He smiled. “More like I’m too lazy to have an evil plan.”
“That does make sense, though,” Hunter said, combing his hands through his hair so that all of his muscles flexed against his shirt. “I don’t think we’re going to see the binders again, guys. No one here would be stupid enough to hide them where they could be found.”
“Even if they did, how would we even redistribute them?” Kate asked. “It would take so much time, and you couldn’t guarantee that they’d end up with their original owners.”
“And anyone who still needs to read full pages out of the binders is going to get crushed next week,” Leigh said. “At this point, we should be working mostly off of flash cards.”
“All right!” Bryn Mawr called. “If you’re running, line up behind the blue line!”
Hunter flicked his eyebrows at me. “Or trying to beat Ever in this race so we have a shot at getting the Cheeseman scholarship.”
Leigh raised her arms over her head. “Release the beast mode!”
“Beast Mode, Beast Mode, Beast Mode,” Galen, Hunter, and Jams chanted. Kate and Leigh joined in, pumping their fists over their heads.
“We need a chanting intervention,” I said, but my voice was drowned out.
Brandon leaned over and swept a kiss against my cheek. “Good luck, Beast Mode.”
I won, riding high on a wave of hormones and spite.
I really hated that nickname.
27
I touched each of the pockets of my shorts with quivering fingers. Debit card. Cell phone. Dorm key. Tube of organic beeswax lip balm that Leigh had fished out of her backpack and thrust at me, insisting that it was better than the plain ChapStick I normally wore.
I was going on a date. I was running away while running away. I was about three seconds from freaking the hell out, because I really couldn’t gauge my own ratio of excited to scared.
The last two days had been unbearably long, but dinner tonight had taken the cake. I’d picked at a bland helping of spaghetti, running through the plan that Brandon and I had made in snippets, when the counselors weren’t paying attention to us.
Sneak out of the residence hall separately, after dinner but before lights out.
Meet behind one of the closed residence halls.
Catch our ride at the Rayevich College sign on the corner of College and Hillview.
Attempt not to get caught, but especially not by any of the Rayevich counselors, since Brandon had no blackmail on them.
I was curious what he had on the Messina counselors. My money was on pictures of the Perfect Nerd Girl’s real hair color or Lumberjack Beard’s chin.
“You have my number in case you need me?” Leigh asked, hugging her pillow to her chest.
“Yes,” I said. I had dutifully inputted her number into my contacts that morning. It felt like a friendship upgrade. I could imagine sending her texts once I got home, of ridiculous, non-genius-camp things that happened, and she’d probably send selfies of her inquisitive face and links to her current favorite mindfulness meditations.
Was it weird that I didn’t have Brandon’s phone number? Maybe it wasn’t weird now, but it would be next week when we left. How did you ask for someone’s phone number after you had already gone on a date with them?
“Are you going to be warm enough in shorts?” Leigh asked.
I tugged at the frayed hem of my cutoffs. “I only have shorts. That’s why I’m wearing a sweatshirt.”
I wanted to be more annoyed with her for fussing over me, but it was nice to be able to release some of the pressure that had been building inside of my head. Every time Leigh asked me to double-check for my debit card or the time or which side of the sign Brandon and I were supposed to wait on, it made tonight feel real and exciting, instead of just being a list of things that could get me thrown out of Oregon.
I had never really fantasized about my first date, but if I’d been pressed to picture it, it probably wouldn’t have taken place mid-Bunbury. I would have imagined Beth worrying over my clothes and getting overly emotional before I reminded her that it wasn’t that big of a deal. My mom would have demanded that I text her selfies so she could check my hair—which, as per always, she would recommend that I get braided. My dad would have handed me twenty bucks so that I could pay for myself, because boys “got ideas” when they started spending money to spend time with you.
None of my parents would have approved of my cutoff shorts.
“It’s seven forty,” Leigh said, reading from her phone. “Time to go.”
She got to her feet and wrapped her arms around my middle, giving me a brief, oddly strong hug. “Have fun, Ever. For real.”
“For real?” I echoed with a laugh. “I will.”
Getting out of the residence hall and across the quad was the most dangerous part of this mission. As I trotted down the stairs and out of the lobby, I mentally ran through the series of excuses I had planned, in the event that I bumped into any wandering counselors: My phone is in the dining hall. I need to puke and the bathrooms are full. One of my contacts fell out!
The night air hit me in a blast as I slipped through the glass doors and into the quad. I quickly pulled my hood over my hair. There weren’t a ton of other black girls at camp, and I was definitely the one with the biggest hair. I didn’t need anyone peeking out of their windows and ID’ing me. The sun was in the process of very slowly setting, but the streetlamps were on, spilling orangey pools of light at intervals. I skirted around them, clinging to the more shadowy parts of the concrete.
The closed residence hall was a dark block erupting out of the grass. With one last look across the quad, I ran around the building. There was a long hedge, another streetlamp, and Brandon, biting the pad of his thumb. He was in the same clothes he’d worn all day, but his hair was freshly combed, making it tidier and spilled-molasses glossy.
His smile was immediate and beautiful as he threw his arms around my waist and caught my lips in a kiss that went on long enough that I started to wonder why we were even bothering to leave campus. We could totally make a fort behind this hedge and live in it until the first Melee skirmish.
What an impetuous boy he is, my brain quoted dazedly. I like his hair so much.
“We gotta go,” he said. “She’ll leave us behind if we’re late.”
He clasped my hand and together we sprinted off the grass and up the sidewalk, into the parking lot. We had to squeeze between two Toyotas to make it to the scrubby pine trees that separated the lot from the winding front drive. Pine needles pricked my legs and clung to my sweater as we wove between trees. Up ahead I could see the massive posts on the back of the low, wooden Rayevich College sign, and the glint of a silver car.
I slid to a stop. “Wait.”
He dug his heels into the dirt, spinning around to look behind us. “What? Did you see someone?”
“No, I forgot something. Name three baroque composers.”
He turned back to me, his eyes wild. “What?”