?Jump in the ocean with all your clothes off
?Get something... ANYTHING... pierced
?Make an outfit out of trash and wear it for the rest of the night
?Do donuts on the Gold Coast football field
?Put a Gold Coast Prep sweatshirt on the Teddy Roosevelt statue at Cartwright High
?Make out with someone in a different class
?Smash a plate in a public place and yell, “Opa!”
?Juul with Mr. Beaumont
?Make a Dairy Barn drive-thru run... naked
?String a bra up to the top of the Gold Coast flagpole
?Make out with someone of the same sex
?Lie in a lawn chair in a bathing suit with a tropical drink in ShopRite
?House 4 pizzas, 15 garlic knots, and 2 gallons of ice cream from Luigi’s in 15 minutes. NO PUKING!
“Jill, you ready to go?” Henry holds Bruce’s door open for me and I slide in the back seat with Nikki, our knees knocking together.
He takes off, and we head to our first destination, Diane’s. The tiny bell chimes when we push through the door and Diane turns to throw us a look, different than the one I get when I come here with Adam or Jared. Skeptical.
“Look at you, dawlings,” she says in her twang. She walks over to the booth by the window and drops a few menus on the table.
“Hiya, sugar,” Quentin says. “Don’t you lookmah-velous.” He bows like we’re in the presence of royalty. Gold Coast royalty, at least. Diane rolls her eyes.
“What can I get fo’ ya? Road Rally tonight, is that right?” she asks.
My head snaps up. “How’d you know that?” I ask.
“Oh honey, you can’t hide anything from us. We all know when you have your little pawties.” Her accent is thicker than usual, meaning she’s probably slipped a little nip into her nighttime coffee. “What’ll it be?”
“Mozzy sticks and fries,” Henry says. “Please.” He flashes her a toothy grin.
“You got it,” Diane says. “Just tell yuh buddies no games in here! Last year, that Gardner boy tried to steal all our ketchup bottles. Not cool.” She jabs a finger, painted in a bright red that matches her hair.
Nikki leans in and whispers, “We gotta be more chill.”
“Everyone knows everything. If someone wanted to shut this shit down, they would,” Henry says, stretching his arms out to span the entire back of the booth. His fingertips press against my shoulder.
He’s right. Everyone at Gold Coast knows. They’re in on it, but they just let it lie.It’s kids being kids. They’re just blowing off steam.The hands-off approach to our social lives kicked into overdrive sophomore year, when our grades were steady, a miracle after what had happened.
By the time midnight rolls around, I am ready for this whole night to be over. My head is pounding from a few too many Jell-O shots, taken at the Mussel Bay tollbooth while we watched Jordana Washington pierce Raquel Garza’s soft, fleshyearlobe. Raquel bit down on an orange and winced while the rest of her team howled in delight, checking off one more item on their list.
Nikki’s all in on her Toastmaster role, clutching her phone and waiting for updates to come in from Marla and Robert, who volunteered to lead two of the teams. “They’re not fucking responding,” she says as we barrel back toward her house. “Theyknowthey’re supposed to check in with me every thirty minutes. This is ridiculous.” Nikki crosses her arms and grabs at the bottle of vodka between her feet on the floor of the car.
“Chill, Nikki,” I say softly, rubbing my temples where a sugary headache has taken hold.
“I don’t need to hear that fromyou,” she says, her tongue a whip.
Henry and Quentin exchange a look in the front seat but stay silent. I fight back tears and clench my fists together, trying to remind myself that she’s just stressed. She just wants this night to be fun.
