Chapter 25
Tuck
“C’mon, Pen. Haven’t you figured it out?” I frown at my phone perched in the console of Mom’s car, waiting for her response.
Her voice bursts through the speaker, sharp with frustration.
“No. Mainly because I’m drowning in stress over Mia’s damn wedding dress while you’re leaving cryptic notes like some escape room challenge.”
I exhale, watching a pack of teenagers drift out of the school gates—heads bent over their phones, adjusting earbuds, fixing their hair in car windows.
Maybe this was a dumb idea. Maybe I should’ve picked something easier, something that didn’t require Pen to play along.
“Tuck?”
Her voice pulls me back.
“Yeah, I’m here.” I try to keep my voice steady, but the disappointment seeps in, like I’ve absorbed the teenage angst swirling around me.
“Where exactly is here ?” She sighs, and there’s something in the sound—a hint that maybe she’s softening her stance.
“You really can’t figure out the note?”
Another sigh. “You mean this: ‘We’ve never agreed to disagree. Meet me where arguments turned into battlegrounds, and victory was always up for debate’?”
“It’s pretty obvious.”
“So I’m supposed to come to our old school?” The distaste in her voice is clear.
Not the reaction I was hoping for. In my head, she would’ve already been here, rolling her eyes but secretly intrigued, not stuck on the other end of the phone, making it sound like I’d asked her to walk barefoot over nails.
“Just humor me, okay?” I push down the frustration. “It’ll be worth it.”
Silence. A beat of hesitation.
Then finally: “Fine.”
Not exactly enthusiasm. But it’ll do.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re walking the halls of our past. The air smells the same. Old books, floor polish, and a faint whiff of burnt coffee from the teacher’s lounge.
Except Pen is a world away from the schoolkid days.
Sure, she was always striking in her own way, all restless energy and skinny limbs, long, dark braids. Now, there’s a different weight to her presence—womanly curves perfectly encased in tailored military pants and a front-zippered burgundy blouse…the embodiment of sexy self-assuredness.
She flicks her hair. “Okay, tell me. What’s this really about? Some kinky fantasy of yours? Dragging me back here so we can screw in our old debate room?”
Her eyes glint as she glances up at me, as if she wouldn’t be opposed to that course of action. Then, she spots Mom just ahead, poised in the debating room doorway, and flushes the color of her blouse.
“Tuck, Penelope. Glad you could join us!” Mom says airily.
She motions us inside. “Come in, we’re about to start.”
Pen shoots me a confused look, but can hardly refuse Mom’s brisk, authoritative instructions.
The debate room is eerily familiar, like time stood still. Same wooden desks. Same old podium. Same quote still clinging to the patchy white wall: “ It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.”
A handful of students are already inside, talking in small groups, curiously glancing up as we enter.
“Hey! What’s up Pen, Tuck?” Finn grins from his seat in the corner.
Molly’s beside him, along with a bespeckled girl blatantly filing her nails like she’s that bored. Three other kids lounge around in that slouchy way teenagers have—like their bodies are way too heavy to keep upright for very long.
Mom claps her hands.
“Alright, everyone, listen up—er, Finn, feet off the desk, please. Tracy, can you pause the manicure a moment and engage? Thank you. Okay—since we’re heading into the championship round against Stratton High next week, I thought it would be valuable to hear from two of Blue Mountain Lake’s finest former debaters.”
Mom turns to us.
“Welcome our special guests, Penelope Miller and my son, Tuck. They were an unstoppable debating force back in their day.”
Pen tilts her head at me. “‘ Unstoppable force’ ?” she murmurs. “Is that what we were?”
I smirk. Guess Mom’s using some poetic liberties. Because if I remember right, my teachers had a much more colorful vocabulary for me that they liked to mutter under their breath.
Mom goes on to split the kids into two teams, indicating for Finn and Molly’s group to take the affirmative of the topic, the others, against.
Then, she goes to the whiteboard and writes the topic in neat capitals:
“DIFFERENCE ISN’T DIVISION—IT’S STRENGTH”
I flick a glance at Pen. She processes the words, shifting her weight slightly, but says nothing.
“I’ll give you fifteen minutes to strategize and research,” Mom explains. “Use Penelope and Tuck as sounding boards. They’ve been where you are. Tap into their experience.”
Molly smirks at us. “Guess we’ll see if the old legends still have it.”
Pen finally cracks a grin. “Molly, I’ll take ‘legend’ anytime, but I’d reconsider the ‘old’ if you want the full benefit of our expertise. Wouldn’t want any unfortunate favoritism influencing our judgment when we pick a winner.”
Molly lifts a brow. “Oh, shit—I mean, gosh, you guys definitely aren’t old! I totally meant, like, accomplished .”
Mom claps her hands again.
“Each team has three members. One will deliver the opening argument, one will handle rebuttals, and the last will wrap it up with a strong closing statement.”
She turns to Pen and me. “You two can help coach them as they prepare.”
As the groups split off, conversation fills the room. Finn flips open his laptop as he, Molly, and Tracy get down to trading ideas.
I listen in on their brainstorming session as Pen chats with the opposing team.
Finn leans back in his chair. “It’s well evidenced that diversity makes us stronger. Different skills, perspectives, experiences—it’s how innovation happens, how societies thrive.”
“Good foundation,” I say. “But you need a strong opening statement. Something irrefutable. Who’s leading?”
“ Me ,” Tracy pipes up. “I was thinking of starting with an example—maybe sports? How teams need different players with unique skills?”
I nod. “That works, but make it personal. People engage more when they can relate. Ever played on a team where someone’s unexpected skill saved the game?”
Tracy’s eyes light up. “Oh! Bugsy , our star basketball player. Everyone underestimated him because he’s pretty short. He doesn’t seem to fit in with the rest of the team. But he worked with our coach and turned it into a strength.”
“How so?” I ask.
“Well, he’s so fast and agile, he like, disappears in the middle of a play, and before you even realize it, he’s already stolen the ball and is halfway down the court!” Tracy explains. “That created new tactical opportunities that meant we won several games last year.”
“There’s your hook,” I say. “Open with that.”
Molly straightens her notes. “I’m on rebuttals. I expect their argument will be around how people naturally gravitate toward similarities…the way communities form organically. I have to offset that.”
“Okay, so how do you prove that difference is beneficial, not just inevitable?”
She fiddles with her pen. “Maybe look at businesses? Companies with diverse leadership make more money. Different perspectives lead to better solutions. I was thinking of using Apple. Steve Jobs and Steve Wozniak were total opposites, and together, they created something huge.”
I grin. “Solid. Now, the closer?”
Finn cracks his knuckles. “That’s me. I want to drive home that history proves progress happens because of difference, not in spite of it. Civil rights movements, scientific breakthroughs—great partnerships like Hamilton and Burr.”
I scratch my head. “Hamilton and Burr shot each other.”
Finn shrugs. “Fine, bad example. But you get my point.”
Mom calls a five-minute warning, and I step back, letting the kids fine-tune their arguments. Pen gravitates my way as we watch the students fuss over their final points.
“These guys are savvy as hell,” she whispers. “I don’t think we were anywhere near this worldly at their age.”
“So you don’t think the internet has fried all their brain cells? Warped their delicate minds?”
“Well, we’re about to find out for sure,” she says with a wink as Mom steps forward to set the scene.
The opposing team wins the coin toss and starts first. Molly gives a smug smile as their opening argument unfolds.
“People are naturally drawn to those who share their beliefs and values,” a gangly guy with wispy ginger chin hair insists. “Even in diverse societies, people form tight-knit groups based on shared traits. It’s how we build communities, friendships, serious relationships.
“Common ground is what fosters connection,” he continues. “Look at politics—when ideologies are too different, there’s gridlock. When people align, things get done.”
The debate heats up, both sides firing back with sharp points and well-crafted rebuttals. It’s a close match.
Then Finn steps up to close. At first, I have my doubts as he rattles off a list of random contrasts: yin and yang, introverts and extroverts, rival CEOs who push each other to greatness. But then he pivots, landing on something unexpected.
“Difference isn’t just something to tolerate—it’s what makes us grow,” he says. “It’s easy to get lazy when you surround yourself with people who already agree with you, who see the world the same way. That doesn’t push you to question, to sharpen your arguments, to see beyond your own experience.”
He pauses, scanning the room. “Think about it. When you want to convince someone, like your olds—to let you do something they’re dead set against, who’s the harder sell? The parent who gets you, who maybe even did the same thing when they were your age? Or the one who sees things completely differently?”
A few kids nod, already catching on.
Finn gives a sheepish grin. “For me? That’s my mom. My dad’s a pushover—he got up to so much stuff when he was young, he doesn’t really have an argument. I barely have to try. But my mom? She’s the reason I’m even good at this whole debating thing. Arguing with her isn’t just whining until she gives in. I have to bring actual facts, case studies, statistics. I have to anticipate every reason she’s going to say no and counter it before she even gets the chance.”
His voice levels out, more serious now. “And sometimes, in doing that, I realize something. Like, just for a random example, wanting to experiment with smoking weed? Suddenly, I’m forced to look at studies on how it can mess with your brain development. I have to step into her perspective and counter all the opposing views. And before I know it, I’m questioning my own stance.”
He lets that settle before delivering the final punch.
“Being able to tap into another person’s perspective? That’s a superpower. It lets you see beyond the walls of your own experience. And when you do that, you don’t just get smarter, you get stronger. Difference gives you strength.”
Finn takes his seat.
The room hangs silent for a beat, like everyone is still absorbing what he just laid down.
I glance at Pen. Her fingers drum lightly against her sleeve, her gaze locked on Finn like she’s seeing him in a new light. Or maybe, just maybe…she’s seeing us in a new light.
It’s supposed to be an academic exercise. A logical argument that I hoped might edge my way.
But this is something else. Because, for once, I don’t have to argue my case whatsoever. The students have done it for me.
But it takes a bit to shut down Pen’s skepticism as we leave the school grounds.
“Are you sure you didn’t feed all that stuff to Finn?” she ponders suspiciously.
“Truth?” I shove my hands in my pockets. “I may have had some influence over Mom’s topic choice. But no, Finn’s grand finale was all him. Quite persuasive, don’t you think?”
Pen smiles, but typically deflects.
“I’m surprised how fun it was hanging with those kids. That was really something different. Do you think it’s sad we only get to hang out with adults now?”
I glance at her. “It does get a bit limiting, I guess.”
“Yeah. Like maybe I should have other interests besides myself?” Pen considers. “My life is actually rather self-involved now that I think about it. Work, my designs, doing yoga, planning my outfits, my decor. Gosh, even Mom had an interest beyond herself. All the time she dedicated to that shelter—it had an impact.”
“Very introspective thoughts there, Pen.” I nod. “Perhaps we should move on to the next challenge? A change of scenery that will definitely make you feel like a free-spirited teenager.”
She groans. “You mean you’ve planned more of this stuff? What’s next? A liturgical dance challenge at the Arts Center? A knitting circle at the aged home?”
“Nope, this one’s just for you and me. You can drive, since I caught a lift here with Mom. But first, you have to guess the location.”
Pen wrinkles her brow as we get into the car. “Fine. Let me have it.”
I buckle in, then drop the clue: “Where the stone speaks.”
“For goodness’ sake, Tuck!” She throws up her hands. “How am I supposed to…” Her words trail off as realization dawns. A slow smile spreads across her face. “Okay, fine. I got it.”
We head out of town as golden hour approaches—the sun dipping low, sheening everything in its finest glow. When we pull off onto the old dirt path, the past is waiting for us.
Sure, the trail is more overgrown than I remember, branches clawing at our arms, brambles snagging at our pants…Pen curses when a thorn catches her clothing. But then we push through the last of the brush.
And—there it is. The clearing. The boulder. Our mark.
Pen steps forward, brushing her fingers over the weathered scrawl.
“ No guts, no glory .” She shakes her head. “Not quite as poignant as it felt when we immortalized it.”
“‘ If found, don’t snitch’ has stood the test of time, though,” I point out.
She laughs. “So—you game?” Kicking off her shoes, she cocks a brow at me.
“Never doubt me, Pen.” I peel off my shirt and toss it aside. “Ladies first.”
“Ha! That’s what you always said. And don’t think I didn’t know it was just so you could perv on me as I dived in.”
I smirk. “You wound me.”
But she’s already moving, already shedding the years along with her clothes, the setting sun painting her silhouette bronze. And just like that, we’re seventeen again—reckless, unfiltered, unafraid.
She takes a running start and leaps. A splash. A gasp. Then her laughter rings out across the water.
I don’t hesitate.
I follow.