Chapter 2
“Why do I have to go outside?” Keme asked as I shepherded him (AKA, shoved him) through Hemlock House and toward the door.
“Excellent question,” Fox asked. Today, they were wearing what I thought of as Cruella de Vil goes to war—a lot of faux fur, and one of those spiky helmet thingies that made me think of the Kaiser.
For some reason, it included a gauzy swatch of fabric that was being used—I believed—as a cape.
“Why does any of us have to go outside?”
“I love going outside,” Millie said. “My mom read a study once from the US Department of Physical Education. It says everyone should play outside for three hours a day, minimum, into their thirties. Even when it’s raining!”
I had my doubts about the existence of a US Department of Physical Education—and my suspicions about why Millie’s mom had been so gung ho about making her children into Outdoor Kids—but I couldn’t respond; I was too busy keeping Keme from snaking under my arm and going back to the Xbox.
“You wouldn’t get away with this if it weren’t for your goon,” Fox said, sweeping their cape dramatically in Bobby’s direction. “Unhand me!”
Bobby looked like he might be reconsidering his life choices. Specifically, his boyfriend choices.
“We’ve got perfect weather,” Indira said. “We’re going to have a lovely time.”
Keme said something about this under his breath, and let me tell you: if Indira had heard him, he would not have had a lovely time.
With a final burst of energy—and shoving—I got Keme out the door, and the rest of us tumbled out of the house behind him. It was, as Indira had said, a beautiful day: bright sun, blue sky, cotton-ball clouds scattered here and there, and a cool breeze.
Keme said, “Okay, fine, we’re outside.”
Fox drew their cape over their face, shrank down, and hissed.
Indira chafed her arms and said, “Maybe I should get my cardigan.”
And Millie did a cartwheel.
It was a really good one, too. And she didn’t have to warm up or anything.
Bobby shut the door behind him. Firmly.
“Happy Senior Field Day!” I announced.
From under their cape, Fox said, “What?”
“Senior field day,” I said. “Keme didn’t get a field day because he was trying to pass all his classes, so we’re going to make it up to him.”
“I don’t want a field day,” Keme said. “I want to play Xbox.”
“Keme,” Indira said.
“I’m still in the queue.” The only hint of Keme’s concern was the tightening of his voice. “They’re going to put me in a game!”
“I think it’s more important to spend time with your friends in real life,” Indira said.
It was a bit of a pronouncement, actually, and the tone sounded eerily similar to a comment she’d made at Christmas about the spirit of the season.
When Keme and I had not fully engaged in the spirit of the season, the Xbox’s power cord had disappeared for two weeks.
Keme must have had a similar thought because he was silent for several seconds before saying, “Fine. What do I have to do?”
“You don’t have to do anything,” I said. “You get to do fun, awesome things outside in beautiful weather and spend time with your friends. Here, I’ll show you. First, we’ve got cornhole—”
A beanbag whizzed through the air, and I barely managed to scramble out of its path.
Bouncing another beanbag in one hand, Keme looked at me.
“Ha ha,” I said. “But the point of the game is to get the beanbag—ah!”
This time, I wasn’t fast enough, and the beanbag caught me in the shoulder.
“This is pretty fun,” Keme said as he picked up another beanbag.
From under their cape, Fox asked, “Do we all get a turn?”
“I’ll take that,” Bobby said, plucking the beanbag from Keme.
“Okay,” I said, rubbing my shoulder. “Fine. Message received. We’re not going to play cornhole. Because certain people aren’t able to act like adults and—”
“Dash,” Bobby said.
I blew out a breath. “Over here,” I said, walking our little group across the lawn, “we’ve got the water-gun race.
Now, see how there’s a cup on a string? The point of the game is to shoot a stream of water into the cup, and that will propel the cup along the string.
The first person whose cup reaches the end of the string—”
Water filled my mouth, and I gargled the rest of the words.
Keme wasn’t smiling, not exactly. But as he pumped the water gun, he did look…evilly gleeful, if that’s a thing.
“You’re hilarious,” I said, wiping my chin, “but in case it wasn’t clear—”
“It was clear,” Keme said and shot me in the face.
I screamed.
And then I grabbed a water gun.
And then everybody grabbed guns (except Indira), and it was all-out war.
It’s impossible to explain the madness of combat to someone who hasn’t lived it.
I remember it in bits and pieces that come back in the middle of the night: Keme strafing me as I dove for cover behind a hemlock; Fox spraying Bobby at point-blank range while Bobby tried to block the stream with his hands; the adrenaline rush of catching Keme unaware and blasting him in the ear.
(My God, I wish you could have heard him scream.)
Everything was going—well, fine isn’t exactly right, but everybody was having fun—until Millie erupted from the woods like a guerrilla fighter.
I spun around.
Bobby shouted, “No!”
Indira stepped into my line of fire. She turned at the sound of Bobby’s voice.
And I shot her right in the eye.
Everyone froze.
And then, with a wild laugh, Indira grabbed one of the water guns, pumped it, and sprayed me.