The Rules (9 page)

“Well played,” he grumbled, tossing him the keys. Larson snatched them out of the air. Moments later he and Praveen were free. Larson tore open the white envelope and unfolded the piece of paper inside. Praveen rubbed her wrists and gave her left forearm a good, long scratch as she read along with him. August wondered if she wore long sleeves because she had scratched herself to shreds.

“What does this even mean?” Praveen said, frowning at August as she finished reading the clue.

August remained impassive. “I guess you’ll have to find out.”

“What I should do is quit,” she said. “Go home.”

“Or maybe you should just play along,” he said. “Confession is good for the soul. Test answers are good for college. By the way,” he added, “there are some things in the pockets of that sweater.”

Praveen gave him a look, then picked up the sweater, stuffing her hand first in one pocket, and then the other. She pulled out a wadded-up piece of paper and a pair of earrings.

Sea lion earrings.

He waited. So did she. Alexa must not have shared her sea lion fetish with these people. He’d have to elaborate later, once the hunt was over, about why he had parceled them out to everyone.

“Just put them back for now,” he said. “But give Larson the piece of paper and keep looking.”

She did. Larson worked at the scrap of notebook paper like he was unfolding an origami Yoda. August knew that printed on the paper were the area code and first three digits of Alexa’s cell phone number.

“I don’t know what this is,” Larson said, turning it over, then frowning in puzzlement as he gazed expectantly at August. August wasn’t going to help him out.

Figures,
August thought.

And Praveen didn’t even recognize the sweater.

He could feel the fury pulsing through his bloodstream, pounding in his heart. These thickheaded morons. They didn’t even get it. He’d been more blunt with Cage and Morgan.

“We already did the dare,” Larson said. “We should get to move on.”

“Oh yes, it’s always about what you should get,” August said.
And you will definitely get what’s coming to you.
He waved toward the door. “Be my guest.”

Flashing him dirty looks, Larson and Praveen left the room, slamming the door shut behind them. August turned his attention to Kyle.

“I’m assuming since there’s an envelope, this thing is what you meant?” Kyle asked, indicating the crowbar. “We wouldn’t want to be accused of cheating.”

“That’s your first object. No cheating on
your
part, Kyle. Not ever,” August said with a sigh. He picked up his clipboard and opened his spreadsheet. It was okay. He had lost that round, but he would eventually have his revenge.

“There was a mirror, too, right?” he said.

“Yes,” Heather said. “It scared me half to death when Kyle’s flashlight hit it. I made him break it. Then I found this little plushie behind it.”

“That’s seven years bad luck,” August said.

“I’ve already had my bad luck,” said Kyle, “so I guess it’s on you, Heather.”

August didn’t know what Kyle was referring to. What bad luck had Kyle Thomas possibly endured? Getting paired up with Heather? He gestured to Heather’s fingers.

“You have blood on your hands,” he said.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Heather snapped.

“So, Truth or Dare?”

Kyle said truth at the same time that Heather said dare. Kyle deferred to Heather, and August handed her a black envelope.

“We’re supposed to act out a brief Shakespeare-inspired scene,” she announced. “Now?” She frowned. “There’s no audience.”

“Do you ever really need one?” August asked her. “Isn’t all the world a stage?”

“Whatever.” She handed a page to Kyle and kept one for herself. “You have the first line.”

Kyle cleared his throat and began.

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Juliet is the sun! Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief that thou her maid art far more fair than she.”

“Ay me,”
Heather said with zero inflection.

This is for you, Lex,
August thought.

In the beginning of sophomore year, Alexa had decided to try out for a part in the school play. It was
The Tempest.
The drama teacher, Mr. Riker, had told her she’d nailed her first audition for the part of Ariel, the island sprite who made all the magic happen. She’d basked in his praise, chattering to August about costumes and rehearsals.

But in the second round of tryouts, she suddenly wasn’t good enough for anything, not even as an extra. She had been crushed, bewildered. She’d cried all night.

It was not until after she’d died that August got the 411 on what had happened:

Heather. Just a freshman, like August, she was also up for the role of Ariel. Heather had gone to Mr. Riker and flirted and teased and gotten exactly what she wanted. She also convinced Mr. Riker that tiny little Alexa would be a distraction in any other part, and so Alexa was out.

Alexa had never tried out for anything again.

“She speaks. O, speak again, bright angel!”

August was so angry that he wasn’t really even enjoying his revenge. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

“O, Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy…boss?”
Heather said, stumbling over the change to the text. She shook her head and continued.
“And refuse thy…profession! Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I’ll no longer be your student.”

Heather put down the page, rage and fear warring across her features.

Kyle hesitated, glancing at her, but then gamely continued.
“Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?”

Heather stood as still as a statue.

“You have to finish your scene,” August said. “Or…no casting agent. No ingénue role. And that’s what you live for, isn’t it?”

“We’re almost done,” Kyle said softly.

For a moment August didn’t think she would finish. Maybe a shred of decency lurked inside that vapid blond head. He didn’t want her to have any decency. It would be much harder to hate her then.

“ ’Tis but thy profession that is my enemy. Thou art thyself, though not a teacher. O, be some other name! What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

“Whoa,” Kyle said as she tore up her page and threw the pieces to the floor.

“Happy? Happy now, August?” Her voice cracked.

He had no idea why he felt a pang of remorse. He really, truly hated her.
She’s an actress,
he reminded himself.
She goes for emotion. She knows how to play people as well as Beth.

“Bravo!” August cried, clapping his hands.

“Moving right along,” Kyle said, clearly trying to smooth things over. He ripped open their next envelope and read the clue. When he was finished, he tsked. “You outsmarted yourself this time. I know what this is.”

“Don’t count on it,” August said.

Then Beth, Thea, and Robin burst into the warehouse. Flirtatious energy zinged between Kyle and party-crasher Robin as they caught sight of each other. August’s heart constricted. He didn’t want to see nice people being happy. He needed to keep his rage hot so he could follow through with his plans.

“You know what, Kyle?” Heather said. “I’m done. This party sucks.” Her big baby blues glittered. That was more like it.

“No, wait, Heather. I’ve already figured out our next object. It’s a gas can,” Kyle said.

August hid his surprise. Kyle was on the nose. Larson had slipped through his dare, and it had taken Kyle all of ten seconds to decipher his clue. He had underestimated these people. Again.

“A gas can that we will try to find first,” Beth declared.

“That’s cheating,” Robin reminded her.

“Well, I’m not looking for it,” Heather said.

She stomped over to where the girls had set their purses down and grabbed one. Unzipping it, she began to dig inside her bag for something, stopped, and exhaled loudly. August figured she was looking for her keys and that she just remembered she’d driven there with Morgan. It was difficult to make a grand exit when your ride was nowhere to be seen. Swearing under her breath, she rezipped her purse, grabbed a bottle of red wine and a lantern off one of the tables, and disappeared down the hall stage right.

“Nice rope,” Kyle said. “I love what you’ve done with it.”

August registered the surprise on the faces of the three penalty babes as they looked to where Kyle was pointing. The end of the rope was fashioned into a hangman’s noose. A nice detail, if he did say so himself.

“Morbid,” Robin said.

“All the better to lasso a gas can with, my pretty,” Beth said.

“Or hang it high,” Kyle shot back, smiling again at Robin before he left.

Halfway down the hall, Heather took a slug of wine and reconsidered her decision to bail out of the scavenger hunt. The TV pilot she had said she was in? A total lie. She had nothing going on career-wise. Everything she auditioned for wound up a dead end. Her mother was pissed and pushing her harder than ever. She
would
make Heather famous, and Heather
would
do whatever she said. Or else.

Heather wasn’t eager to find out what “or else” actually meant. At the moment, though, it weighed heavily on her mind as she pondered her mother’s reaction if she discovered the truth.

Heather was in trouble. Big trouble.

I shouldn’t be drinking this,
she thought. Clutching the wine bottle to her chest, she turned off the lantern so that they wouldn’t see her coming and hung a U-turn back down the hall. From the safety of the shadows, she searched for Kyle and realized with a pang that he had left.

The three girls were still dragging the very long, heavy rope across the floor. They reminded her of sailors on a pirate ship. August pointed to a sign he had placed over one of the coffins that read
PENALTY BABES
. Heather noted the hangman’s knot at the end of the rope and blew air out of her cheeks. August’s hunts were always edgy, but tonight that edge was
sharp.

She was a jittery mess, all her emotions about to spill out over her barely maintained surface tension. She hadn’t realized that so many people knew about Mr. Riker. But they didn’t know the worst part—her deepest darkest secret.

She hung back as August approached the trio of girls, admiring their handiwork. He was holding a little black box in his hand and as he waggled a joystick, the moldering corpse in the girls’ coffin shifted around like it was trying to get comfortable.

“August, you need to make us do our Truth or Dare so we can go get our next thing,” Thea prodded him sharply as she stepped away from the coffin and glanced fearfully upward at the screeching bats.

From her vantage point, Heather could see an expression of vicious glee sweep across August’s face, the light from the lanterns lending him a positively demonic cast. She took another swallow of wine. He was freaking her out. He’d teased hard at these hunts before, but he’d never been mean. This was a new August. Or was she finally just now seeing the real one?

“Okay, so decide, Truth or Dare,” August challenged the girls.

Beth looked petrified. Then Robin Brissett stepped forward. “I’ll do it. Truth.”

“Sorry, Robin, but you’re just along for the ride.” August waved her off dismissively. “It’s up to Thea and Beth.”

“Dare,” Thea and Beth said simultaneously.

August nodded. “As I expected.” He held out a black envelope. “Here you go.”

Thea took it while Beth sucked in a deep breath. Heather shot daggers at Beth Breckenridge Bitch the First. She had no idea how Beth had learned about Mr. Riker, but she had no doubt that Beth was the one who had spread it around.

“We’re the third ones back with an item?” Robin asked, studying the coffins.

“Yes, and it’s amazing how fast you’re catching up. That fifteen-minute delay in your start clearly wasn’t long enough,” August told her.

Robin was still busy taking inventory, though.

“Rope, crowbar, a gas can on the way. Except for the sweater, aren’t these all very…I don’t know, Colonel Mustard–like?” she asked.

“Like Clue,” Beth said with false brightness. Thea struggled to rip open the envelope. Beth reached out to take it from her but Thea frowned and shook her head, giving it another go. “You know, August, Robin is a killer gamer.”

Robin looked shocked and frowned at Beth, who ignored her and kept smiling at August.

“Really,” August said, inclining his head in Robin’s direction. “You have hidden depths, Ms. Brissett.”

Robin flashed Beth a dirty look. “Not so much. But I do play Clue.”

Thea smiled at a satisfying rip and pulled out a page from the envelope.

“Welcome to the Second Act of Cheater Theater,”
Thea read.
“You’ll feel ever so much better if you get things off your chest. So your choice: take off your tops or your bottoms, and then tell us the person you’ve most recently cheated out of something, and how.”

Beth paled.
“August.”
Her voice was strangled.

Heather shrugged. That wasn’t so mean. It was vintage scavenger hunt. And she herself had stripped down to less than that on dares.

“That’s not a dare,” Robin said. “That’s a truth.”

“Excuse me?” August cocked his head.

Robin crossed her arms. “You’re asking them to tell you something, not do something.” She gestured dismissively with her hand. “Taking off their clothes isn’t the main point. Confessing is.”

“It’s my hunt,” he said.

“You’re breaking your own rules,” she shot back. “
You’re
cheating.”

Heather snorted as August flushed. Look at that—Albino Man was
pink.
And
pissed.

“Fine,” he snapped. “Then strip down to your underwear and run a lap around the warehouse.” His look included Robin, and she shook her head.

“I’m just along for the ride,” she said firmly.

Heather almost whooped.
Robin, you have got a pair on you!

She wished she could stand up to her mother like Robin was standing up to August but that was unthinkable.

August locked gazes with Robin. Neither blinked. In spite of everything, Heather giggled. Robin turned her head in Heather’s direction and Heather backed a few steps down the hall. At this point she was feeling a little stalkerish; she did not need to watch other girls strip to their undies. She spared a couple drops of pity for Thea because it was so cold and wet outside, but none for Beth. If there was any justice, Beth would fall off the cliffs, hit every rock with her face on the way down, and drown in the ocean, where sharks would devour her conniving flesh.

With Kyle gone, she didn’t see much point in letting August know she had started to weaken in her resolve not to play. She defiantly carried her wine bottle back down the hall and flicked her lantern back on. Maybe there were objects hidden back here that she could snag and hide to screw up the other players. Maybe that would help Kyle out. He was a nice guy. He’d do better in the hunt on his own. And if he won, maybe she’d still win, too.

There were rooms upon rooms of junk—piles of old ledger books, chains, hooks, and serrated knives. A rectangular room was crammed with bed frames on wheels, metal cabinets, and mirrors covered with jade-green mold. Why did they need a hospital at a cannery? Gross.

She heard Hiro Yamamoto drumming, and she smiled faintly. Maximum Volume was a great band. They were going all the way to the top. Just like her.

At least, just like she should be.

Her stomach shifted uneasily and she pressed a hand over it. She was four weeks pregnant and desperately trying to figure out what to do about it. The simplest thing would be to have an abortion, but she knew there were risks involved with those, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to do that to her body. The thought of it made her queasy. Then again, giving the baby up for adoption meant actually having to carry it nearly a whole year and getting fat in the process. She couldn’t afford the time or the pounds. Plus, she could get stretch marks.

And could she really do either of those things? Get rid of it with an operation? Give it to someone else? Wouldn’t Mr. Riker have to know if she did that?

She sniffled a little, scared, and as mad at herself as she was with Mr. Riker. They’d flirted for
years.
The looks, the sighs, the occasional brush of his hand against hers.

All his promises to help her make it in Hollywood. The people he claimed to know. The auditions he’d set up for her. For three years, he had kept telling her it was only a matter of time. Freshman year, he’d said she was at an awkward age, too old for the little-kid parts, a little too young for the ingénue roles. She’d reminded him that Miley Cyrus had been fourteen when she’d booked
Hannah Montana,
but he had countered that Miley Cyrus’s dad was famous. Then sophomore year he said she had such a unique look that casting directors were having trouble deciding how to “position her.” He said he wished he’d known “back then” that the DeYoungs were rich. That could have been “a big help.”
For who?
she wanted to ask him, but she was afraid to.

Then this year, junior year, he’d started talking about her going to college and majoring in theater. Just in case Hollywood “didn’t click right away.”

But she didn’t want to go to college. She wanted to go to L.A. She wanted to have a movie deal that she had to skip high school graduation for, like a real kid actor.

Her mother was always on her. She said Heather needed more voice lessons. Needed more coaching. She kept telling Heather that she had refinanced the house to give her only child everything she needed to become a star. So what was Heather doing to make that happen?

“I want a return on my investment,” her mom said over and over. “I mean, honey, really, are you serious about this?”

Heather tried to defend herself, but it was hard when everything her mom said was what she was thinking herself.
Was
she serious?

Then they had a huge fight and she’d slammed into Mr. Riker’s office and informed him that she was quitting acting. No more auditions, no more plays, nothing. But the moment she said it, she started breaking down. That wasn’t really what she had planned to tell him at all. She didn’t want to quit. It was like she was speaking lines written by someone else. She kept crying and trembling and she really, really wanted him to shut her up and tell her that he’d just gotten a call from one of his director friends and she was now able to audition for a big-budget movie. To know that all the wishing was over.

And he did stop her. With a kiss, their first
ever,
even though she had fantasized about kissing him for years. He was as handsome as any movie star; when he led her drama class through their creative movement exercises, all the straight girls and the gay guys fanned themselves because he was so hot.

His kiss burned her alive. It immolated her world.

And when it was over, he had folded her in his arms and called her his angel, explaining that while he would always love her and support her career, it would be bad for her image to have a boyfriend as old as he was. He would be thrown in jail. They had a real love, yes, but it could never be more than it was now. This one time.

Except for the second time. And the third. And all the others. She was irresistible, he told her. He couldn’t stay away. He loved her so much.

For a while she had bought it. She had actually believed him.

Until she’d seen him with his real girlfriend at the Starbucks on Vineland. Holding hands. Gazing into each other’s eyes. Feeding each other pieces of a flakey, buttery croissant.

All the softness inside her turned to stone. She thought of all the things she’d done to make her mark that had hardened her, sharpening her ambition with a diamondlike precision: getting rid of the competition, talking him into choosing the plays that her mom said worked for her…

In the filthy warehouse out in the middle of nowhere, Heather wanted to throw up. Her mother was going to kill her once Heather told her she was pregnant. She could never know it was Mr. Riker. Being knocked up by her drama teacher was not the kind of fame Heather’s mother was looking for. Besides, scandal was fleeting.

Stardom was forever.

Heather hadn’t told Mr. Riker, either. But
God,
what if someone else knew? What if Beth knew and he found out from her?

How could she know?
Heather reminded herself. But Beth knew everything.

She heard someone run into something behind her and curse quietly.

“Hello?” she called, lifting her lantern.

Hiro Yamamoto blinked in the sudden light. A white T-shirt was stretched across a molded set of pecs, and tight jeans accentuated narrow hips. Hiro had the makings of a rock god. He was even hotter than Mr. Riker.