Chapter 48
When I wake up Monday morning, Clint is in the kitchen with bags under his eyes, sliding his finger across the rim of a coffee mug.
“Have you been here all night?” I ask.
“Tell me something. How long was your aunt with that other guy?” he asks.
“Not even a full moon cycle. Enough for him to realize what he was getting himself into.”
“Don't you think it's weird she'd get so angry over him?”
“No. The whole reason she started the podcast was because she wanted to win him back,” I say.
Clint slurps his coffee and takes this in. “She still likes him?” he asks. I can feel the jealousy stir, and I am more than happy to swirl it like a cake mixer.
“If that wasn't obvious enough on Friday night,” I say.
“I can't read Dinah. I mean, you know how women get—well, maybe not you. I thought I was a good boyfriend. I wonder what I could do to be more supportive.”
“Nothing. You are doing perfectly fine,” I lie.
Clint scratches his chest. “I know what you think. That I'm some kind of dumb bigot. I don't hate anybody. I got God's love in me.” He takes a swig from his mug. “I've got a big fist and a big heart. But when you mess with the fist, you get the h—er, um, when you mess with the heart, you get…”
I look into his mug. Instead of coffee, there's a golden liquid. His breath smells like alcohol.
“Is that what I think it is? Are you drunk?” I ask.
“I'm drunk on love, Wade,” he says with offense taken, pulling his drink closer to himself. But there's no hiding it. Whiskey Clint has fallen off the wagon.
“Anyway, I gotta run! It's IntegriTruth Spirit Day!” I shove a breakfast doughnut in my mouth as I run out to the driveway, where Felix waits.
We don't talk much on the way to school.
“You have a good time on your date?” Felix asks.
“The best,” I say. “You?”
“Mm-hmm.” And that's the extent of our conversation.
Unfortunately for us, Felix and I earned enough Patriot Points to get selected for whatever misery awaits us on this day.
I'm not flattered. I guess Sra. Breedlove thought she was helping me out by giving me as many points as possible.
One bus each from McMurtry High and Oyster Pit High will head over to Star Land, some new Texas-themed amusement park out in the middle of nowhere, where Brandon Barton Buckley is going to meet us.
When Felix and I get on the bus, I take the first open seat I can find and settle next to the window.
He takes his backpack off in front of me. I plant my hand over the ripped leather upholstery right next to me.
“Sorry. Byron told me to save him a seat,” I say.
“Oh,” Felix says, looking like a deer in headlights. He puts his backpack on again and moves past me with an awkward face.
The indignant pettiness gives me a sort of adrenaline rush. Felix is forced to sit next to a freshman in front of Sutter and Aubrey.
I can picture the angel on my left shoulder telling me what an asshole I am. The devil on my right side dances with his pitchfork and tells me Felix would be sitting next to Roland if he had a choice between Roland and me. You're not wrong, devil.
Byron gets on the bus and I wave to him. He walks right past me. There's one more open seat, and it's right behind Darren and Carsten. Byron reverses and harrumphs while he plops down next to me.
The bus takes off and all of us practically hit the ceiling when the front wheels collide with a pothole around the corner from the exit.
Byron looks straight ahead, but he peers at me out of the corners of his eyes.
“I'm sorry Friday was a little bumpy,” I say. “Maybe we could try ag—”
Byron shoves his finger over my lips. “Basta,” he says.
I'll take that as a gigantic, neon “no.”
___________
The entrance to Star Land has a supersized version of the Texas flag flying in front of it.
The park is fenced off with a barbwire gate and looks like a giant concentration camp with a life-sized replica of the Alamo.
There's also an obstacle course with tires and ropes.
It looks more like a military training camp than an amusement park.
There's a giant green canopy tent sprawled out on the other side of the park, with a group of middle-aged men and women who look suspiciously buff.
We pile out of the buses and meet Brandon in front of the canopy. He's got a megaphone and the stupid Davy Crockett hat he always wears.
“Howdy, all my favorite cowboys and cowgirls! Congratulations on your Patriot Point achievement, and welcome to your special day at Star Land!”
He sticks his hand in a box and pulls out an elaborately decorated laser gun that could almost pass for a real musket.
“We're a week away from the real date of the Battle of the Alamo, and we thought, what better way to commemorate this historical event than by having you face each other… in glorious laser tag combat!” Brandon raises his phone and talks into it.
“To all my subscribers, it's the first annual Brandon Barton Buckley Games, and we are live from Oyster Pit, Texas! God, I love having my name on everything!”
Daisha appears behind Brandon and pokes him as he records.
“Excuse me, are you broadcasting this whole thing? Because I didn't give anybody permission to r—” she says, but Brandon shushes her.
“Now listen here, little lady! Don't you go getting all uppity on me now when I'm live, you hear? Y'all get yourselves lined up and find your teams!”
We form several lines in front of one of the canopies, where military-looking people hand us our laser guns and vests. I scan a QR code on my phone, and my screen flashes: Team Texas.
I pass by Felix, who holds his up: Team Mexico.
“Are they profiling you because you speak Spanish?” I ask.
“I'm on Team Mexico, too,” Daisha says when she passes Felix.
We divide up into our teams. I'm stuck between Aubrey and Sutter, who look a little more excited about this war thing than anybody should be, and Byron, who is eyeing the other side. His chest puffs out like a bull, and that's when I see Darren and Carsten on the other side near Felix.
“Wade,” Daisha whispers urgently to me. “Truce?”
“We're on opposite teams,” I point out flatly.
“Who cares? I gotta take down Sutter and Aubrey. I wanna give them a taste of that freedom they love so much. So, you don't shoot me, and I won't shoot you.”
As long as she leaves Felix to me, I say. We shake on it.
Brandon approaches me with his coonskin hat and puts it on my head.
“Here's my lucky Davy Crockett hat,” he says with a wink.
Daisha inches closer beside me and rips a patch of fur out of the cap.
“What did you do that for?” I ask.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” she says, and hurries off.
Brandon pulls out his phone and starts playing mournful classical music, which blares from the speakers. “Hope you all enjoy Mozart's ‘Requiem'!” He fires an actual musket into the air, and we scatter into the fog-filled Alamo.
I keep to the shadows, moving through the maze methodically. I spot Felix taking cover behind a barrel, so I quickly move in the opposite direction.
As I round a corner, Byron is backed against a wall, his musket pointed at a pair of freshmen who are advancing on him with surprising confidence. They're small but quick, darting back and forth to avoid his increasingly desperate shots.
I should leave him. To hell with him.
At the same time, seeing the great Byron Marquis Murphee about to be taken down by two freshmen is too pathetic to witness.
I leap out and shoot at both of them. Their vests light up immediately, and they spin around looking frustrated and disappointed.
“Players fifty-two and twenty-six: ELIMINATED,” the loudspeaker says. The boys stomp off angrily.
Byron stares at me, confused and annoyed.
“I had that under control,” he says, straightening his vest.
“Shut up, Byron. Come with me if you want to take out Carsten and Darren and win this thing,” I say, pointing them out in the other room.
“I can get them myself,” Byron says, his voice cold.
“Two on one isn't great odds.”
“I don't care. I want to be the one to take them down.”
“Tell you what. I'll distract them while you take them out yourself,” I say.
“Fine,” he finally says. “Temporary alliance. Until they're eliminated.”
We position ourselves on either side of the corridor and wait. When Carsten and Darren pass through, I jump out to the side of them.
“BOO!” I yell into their faces, and Byron shoots while they're distracted.
Darren's vest lights up immediately. Carsten manages to dive behind a barrier, but Byron's gunfire still catches him.
“Oh, come on,” Darren exclaims when he sees Byron.
“Have a sparkling sleep, homewrecker!” Byron says, imitating his Twinker Bell voice.
“Players seventy-six and forty-seven: ELIMINATED,” shouts the intercom voice.
“Voilà,” Byron says, blowing them a kiss goodbye. They walk away, exchanging disappointed glances.
He turns to me with what might almost be newfound respect.
“That did feel amazing,” he says grudgingly.
“We make a good team!”
“Wade,” Byron says, holding his gun up, “let's win this fucking thing.”
We charge into the war zone.
Daisha stands in the corner like a cougar about to pounce, her gun lowered. She runs out with a war cry, lifting her gun up as she prepares to blast Aubrey and Sutter away without them even realizing it.
I step out and fire a clean shot right into Daisha's vest, which lights up and buzzes. The jolt causes her to lose her momentum and trip. She falls back and somersaults backward, straight into some barrels, knocking them over like bowling pins.
“Oooh, vicious!” Byron says.
She looks up and sees me with my gun. “Are you kidding me, Wade? We had a deal!”
The intercom beeps. “Player seventy-two: ELIMINATED!”
“I'm sorry,” I mouth to her. Granted, I feel shitty for betraying the nicest person in theater, but I have to prioritize my situation with Byron now since it's clearly unnerving Felix.
Only Byron, Felix, Sutter, Aubrey, and I remain. It takes thirty seconds for Felix to take out both Aubrey and Sutter. After that, he has his back to a barrier, scanning both sides around him.
I duck behind a barrel, Byron beside me. Felix hasn't spotted me yet, but he will soon.
“I'll take him,” Byron whispers.
“No, he's mine,” I say quickly.
He gives me a curious look but nods.
We move into position, approaching him from different angles. Felix spots me first, his eyes widening slightly.
Our eyes lock. For a second, everything else fades away—the flashing lights, the pounding music, the fog. It's Felix and me, facing each other across a divide much bigger than this space.
Felix raises his gun, his expression hardening.
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out. I can't shoot him. I should, but I can't.
Felix takes aim, but before he can fire, Byron steps out from behind a barrel and shoots him directly in the chest sensor.
Felix's vest lights up in defeat. He looks between Byron and me, something like hurt flashing across his face before he masks it.
“Good game, I guess,” he says flatly. He turns and walks away. Something heavy settles in my chest as I watch him go.
The lights come up, and Brandon's voice booms over the speakers: “And the glorious Texians are VICTORIOUS AGAIN!”
One of the buff men from the canopy approaches me and Byron, holding out a tablet with sign-up information.
“Nice moves! We watched you on camera. Would either of you be interested in a future at the Department of War?”