“Catch the Turkey,” Greer said with a roll of her eyes.
“What’s Catch the Turkey?”
“Pretty much exactly what it says on the label.” James grinned from down the table. “We take him out into the woods, set him free, give him a head start. First one to catch him wins.”
“Wait,” I said, momentarily confused. I really,reallydid not want to accidentally participate in any more animal cruelty this semester. “Like, an actual turkey?”
Margot laughed. “No, sweet pea,” she said, like it should have been obvious. “Not an actual turkey.”
I shook my head. “Then who—?”
“FNG,” James announced. “It’s only fair.”
“FNG?” Celine asked.
“Fuckin’ new guy,” I said quietly, a slow, sick feeling of dread settling over me. I’d been the fuckin’ new guy enough in my life that I answered to it almost instinctively, which was why I was so surprised when James turned to Leo instead.
“Sorry, old chum,” he said, reaching over and squeezing one of Leo’s skinny shoulders. “Look like you’re it tonight.”
“Fuck you, James,” Leo said, but he didn’t quite stick the landing.
“James—” Tanner started, then broke off as soon as James raised his eyebrows; all at once I thought I probably understood everything I needed to about the intricacies of that particular fraternal relationship. I’d known people like James before, the way privilege can burnish a person to a shine so glossy it’s easy to miss the mean streak. I’d known people like Tanner too.
“What happens when you catch him?” I asked.
“That,” James said lightly, “is up to whoever does the catching.”
“Anyway, that’s not the point.” Margot’s smile was luminous. “The thrill is the chase.”
“Are you serious?” I shook my head. “That doesn’t feel like, kind of fucked up to you?”
“Spoken like a guy who wants to be the turkey,” Henry said.
“Shut up, Henry,” Dagny said, reaching for her wineglass. “I don’t want any part of this, for the record. I’m going to go be highin the hot tub like God intended and you all can come find me when you’re done.”
“Yeah,” I heard myself say, looking down the table at Leo, whose pale cheeks were flushed bright red. “Bro, you definitely don’t have to—”
“It’s fine, dude.” I recognized the way Leo raised his chin, like he was daring James to punch him. Like he was daringmeto. “I can handle it.”
“I’m not saying you can’thandleit, I just think it’s—” I turned to Greer. “Are you doing this?” I asked her.
Greer shrugged. “It’s just a game, Linden,” she said softly. “It’s supposed to be fun.”
“And you’ve played it before?”
“Pal, it’s essentially tag,” James said, sitting back in his seat and fixing me with a gaze of benign contempt. “Are you really going to be a little pissant about a game of tag?”
And: no.
In the end, I suppose I wasn’t.
Out on the front porch Margot blew a tiny whistle, all of us scattering into the darkness of the woods beyond the circle of outbuildings—one, Margot had explained with a wryness that might or might not have been the genuine article, for each branch of the family tree—that ringed the main house. It was freezing, the winds screaming through the pine trees overhead. The place felt haunted, which I knew in some part of my brain wasn’t possible but which felt all at once like the only logical conclusion; I thought of bears and wolves and owls with talons big enough tocarry a grown man off into the darkness. I thought of ghosts wandering sorrowfully through the trees.
I blinked, trying to orient myself, but my brain was as foggy as the trail had been earlier that day, everything taking on a hazy sheen and a low buzz humming at the back of my head. When I’d eaten the chocolate I’d figured it was weed; shit like that was almost always weed, as far as I knew. But all at once I realized it hadn’t been—or at least, if ithadbeen, it wasn’t like any weed I’d ever had before.
I was fully prepared to wander the woods forever, licking dewdrops off leaves to stay alive, when the glowing yellow lights of the main house rose before me. I ran out of the woods like I was being chased, then stumbled through the door and up the stairs into the bathroom before collapsing onto the floor and pressing my cheek against the black and white hexagonal tiles with the unshakeable certainty that I would always be high, I would nevernotbe high, I would be high until the day many years from now when I died, presumably from the stress put on my body from still being high. It was nice down here, actually. The floors were so clean I could have eaten Thanksgiving dinner off them. Maybe I could just stay down here forever. That might not be so bad.
At last I dug my phone out of my jeans pocket, closing one eye to try to see the screen clearly. I thought again of the text Boy Genius had sent to Margot:If she runs her mouth we’re fucked.I thought of what Greer had told me about Emily on our hike, and of Holiday’s face in my living room right before I’d left theapartment yesterday, the dark inscrutability of her expression. Then I opened my recent contacts and scrolled to her name.
