The second I get inside, I change out of my muddy PJs and shove them to the bottom of my laundry. I’ll rinse them later, before Mom takes our stuff to the Laundromat. Right now I have to make sure I don’t have duckweed in my hair or gator teeth between my toes.
I’m frantically washing the dirt from under my fingernails when I see a flashing light outside Jenny’s window. I cross to it just as a fire truck screeches into the parking lot. Firefighters spill out, and in moments they’re using giant hoses to spray high-pressured water at the blaze.
My breath stalls as the charred skeleton of the car comes into view. It’s almost unrecognizable from the damage, but I’d know that LIFE IS SHORT, TAKE IT EASY bumper sticker anywhere.
It was our car.
I blink at the blaze, mute with shock. And then I stumble into my room and frantically search for my phone. Even if things are weird with Ethan right now, I need to talk to him. But when I punch the home button, the screen flares to life, and there is a text from a number I don’t recognize. I swipe the text open and squint at the screen:
Cheaters always get caught.
An icy fist wraps around my throat. They don’t think I failed the dare—they think I cheated. Cheat in the game, and you will be punished.
The car was a punishment.
I knew they had leverage on the other girls. I knew the dares were dangerous, but I thought the penalty for quitting would be some form of blackmail-driven humiliation.
I realize now how utterly, devastatingly wrong I was.
The night vanished in the aftermath of the fire.
The investigators told Mom the explosion was due to faulty wiring and we should all count our blessings we weren’t in the car when it exploded. Mom said she’d consider it a blessing if another working vehicle presented itself. She fought tears all morning—and actually sobbed when she realized she’d have to spend the money she keeps earmarked for medical emergencies on insurance deductibles—but she’s past the emotional part now and is just angry.
Well, me too.
Other than Lyla’s, I don’t have the girls’ phone numbers. I spend the morning tracking Farrah, Nikki, and Hartley down through social media and give them each the same message:
Meet in the library 15 min before the end of lunch. VERY. IMPORTANT.
I don’t get to school until lunch is already under way. Without a car, I had to take a taxi to get here, but Mom insisted it was better that I be as far away from the residual smoke as possible, and I didn’t argue.
I was full of purpose all morning, but by the time I step into the school, the days of lost sleep catch up with me all at once. I don’t know how I’m going to survive this day. My hands are shaky, and I can’t fight a yawn as I enter the combo to open my locker.
But when I swing it open, I’m suddenly wide awake.
A creamy white envelope is taped inside, HOPE CALLAHAN written across the front in the same slanting, cursive script.
The Society was here.
I shoot a frantic glance over my shoulder to see if anyone is watching me. I don’t know why I bother. Whoever planned this game went to great lengths to make it happen and keep their identity concealed. They aren’t going to be stupid enough to stand around and watch while I open my locker.
The envelope stares at me. Another dare. I can’t handle anymore. Not so soon. But there’s going to be no avoiding it.
I rip the envelope open. My hands tremble as I slide my finger under the rose wax seal and pull out the thick cardstock.
We think you’ve learned your lesson…so congratulations! You have made it to the semifinal round of the game. Three girls and your own fear are the only things standing between you and $100,000. Meet again at 291 Schilling Road at midnight tonight. And come alone.
If you dare.
I think of the charred remains of the car towed away just hours before. How would the Society react if I didn’t show? How would I be punished then? My stomach goes watery at the thought.
The Society knew my locker combo, so either they stood close enough to see me enter it, which limits the pool of suspects to just close friends, or they have access to the school’s files, which opens the pool up to anyone inventive enough to get a minute alone in Mrs. Butter’s office.
“Hey, Hope!”
I snap back to reality as the school nurse approaches, her ponytail swishing from side to side. “You okay?”
I realize I’ve been staring at the invite for way too long to seem normal. I quickly shove it into my purse and force a smile.
“Hey, Mrs. Duncan. Yep, I’m great.” It’s hard to sound enthused with this crushing dread on my shoulders, but she seems to buy my act.
“Great,” she says. “It’s so nice to see you back at school again.”
I nod absently, and she slips away.
I’m rooted to the spot, frozen. But I have to move. Have to do something.