“Oh, okay.” Her head bobbed like a dashboard dog, and if I knew Kenna her mind was most likely racing through her tenuous grasp of ancient civilizations. “These people would most likely be from the middle ages, right? They’re not going to burn us at the stake, are they?”
“They’re Scots, Ken, not Puritans.”
“Still.” She clasped her hands and dropped her head to mumble a few hasty words. When she finished, she regarded me with a shrug. “It can’t hurt to pray Doon’s the singing, dancing, MGM-type civilization, can it?”
I wanted to laugh, but a riotous cheer from the unseen crowd made it sound as if they were right on top of us. I pointed straight ahead. “It’s coming from the other side of those trees.”
Kenna’s cheeks drained of color as her mouth pressed into a determined line. “The sooner we find out what’s going on, the sooner we can figure out how to get home. Let’s do this.” She took off at a jog and I followed on her heels.
We made our way through the tree line and stopped, tilting our heads back in wonder. On top of an enormous hill sat a massive stadium-like structure. From our limited vantage point, the stone walls and multicolored flags stretched to the sky like some medieval Superdome—so much for my friend’s happy little musical theory.
An impossibly loud cheer exploded from inside the arena and rolled over us like the aftershocks from a bomb, raising the hair on my arms. My heart threatened to pound out of my chest, the instinct for self-preservation warring with my excitement—and the need to keep going.
I felt a tremor run through Kenna’s frame as we huddled together. She took a shallow breath and wheezed, “Well, I’ve seen enough.”
She turned to go back the way we’d come, but I grabbed her arm. Where had all her bravado gone? Usually she was the one dragging me kicking and screaming as she led the charge.
“Not so fast, scaredy-cat. Let’s get a little closer and check it out.” I clasped her hand in mine and pulled. She pulled back. The reversal of our normal roles would be amusing if I wasn’t so focused. Nothing would stop me from searching every inch of this storybook kingdom for my kilt-wearing hero.
After a brief tug of war, she gave up with a huff and blew a crimson lock of hair off her forehead. “Fine. Where was all this tenacity when I wanted you to audition for Hairspray?”
We scrabbled up the hill and threw ourselves down behind the stone wall of the stadium, struggling to catch our breath. Not sure where to go from here, I indicated to Kenna with my own crude version of sign language that I wanted to get on her shoulders and look over the wall. Her brow lifted incredulously but then she nodded in agreement.
Grateful for Kenna’s additional height, I arranged her long limbs in the proper squat pose, placed my foot on her thigh, and hoisted myself into a precarious position on her shoulders. Carefully, she rose to a standing position, both of us reaching out to the wall to steady ourselves. Without warning, visions of cheerleading formations flashed in my mind. Steph’s cruel voice screamed at me to stop slouching like a toad. I stiffened my spine and reminded myself that, thankfully, that chapter of my life was over.
“For the love of Lerner and Loewe! What is taking so long up there?” Kenna demanded in a strangled whisper. “I’m not a human totem pole, you know.”
Despite my inability to think of a snappy comeback, I was relieved Kenna had recovered her usual sarcasm. Swallowing my laughter, I peeked over the top of the wall. The arena was an oval about the size of a football field, with a dirt floor. Steep wooden bleachers filled with colorfully dressed spectators lined two sides of the playing field. To my left, I spotted a hidden opening leading under the bleachers.