“Shhhh!” Drew hisses, even though Gerard’s muffled faux-swearing is echoing across the quad.
“I’m fine,” Gerard whisper-shouts, spitting out a mouthful of mulch. “The bush attacked me.”
“The bush was stationary,” Kyle mutters, hauling Gerard upright by the back of his hoodie. “You attacked yourself.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and do a quick headcount. Everyone’s accounted for. “Move out,” I whisper, gesturing toward the science building. “Stay low, stay quiet, and Gerard, stay away from the landscaping.”
We advance with Kyle stumbling into Drew, who trips over Mason, who’s too busy making finger guns at Francisco to notice that Will has stopped dead in his tracks to tie his shoe. Meanwhile, Sebastian has decided that military hand signals are necessary.Jordan does dramatic combat rolls between the trees, his towel flapping behind him like a cape. Nathan army-crawls across the grass for reasons I cannot begin to fathom.
Drew falls into step beside me as we pass the library, his eyes scanning the darkness ahead. Ahead of us, Gerard is now leading a subset of freshmen in what appears to be an interpretive dance representing “sneaking.” It involves a lot of exaggerated tiptoeing and jazz hands.
“Gerard,” I hiss. “What are you doing?”
“Being stealthy!”
“You’re being a Looney Tunes character.”
“Same thing!”
Kyle materializes at Gerard’s elbow and physically redirects him away from another decorative shrub.
“Do you think Ryan is going to skinny-dip?” Drew asks. “Or will he be a silent observer with Alex?”
I glance back at Alex—Kyle’s perpetual shadow and the shyest member of our family.
“You know Kyle won’t let Alex participate even if he wanted to,” Drew adds. “That man guards him like he’s made of spun glass.”
“Kyle guardseveryonelike they’re made of spun glass. It’s his love language.”
We round the corner of the humanities building, and the rec center looms on the horizon, a hulking shadow against the night sky. Blue light ripples through its glass walls, casting watery reflections across the lawn. The emergency lights inside transform the pool into something both forbidden and beckoning.
Behind us, someone—I’m pretty sure it’s Mason—starts humming theMission: Impossibletheme.
“Can you not?” Kyle snaps.
“It’s atmospheric!”
“It’s annoying.”
“You’re annoying.”
“Wow. Devastating comeback. Did you workshop that?”
Pivoting on my heel, I face my ragtag band of hockey misfits while continuing to move toward our target. “Okay, listen up. Security passed twelve minutes ago. It’ll be a while before they loop back. We will go in through the side entrance, single file.”
Francisco produces a student ID card with a flourish. “Borrowed from a friend who works maintenance. Should get us in.”
We approach the side entrance in something resembling order. Francisco swipes the card, and the lock clicks open with a satisfying beep. One by one, we head through, bare feet and flip-flops slapping against the tile floor.
“Holy shit,” one of the freshmen breathes. “It’s beautiful.”
“Less talking, more stripping,” Drew announces, already yanking his shirt over his head. “Last one in has to mow the lawn next week.”
That gets everyone moving. I hang back slightly, watching my friends shed their clothes with a casual shamelessness that only comes from years of locker-room camaraderie. Within seconds, Gerard’s naked and cannonballing into the deep end, his whoop of joy reverberating off the walls. Drew follows with a running dive that’s more splash than form. Kyle positions himself near Alex, arms crossed, like a bouncer at an exclusive club. “You can sit on the bench if you want,” he tells him.
Alex glances at the pool, then at Kyle, then at his own feet. “Maybe just my feet?”
“Feet are fine. Feet are good.” Kyle’s expression softens in a way he’d deny if anyone pointed it out. “I’ll sit with you.”
