Gotcha (4 page)

“Not until I’ve got my bead,” Paige says. She flings open the car door and storms toward the house.

Who is this brave person? Certainly not the scaredy-cat Paige I know. It’s like Gotcha casts a weirdness spell over everyone.

The front door is still standing open. We watch as she pokes her head in the house. Then her whole body disappears inside

“Oh my God!” Tanysha wails. “She’s just walked right into Elijah’s house! I hope his dad doesn’t have a shotgun.”

My heart’s banging in my chest too. I don’t care about my bead, but I do care about my friends. I make a decision. There’s not much hope of catching Mariah, but we might be able to save Paige. “C’mon, Tanysha. We have to go get her.”

“No way!” she screams and grips my arm even tighter.

“We can’t let her go in there alone. What if something happens?”

“Uh-uh,” Tanysha moans, pressing her face into my shoulder. “I can’t do it.”

I consider my options. I could stay here with Tanysha and do nothing or follow Paige into the house. Staying put would be the wise choice, but my adrenaline is pumping so hard that I realize sitting still is simply not an option. At the very least, I figure I could drag Paige back to the car. I give Tanysha a little hug and then gently push her away from me. “Listen, I’m gonna go get her. Lock the car after I get out and you’ll be just fine. If Mariah comes back, let her in.”

Tanysha studies me for a moment but then does as she’s told. “Be careful, Katie,” she says.

“I will.”

As I walk toward the front door I have a sudden moment of clarity. I am not in a movie, and these are not just lines I’ve been instructed to recite. This is my life. Real life. So what am I doing here? This lurking around a stranger’s house late at night is totally not me. I seriously consider turning back and going home, but then I remember Paige and I’m torn. It’s just a stupid game, I remind myself. A stupid game, a stupid game, a stupid game. “Go home,” I tell myself, “go home, go home.” But I don’t. My feet keep moving forward. I don’t seem to have any control over what I’m doing.

When I reach the door I knock softly. Paige’s head pops back out. “Katie!” she says.

Well at least she hasn’t been shot. I should leave now.
Go home go home go home
. I quickly link my arm through hers and pull her back outside. “Are you nuts?” I ask. I can hear the steady beat of rap music coming from somewhere inside the house.

“I didn’t go any farther in than the front hall,” she says. “I just hoped I’d run into Elijah.” She tugs my arm and I find myself stepping into the hallway with her. The music instantly gets louder. We both peer intently down the dark hallway and don’t hear the person who slips in the door behind us.

“Boo!”

I swear we both jump six feet, and Paige clutches onto me. She lets out a gasp as a tall figure darts around us and slips into a room to our right.

“Who the hell was that?” Paige whispers.

“I don’t know and I’m not staying to find out.” I yank on her arm but pause when I hear a muffled voice calling
out from inside the room. “C’mon in. Join the party.”

We look at each other, and then Paige steps toward the room, pulling me with her. My curiosity is stronger than my common sense. We both poke our heads into the room, which appears to be a den. Two guys are sitting side by side on a couch, arms linked, grinning like little boys who are sharing a naughty secret. There doesn’t appear to be any father with a shotgun. Paige pulls me farther into the room.

“Hey, fancy meeting you here,” the boy who must be Elijah says.

He looks just like his picture, the kind of person you’d pass right by and not notice because he just doesn’t look like anything out of the ordinary. Medium build, probably medium height too. His hair is cut fairly short and is a nondescript brown color. No highlights. No gel. His face doesn’t strike you one way or another with its clear skin and slightly large nose. T-shirt and jeans are not brand names, but neither are they geeky. I wonder if he works hard at looking so...so blend-in-able.

Sitting on the couch with him is Joel Keister. I’ve known Joel since first grade, but we’ve never been friends. I think he’s now into mountain biking or something. I make eye contact with him but immediately feel such a jolt that I have to look away. My face burns. What’s with that? When I finally force myself to look back again, there’s only a trace of a smile on his face but his eyes are shining.

“What’s happening?” I ask after we settle ourselves into a leather armchair, Paige sitting on the cushion while
I balance myself beside her on the wide arm. We’re still firmly linked. I’m relieved that everything seems so normal.

“Not much,” Elijah says.

“So what just happened out there?” Paige asks.

“I think Mariah just lost her bead.”

“But you were supposed to go out for coffee with her,” Paige says, playing dumb.

“Right.” Elijah glances at Joel. “As if I couldn’t see through that little setup.”

I feel myself squirming. Admitting that a girl like Mariah wouldn’t ask him out must feel awkward.

“But Elijah did just happen to know who had Mariah’s name,” Joel tells us.

“Oh,” I say. “So the girls aren’t the only blabbermouths.”

Joel laughs. “Are you kidding?”

I look at Joel again and find myself drawn into his open, friendly face. This time I have trouble dragging my eyes away.

“I invited Jefferson over to be here when Mariah arrived,” Elijah tells us. He’s still grinning. “He owes me one.”

“Jefferson had her name,” Joel adds.

“I figured that.” I smile at Joel and then turn to Elijah. “But why didn’t he just reach out and tag her?”

“He wanted to play with her a little, watch her try to lure Elijah away. But she doesn’t seem to have a sense of humor. When Jefferson asked her to guess who his victim was, her mouth dropped open and she bolted. I guess Jefferson underestimated how fast she could run.”

“Yeah, she’s fast. Must be all those years of soccer.”

“But at least now I know who has my name,” Elijah says. “I’ll stay clear of Jefferson.”

Paige and I glance at each other. Elijah thought Mariah had his name. Jefferson will claim, honestly, that he has someone else’s, and Elijah will be totally confused. That’s how Gotcha works.

But that reminds me. I tug at Paige’s arm. “We better go find Mariah, see if she’s okay.”

“Jefferson will make sure she gets home okay, after he gets her bead,” Joel says. “He’s cool.”

I nod.

Joel suddenly looks puzzled. “So, how come you guys are here?” he asks.

Paige answers quickly, probably too quickly. “We came over with Mariah, and then when we saw her run off, we came to see what happened.”

Now it’s Joel and Elijah’s turn to exchange glances. “So, while you’re here,” Joel says, “why don’t we swap notes. Tell each other what we know. We could become an alliance or something.” He grins. “It seems to work on
Survivor
.”

I smile back at Joel, liking his relaxed manner. It’s helping me shake the Gotcha jitters.

“So whose name do you have, Katie?” he asks.

“Yours,” I tell him.

His look of astonishment melts away when Paige laughs. “She told me the same thing,” she says. “She’s impossible. She won’t give away anything.”

“Even if we were to tell her who has her name?”

They all look at me. “Even if,” I answer. I meet Joel’s eyes one more time.

I call Mariah as soon as I get home. She answers after the first ring. “Are you okay?” I ask.

“Oh, hi, Katie. Yeah. I’m fine.”

She doesn’t sound fine. “What happened?”

“I got set up.”

“Yeah, I figured that.” She probably feels foolish.

“And he got my bead.”

“That’s too bad.” I really do feel bad for her. Clearly this game is getting to me too.

“No biggie.”

“No biggie?”

“Yeah, no biggie.” She says it like she means it.

“Okay, who is this and where’s my friend ‘Riah?!”

She laughs. “Really. It’s just a game.”

“Seriously, who is this?”

“It’s me, Katie, honest.” She’s laughing and I can tell she’s genuinely cheered up, warming to her story. “It was
so
funny. He chased me all the way down to First Avenue. I managed to lose him a few times, and I might have got away, but my shoes...”

“So what was the funny part?” I ask, interrupting. I know what shoes she was wearing so I’m surprised she got as far as she did. He must have still been playing with her.

“The funny part is that he felt so bad about stealing my bead that he bought me a latte, and then he offered
to give my bead back so we could do it again.”

“What?”

“I’m serious. And he’s kinda cute.”

“Omigod. I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”

“He is.”

“Omigod some more. Did you take the bead back?”

“No, but I said we could do it again anyway. Drink lattes I mean. He’s going to call me tonight to confirm.”

Oh, so now I get it. She sounded disappointed when I first called because she thought it was going to be Jefferson on the phone. It had nothing to do with her stupid bead.

“Katie, he’s so sweet.”

“What about Chad?”

“What about him? He’s a loser.”

“Mariah, you’ve been hot for him for months!” How can she be so fickle?

“Not anymore.”

“I don’t believe this.”

“Then you better get believing, girl!”

“Aren’t you mad that you’re out of the game?”

“No, it’s a relief, actually. And I’m really excited about meeting Jefferson for another latte. I better get off the phone. He’s probably trying to call.”

I hang up and shake my head. I’ve heard of friendships being ruined by Gotcha when one friend steals the other’s bead, but I’ve never heard of this.

Maybe something good could come from the game after all.

From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Subject: bad luck

Hey Katie,

Just wanted to straighten you out on something you said in your last letter—about bad luck following me. That really isn’t so! I’ve always considered myself to be a lucky guy. No one’s life ever follows quite the path they think it will, but if you roll with the punches, you’ll bounce back up.

I think Gotcha sounds like fun. School (and life) gets so serious, and you need games to add some zip to your days. What is the prize this year?

Love you,

Dad

From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Subject: Re: bad luck

im glad u don’t think yur unlucky. im still waitin 2 ‘bounce back up’ from the night my dad left me + my mom.

the prize in gotcha is $2120.00. i could sure use that $. 4 starters i need a grad dress & neither of my parents seems about 2 help me out w/ that. maybe im the unlucky 1.

Katie

The persistent ringing of the doorbell drags me out of a dreamy sleep on Saturday morning. Despite my grogginess, the first thing I think about is Mom’s refusal to shut the door on people. Bead-snatching people.

Oh no.

I throw off my blankets and leap onto the floor, completely forgetting that my schoolbag is lying there beside my bed. My foot hits the bag, which skids across the hardwood floor. My ankle rolls sideways and all my weight comes crashing down on it, hard. My shoulder hits the wall and I collapse between my bed and the wall. Shit! Pain spirals up my leg. It’s broken. I just know it is. I grab the side of my bed and haul myself back onto it. Then I test my leg. I put a little weight on it, and then a little more. The pain is excruciating, but my ankle appears willing to support my weight.
I limp out of my room and then struggle awkwardly down the stairs, clutching at the banister the whole way. I have to pee, badly, but I also have to beat Mom to the door. I hop the few feet to the front hallway and see that she’s nowhere in sight.

The doorbell rings again. Great. I’m balancing here on one foot, in my most pathetic, threadbare nightie. I probably have pillow-face, and after a quick pat on the head I know that my hair looks like a bird’s nest. So now what? I can’t answer the door. But I have to know who it is.

I hobble painfully to the kitchen, cursing myself for caring about the stupid game, and gently pull apart two slats in the blinds. My plan is to see who is on the doorstep without them noticing me. Yeah, right. They immediately see the movement of the slats, turn in unison and flash radiant smiles at me.

It’s a perfect family. A mother, father, son and daughter dressed in going-to-church clothes and carrying stacks of pamphlets and briefcases filled—no doubt—with religious books. The woman gestures at me to open the door. Her smile is angelic, and every hair is combed neatly into place. I guess it wouldn’t be very polite or virtuous to give her the finger, but the one thing I don’t need this morning is someone telling me I’m going to burn in the fires of hell if I don’t convert. I’ve been woken up by these people, possibly busted my ankle because of them, been scared out of my wits, and now I’m about to pee myself as well. I limp back to the door and shout, loud enough for the neighbors to hear,
“We don’t want any!” Then I hobble as fast as I can to the bathroom.

“Who was at the door?” Mom asks, shuffling into the kitchen.

I’m sitting at the table flipping, through some newspapers that were left lying there. My foot is propped on another chair, and a bag of frozen peas is wrapped around my ankle. “I don’t know. I didn’t answer it.”

“But I heard you yelling at someone. That’s what woke me up.” She begins grinding coffee beans.

“It was just some religious freaks. I told them where to go.”

“Katie! You didn’t!” She’s staring at me, not sure whether I’m kidding or not.

“I did.”

Her expression can only be described as aghast. “But I’ve taught you to be respectful of all people, no matter what.”

“Well it wasn’t very
respectful
of them to wake me up and make me trip and break my ankle and get scared out of my wits...all on the morning I could have slept in!”