and peer over the hay bales. This time I don't fall over. The barn looks pretty much the same, except now all the candles are lit, and there are a bunch of dudes standing around in black robes. I make sure to get it all on camera.

“Are we ready for them?” The voice comes from the biggest robe—it has to be Big Tom.

Another robe nods, and Big Tom leaves the barn. He is clearly not pleased with what he finds outside.

“What the fuck is this?” I hear him yell like he's right beside me. “Did I or did I not tell you to do push-ups until I came back for you?”

Someone must have answered, but I can't make it out.

“Well, then why the fuck would you stop?”

There is a great deal of shouting and assigning of calisthenics before Big Tom feels satisfied that the “pack of vaginas” outside deserve to be allowed to follow him into the barn. He appears in the doorway, accompanied by a bunch of guys in boxers who look like they want to pee themselves. They're covered in . . . something. I think the first round of aerobics might have taken place in a field with a lot of cow pies. I also think I can smell them. Ewww.

Melanie Jane silently gags beside me, her hand cupped over her mouth. I roll my eyes because even in a barn, in the dark, mid–dry heave, she has taken care to position The Finger so it doesn't show. But that's the running philosophy at our high school. Hide anything about yourself that isn't pretty and perfect because if the rest of them find out, they'll shun you. I can't believe I was ever dumb enough to think our friendship might be worth her going against them.

I turn back to the barn floor where the herd of guys stands, awaiting the inevitable. A couple of them seem to be shaking, whether from fear or exhaustion, I couldn't say. After what seems like an eternity, someone finally speaks.

“Gentlemen,” booms the voice. I know it's Chad by the way my fingernails involuntarily dig into my palms. “We are gathered here tonight to honor an ancient tradition.”

Well, I don't exactly know that the '70s qualifies as ancient.

“Only the best men have worn the Panthers uniform and played for glory on our field. Only the most determined, the strongest, the fastest, can claim a spot on our team. We are men of honor. Our values and ideals are second to none.”

Men of honor, my ass. Men of honor wouldn't have beat up Grayson. And they don't drug girls at parties. Watching all of those new guys stare up at Chad like he's God's gift to mankind and he's spewing pure gold instead of bullshit - I can't take it. I'm going to explode.

“Tonight, you will become part of an elite brotherhood. If you're scared, if you're not willing to give everything to this team, you can leave. Now.”

He waits all dramatic-like, but nobody moves. Too bad. That would have been fun.

“Joining this brotherhood is a commitment. It should not be taken lightly. You're going to have to put a lot of work into proving yourself. That's why we have this ceremony. So you understand what it means to be a part of this team and join it with the proper amount of respect. And serious . . . ness.”

I can't help it. I snort. Not loudly or anything. Nobody hears me. But they're so ridiculous and pompous, and for what? High school football? It is really very sad. The football players at this school think they're gods or something. Probably because everyone in this town treats them like gods.
There's got to be some way to break the horrible cycle. To shake everyone up and make them see reality.

Liv flicks my arm and points down at the boys. I frown. I don't know what's so serious that— Oh. The football. Chad holds it high overhead like that old baboon did with baby Simba in
The Lion King
, and with much the same results.

It's right there, taunting me. Just a few yards away. Now all we have to do is figure out how to get it.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

I
f I were to jump out of the loft and tackle Chad, I could probably grab it. Not that I'm thinking about doing that. Okay, maybe I am, but even I have a little self-control.

Chad clears his throat. “All right, men. Weston Albright, you're first.”

If Weston hadn't just dumped Melanie Jane, I might feel bad for the guy. I note how his head ducks as all the hooded figures turn to watch him walk to the front of the barn in his underwear. How his chest rises and falls so rapidly as he stands in front of Chad. I think I even see his Adam's apple bob up and down like a cartoon character's.

“Weston Albright.” Chad's voice booms louder than before. “Place your right hand on the game ball of '76.” Weston does it. “Do you swear to uphold the values of the Ranburne High School football team, to put the needs of the brotherhood before those of yourself, to trust and respect your family and obey their guidance, to put everything you have into being a better player and to winning State this year?”

Weston hesitates, clearly unsure of what to do next. “I do,” he finally says in a squeaky voice.

Chad snorts. “We're not getting married.” The guys snicker in their hoods. “Say, ‘I swear.'”

“I swear,” says Weston, his face turning red.

I glance to my left and notice that Melanie Jane is smiling at his misfortune.

Chad says, “Welcome, brother,” and does the manly handshake-pat-on-the-back hug. “You're part of this team. You may now drink the sacramental wine and claim your spot.”

Big Tom hands Weston a gigantic urn—the poor guy can barely lift it, and it sloshes down his chest when he takes a sip. Someone else places a black robe over his shoulders. You can see the pride shining on his face, which is pretty funny considering he's half naked and covered in poop.

Some other guys go, and before I realize what's happened, it's Trevor's turn. He steps up to Chad in his SpongeBob boxers. His straight back says he's not afraid, but his finger scratching against his thigh says the bravery is just a show. Chad feeds him the same oath the other guys got. For just a moment, Trevor hesitates, and I get the idea that maybe he'll turn the whole thing down. I
lean forward, wishing so hard I forget to breathe, but then he says, “I swear,” just like everyone else, and I feel stupid for thinking anything different might happen.

As they place the cloak upon his head, I whisper into the straw in front of me, “I hope it's worth it.”

Rey is next, but he doesn't seem scared at all. I notice Peyton sits a little straighter to watch him, but that's the only tell that he's any different from the other guys in boxers. Then there's a light scratching noise behind me, and all I can think is
THERE ARE RATS UP HERE!
Peyton's voodoo calming powers may have worked before, but if I see an actual rat in this barn, I'm screaming, and nothing and no one will be able to stop me.

We have to suffer through a billion more of these ridiculous ceremonies before they're finally finished. The novelty of seeing what the football team gets up to in secret wore off a long time ago, and all four of us are yawning.

Peyton nudges me. They seem to be wrapping up.

“Welcome to the team, gentlemen,” says Chad. “Now, let's go get drunk!”

Hooting and hollering fills the barn. The newly minted members of the football-cult-of-everything-that-is-wrong-with-this-town file out first and the other guys follow. Including Chad. Who is taking the football with him.
Crap.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

Well, what did I think was going to happen? That he'd leave it there on a platter with a note that said, “Just in case anyone wants to steal me, go ahead”?

“I can't believe we went through all this for nothing,” mutters Ana.

“Right?” says Melanie Jane. “I spent all night in a stinky old barn—I ruined a shoe! And we're still not any closer to getting that stupid football.”

Peyton blows listlessly at her bangs. “They probably never let it out of their sight. I don't see how we're ever going to pull this off.”

And even though they're saying all the things I'm thinking, I don't want anyone else feeling like the night was a total loss.

“You guys, don't talk like that. We'll find a way. There are keys to the football when it's locked up—we can still try that. I know tonight was disappointing, but think of it.” I jump to my feet. “We got to see something tonight that no girl has ever seen. We penetrated the football team's inner sanctum.”

Ana snorts. “You said
penetrated
.”

I roll my eyes. “This is huge! We have them on tape. We know their secrets. And we didn't get caught.” I'm buzzing with energy now. I can feel every nerve ending, each individual hair standing at attention. I've managed to hype myself up - that's what pretending to be positive can do. “We are amazing. We are badasses. And now we're going to do something we'll never forget.”

They look confused. “We are?”

“Yes! Follow me!” I climb down the ladder and grab the lighter from the table. Light up the
candles the boys left snuffed out all around the barn. I pick up the urn of “sacramental wine” and sniff. Smells like Boone's Farm to me. I dump out what's left, splash around some wine from the bottle to disinfect because, you know, football-player germs. Then I refill it and set it on the table.