I swallow and look up, catching the same fear on the other girls’ faces that they must see in mine.
“It was under this.” Lyla picks up a jar made of dark stone, the lid stamped with the same thorny rose that appeared on the invitations. “I guess we’re supposed to pick out a dare.”
I drop the letter and rake my fingers through my damp hair, trying to make sense of what’s happening. “So what’s this gift?”
They exchange a look.
“All right. Everyone hand it over,” Lyla says. “It’s only fair.”
There’s a round of groans as everyone pulls out huge wads of cash, then strips some bills from the top. Lyla collects it all.
“The pin too.”
Hartley huffs and slaps something onto Lyla’s hand. Lyla comes over to me.
“Each of us got a thousand dollars and this pin-brooch thing. We didn’t think anyone else was coming, so we agreed to split yours and did rock-paper-scissors for your pin.”
She hands it over. My lips part as I count the money, then examine the pin. It’s a rose about the size of an old-fashioned coin, made of tarnished silver and sparkly white jewels that look like diamonds. If it’s real, it would have to be worth thousands.
I should be happy—I could do so much with this money, help Mom pay her bills so the debt collectors will leave us alone for five minutes. But instead a ripple of fear shoots down my spine. Why would anyone want to give us this sort of money? Bribe us to do these dares?
I quickly shove the money and pin into my purse. I feel better the moment they’re out of my hands. Just touching them makes me feel like I’m risking something.
“All right, can we get started already?” Farrah says. “Open the jar.”
I look up sharply. “Wait—you actually want to do this?”
“No, I just came here to check out the sights,” Farrah says. “So are you out, then?”
I open and close my mouth before I find words. “I just—I think we need to stop and think for a second.”
“What’s there to think about?” Hartley says. “If someone wants to give me a hundred K and flashy gifts, I’m okay with that.”
“Hope is right,” Nikki says. “Going in blind is a good way to ensure failure. What we need to do is think about this like a problem. What do we already know—the known variables—versus what we want to discover—the unknown variables. And then we need to factor in—”
“Okay, why don’t you sit here with your variables while the rest of us play the game,” Hartley interrupts.
Nikki harrumphs and mutters that her way would work.
“But why?” I ask. “Why us? What does the Society get out of this? What happens after we do these dares? Isn’t anyone worried about this?”
“Maybe we are,” Farrah says. “But maybe we don’t want to find out what happens if we refuse.”
I remember Farrah’s invitation. Wouldn’t want anyone to find out about…
“What did your invitations say?” I ask.
“Like I said before—it’s none of your business.” She pulls her purse close, as if I might lunge for it to get her phone. I suppose if I were Hartley, I might.
I turn to the rest of the group.
Hartley gives me two middle fingers.
Lyla plays with the zipper on her Lululemon warm-up jacket.
Nikki slashes her arms over her chest and jerks her chin up.
“You’re being blackmailed,” I say.
Wind rattles the windowpanes. Something echoes deep in the bowels of the factory.
“Look,” I say, “this is a good thing. If you all share what they have on you, maybe we can figure out who’s behind this.”
“Why don’t you share,” Farrah says.
“I would,” I say, “but I’m not being blackmailed.”
Farrah rolls her eyes, then pulls a tube of lip gloss out of her purse and quickly slicks some onto her full lips.
“It’s true,” I say.
“How convenient.” She pops the tube back into her purse.
“Fine, then.” I pull out my phone and clear my throat: “?‘Dear Hope Callahan. You are cordially invited to participate in a game of thrills and dares. That is, if Mommy will let you out of the house. Come to 291 Schilling Road at midnight tomorrow. Tell no one, and come alone. If you dare.’?” Color fills my cheeks. “There. I shared mine—now it’s your turn.”
“I never said anything about sharing,” Hartley says.
“If she’s not talking, then neither am I,” Farrah says.
“Me neither,” Lyla agrees.
Nikki gives a tense shrug. So much for known variables.
I exhale a frustrated breath. “Aren’t you guys worried this could be a trick? What if this stuff is fake?” I say, waving to Nikki, who is still holding her money and pin. “What if that hundred K is nonexistent and we’re wasting our time? Or worse?” I continue. “What if it’s a trap? We could do whatever dare is in that jar and get tossed in jail.”
“It’s not fake,” Hartley says. “I can tell.” She’s pulled out a lighter and is flicking it on and off, on and off. The grinding noise and flash of sparks put me on edge.