They Wish They Were Us

by Jessica Goodman

  We each drew one card to our chest.

  I snuck a peek at mine and fear filled my stomach. Three. I glanced up and around the circle. Quentin looked calm. Henry, too. Nikki brought her hand to her mouth and started to bite her nails. Shaila’s face went white.

  “Reveal ’em!” Jake shouted.

  We turned our cards toward Rachel and she shouted out our numbers.

  “Eight, Quentin; seven, Henry; six, Robert; five, Graham; four, Marla; three, Jill; two, Nikki; ace, Shaila!”

  The Players around us erupted into shrieks and whoops, clapping each other on their backs. I’d only find out later that somehow the girls always drew the low numbers. Absolute crap.

  “Freshmen,” Adam yelled. “You have one hour to prepare yourselves for whatever comes next. We’ll be back then with your assignments.” But before disappearing, he yelled over his shoulder. “You might need this, too. Courage.” He winked wickedly and tossed a handle of vodka onto the lawn. The whole group disappeared and we were left alone on the grass. The sun beat down on us and that stupid Billy Joel song blasted over the speakers.

  “What the hell,” Nikki mumbled. “What are they going to do to us?”

  “Did Rachel tell you anything?” Shaila took the first sip from the bottle and turned to Graham, her eyes like saucers. It was the first time I had seen her scared like this, terrified of the unknown.

  Graham shook his head, but he looked a little shaken. I remember his number. Five. He took a swig. “She only gave me one clue,” he said. “She just said, ‘We know your fears.’”

  My stomach sank and I remembered the night I sat with Jake and Adam on Adam’s porch. What I had told them about me . . . about Shaila. How I couldn’t sleep without a night-light, how Shaila could never ride the Ferris wheel because it was so high off the ground.

  Had we all betrayed each other at some point that year? We must have. There’s no way I was the only one. Not if they knew everyone here had something that terrified them. But no one said anything as we stewed in our own shame, slowly passing around the bottle. I turned away from the group and spotted Ocean Cliff off in the distance. Shaila saw it, too.

  We stayed quiet, mulling over our fates, until the rest of the Players returned to read out what we had to do.

  It was clear then that Adam, Jake, and the rest of the boys were running the show. The girls hung in the back, taking selfies and hyping up the whole event. They were never in charge. We never are. I know that now.

  “You’ll each be given a personalized task,” Jake said. “Lower numbers, watch the fuck out. You’ll also be paired with a senior who will oversee your challenge, to make sure you complete it correctly.” The crowd behind him hollered their support. “Ready?”

  Quentin’s was first: He had to watch two horror movies back to back since he was terrified of zombies. Tina would hang out with him while that all happened.

  “Lame!” someone called out.

  “Eat a turd, dipshit!” Jake countered. “Next up, Jill.”

  I took a step forward from our lineup and held my head high.

  “Afraid of the dark, are we?” Jake said.

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  “There’s a crawlspace in the basement,” he said, motioning to the main house behind me. “You’ll stay in there for four hours. Alone.” I sighed deeply. I could do that. I would pass. “I’ll be the one to come check on you periodically.”

  My brain rattled as he read off the rest of the assignments, but it was only when he announced Shaila’s name that I snapped back to attention. “Ocean Cliff,” Jake said.

  The group behind him gasped. Even Adam looked a little surprised.

  “What about it?” Shaila asked, trying to keep her cool. She shifted her weight back and forth from one foot to the other.

  “Jump,” Jake said. He smiled sweetly. “And swim back to shore.”

  Rachel shook her head and Tina covered her mouth.

  “That’s like a million feet above sea level,” Shaila said. Her voice trembled.

  “So?” Jake countered. “Others have done it before.” No one questioned if this was true or not.

  Shaila’s eyes hardened. “Fine.”

  Adam stepped forward as if to appease her. “I’ll be there, too,” he said, his voice kinder now. “I’ll be monitoring yours.”

  Shaila’s face softened and I felt my shoulders relax a little. I grabbed her hand and she squeezed it. She turned to me and her eyes were wide and scared. “Don’t let them see you hurt,” she whispered. I nodded and then she turned and trotted off behind Adam, toward Ocean Cliff jutting out over the shore. That was the last time I saw her alive.

  Suddenly Jake appeared by my side. “Come on, Newman.” His voice was deep with no emotion.

  He led me to Tina’s house, which was bright and airy, decorated with shades of white and gray and blue. “Here,” he said, motioning to a set of stairs behind a door in the kitchen. I followed him down into an unfinished basement that smelled like musk and mildew. I scrunched up my nose and tried to ignore the fear churning in my stomach. Jake walked to the back corner and opened a small doorway that only went up to his shoulders. “You might want to get on your knees,” he said. A menacing smile spread across his face. I did as he said and held my breath as I crawled into the dark space, feeling my way around the cold cement floor. The whole room was about as big as a full-size bed. Jake knelt down and tossed me a blanket and an unmarked glass bottle. “Provisions.”

  “Thanks,” I whispered.

  “I’ll be back soon,” he said. He shut the door and I heard the lock slide into place with a click.

  I inhaled deeply, smelling plaster and glue. Then I spread the blanket around as best I could and lay down, trying to pretend like I was in my own bed at home, looking up at the plastic stars on my ceiling. At first, it was okay, just a little uncomfortable; I could barely sit up, the space was so small. But then I started to hear things, or at least I thought I did. Mice crawling through the walls. Banging from the floor above. It was all too much, too scary, too surreal. Then it became torturous, like the walls were caving in around me. My heart raced and my fingers trembled. I shuffled over to the door just to see if I could get it open. I shoved my shoulder against the entrance, but it stayed put, like something was pushed up against the door. That’s when I started to panic. My chest tightened and there was only one option, only one way to get through this all.

  I sat back on the blanket and brought the bottle to my lips. I took a generous sip. The liquid smelled like gasoline and was harsher than vodka. But I was grateful for something . . . anything to be a distraction. I took a big gulp and then another, letting the vile liquid give way to a numb, tingly feeling. It wasn’t just strong, it tasted rancid—chemical.

  Then I disappeared.

  * * *

  —

  I came to hours later. I swear I heard a scream—a wrenching, bloodcurdling scream. Was it my own strangled voice? Was it far off in the distance? It didn’t matter because I was safe, I figured. I must have been because I had been moved somewhere with a window, though no sunshine came through. I was on a bed, I knew, because there were sheets, soft beneath my bare legs. Above ground, I realized. It had to be because a flame licked the window. A bonfire, I determined, raging just outside in the backyard. It was so close. So was the group. I could hear them. Was it over? Did I pass? I must have. But then why wasn’t I with the others? Why was I alone?

  Until I realized I wasn’t.

  “You smell like a s’more.” He whispered the words, slurring a bit. Adam must have found me. I felt a pang of relief. Then his tongue slithered into my ear. The warm, wet heat was shocking and forced me to tense, to try to sit up. But I couldn’t move.

  “Shh . . . It’s okay.” His face came into focus and in an instant, I realized it was not Adam. It was Jake. Hovering over me. Pinni
ng my arms over my head. Up against me. Waiting. Patient, but not really.

  “What . . .”

  “You made it through,” he said again. “You passed the test.” His tongue found its way into my ear again and I shook my head, as if trying to swat away a fly. The room spun around me.

  I tried to pull away but Jake was so big, like a giant brick. “I don’t feel well,” I said, my head swimming.

  “C’mon,” he said, his mouth moving over my neck. “Let’s celebrate.”

  My limbs were so heavy. I just wanted everything to stop.

  “No,” I said softly. “No.” Jake laughed and moved his hands lower, lifting my sweatshirt. His touch was freezing and I shivered.

  “See? It’s nice,” he said. “Aren’t you going to thank me for helping you get through it?” I tried to wiggle out from under him, but Jake tugged my wrists down by my sides. I was immobile, unable to think. I wanted so desperately to leave, to join the group, to go home, to find Shaila. Had she jumped? Had she passed, too? Was it easier to succumb? To let my brain leave my body? Suddenly, the door squeaked open.

  “Dude.” It was Adam. I recognized his voice. “What are you doing?”

  “You know what I’m doing.” Jake whipped his head around and in his profile I saw a wide, scary smile. I wanted to run, to use this free moment to crawl to the floor, to get away completely.

  “She’s wasted.”

  “What, you’re a cop now?”

  “Let’s just get a drink. It’s not worth it.” Adam kicked the door open farther so more light streamed in.

  Jake rolled his eyes, indifferent, over it. “Whatever.” Finally, he rose and retreated from the room. “You’re no fun, bro,” he called on his way out.

  “Adam,” I tried to say, but it came out like garbled mush. I reached for him but my arms stayed on the bed, too heavy to lift.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. His words were just a tiny bit slurred and a little sad.

  “Mm,” I said.

  “You gotta sleep this off.”

  “Mm,” I said again. The relief was overwhelming. I wanted to cry, to bury myself in these sheets.

  “I’m going to lock the door, okay? No one can get in. The key’s right here on the dresser.”

  I nodded.

  “Say okay, Jill.”

  “Okay.”

  He shut the door quietly behind him and I rolled over, forcing myself to stare out the window and into the darkness. Look up, I willed myself. Find the moon. Just find an anchor. But all I saw was a smattering of twinkling lights, jumbled in piles like puzzle pieces that I would never be able to put together. It was too beautiful, too chaotic.

  Then I fell into a sleep so deep it ached. It was hours later when I awoke to the sounds of sirens and Nikki’s sobs. To Shaila’s death.

  It took until the next day to find out that Nikki had just barely passed her pop. She was scared of getting lost and had been blindfolded, then dropped off five miles away in the woods, forced to find her way back to Tina’s on her own with no phone. Marla nearly got caught while completing hers—breaking into the field hockey coach’s summer home to steal the county finals trophy. Her biggest fear was getting cut from the team, losing everything. Rachel helped her flee at the last minute.

  The boys’ tasks were easier, less dangerous, like the seniors had less ammo to use, less to torture them with. Henry had to plant a false story in the Gold Coast Gazette that got him a slap on the wrist and fired from his internship. Robert was forced to steal his dad’s Lambo and let each senior take it for a ride up and down the expressway. He dropped it off only minutes before his dad came home around midnight. Graham had his thing with the tarantulas and emerged only to find Shaila, wet and exhausted, having survived Ocean Cliff. He coaxed her into going for a walk, when he lost it and killed her. At least that’s what we were told.

  But we didn’t talk about any of it the next day. I never told them about Jake or how Adam saved me. How could I? Shaila was dead by then. There were bigger things to not discuss.

  Still, Jake’s words seared into my brain. Aren’t you going to thank me?

  As if I owed him some chunk of myself. As if he was entitled to a prize for locking me in a closet with a bottle of something sketchy.

  The memory makes my insides crumble and my head pound. What if Adam hadn’t found me? I tried desperately not to obsess over the possibilities, over the fear and the blurry reality of what had and had not happened.

  That day after initiation, while we were supposed to be grieving, there was one thought I couldn’t get out of my head: Why did the boys have the power? Why did they make the rules while we dealt with the consequences?

  A montage of pops flashed through my brain. Adam and Jake calling out directions. Tina and Rachel standing on the sidelines, cheering and whooping along. They seemed in control, but they never were. Moments flickered in my brain as I remembered all the times the boys took advantage. Humiliating Nikki during the Show. Acting like we were being so dramatic when Shaila almost drank herself to death. It happened all over again this year. Robert zeroing in on Sierra. My own brother laughing at her during Road Rally. The boys always spoke in code when we were present, a secret language not meant for us. We were always kept in the dark.

  It spread like a virus to Derek Garry and to Robert. Then passed along to boys like Topher Gardner and, now, my brother.

  Had we stood by and let this transformation take place?

  Shaila’s death should have signaled the end. I wonder if every class thought their initiation would be the last, though. We’ll keep them safe. We’ll make everything okay. We’ll stop this. But we didn’t. We were complicit in the sick, twisted games we played with each other. Prove it, we taunted. Prove you’re a Player.

  And the worst part is that it felt good, really good, to have someone else endure what we did. That next year, when we were sophomores, Nikki, Marla, and I did all the bitch work to set up for initiation, driving out to Derek Garry’s Hamptons house the night before, filled with adrenaline. We made vats of neon pink Player Punch, stoked the bonfire, and squealed with excitement when the freshmen showed up blindfolded, shaking, and scared. Robert, Henry, and Quentin had one job: get ice.

  And when the Toastmaster, Fieldston Carter, called out the final pops, I stood back as they shouted out assignments: Spend the whole day naked in the sun. Get on all fours and let the seniors walk you on a leash for the rest of the night.

  I smiled as we chugged beer until we forgot our reality, that this was the night that killed Shaila only a year before. It’s only now I realize I thought I was still on the chopping block. I thought I was up for grabs.

  We did it again last year, too, convinced we were only juniors, not quite at the top. That’s why I kept telling myself, This year will be different. I tried to push the guilt away, to keep it from eating me alive. But now I know that’s a lie, too. Initiation will go on as planned. Jared will complete his horrific transformation. Unless something happens. Something big.

  Rachel clears her throat and I’m back in the dingy downtown coffee shop. “We were wrong,” she says. Her red-rimmed eyes are wet, threatening to spill over. Her mouth crumples. “To go along with everything. To let it happen.”

  “Why do we do it?” I say.

  “It’s easy to convince yourself of something if you just pretend it’s the truth.”

  We sit in silence as our lattes grow cold.

  Finally she speaks. “So you’re really out?”

  I think of Weingarten, of Brown, of what I can do to really protect Jared. There’s still time for him. “I need to know what happened to Shaila,” I say firmly.

  Rachel nods and leans in so our foreheads almost touch. “I want you to know something. The Players . . . all that bullshit. That’s not who I am anymore.” She looks me dead in the eye. “It’s not who you are either.”<
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  She’s right. That Jill would never have responded to Rachel’s text back in the fall. She never would have agreed to meet Graham or go talk to Kara. She would have clapped along with everyone else at the Show and cheered when Jared laughed at Sierra during Road Rally. She never would have found herself being threatened in the headmaster’s office. That Jill would have graduated with a 96 average and a hole in her heart.

  This one will not.

  TWENTY-TWO

  I NEED YOU.

  Those three words are better than any, better than I miss you or even I love you. They send a rumbling sensation through my body, starting at my toes and ending at the tips of my split ends. And today, on the first Saturday in May, they come from Adam in the form of a text.

  Big Keith hated my latest. He says I’m slacking.

  The sun streams through my window, hitting my bed, and I squint to read his words again. I didn’t even know he was home. He must have just ended the semester.

  Want me to come over? I type.

  Yes.

  My heart is heavy, filled with a desperate need to make Adam feel better. It’s the best distraction right now. Rachel and I have been going over file after file in Shaila’s case for the last few days and I’m exhausted. And, after what I owe him, I can’t imagine ever saying no.

  I take a quick shower, pull on a coral-colored sundress and my jean jacket, and drive the route I know by heart. I roll the windows down and crank up Stevie Nicks’s first solo album. A warm breeze floats through the car. This used to be my favorite season in Gold Coast. Those few weeks just after everything thaws for good but before the heat becomes oppressive. It used to feel like the only time of year when everything bubbles with possibilities. Now the weather just reminds me of losing Shaila.

  Within a few minutes, I turn into the Millers’ familiar C-shaped driveway and I throw the car in park. As I begin to unbuckle my seat belt, my phone pings.

  Check your email. It’s Rachel.

  ???? I write back.

  Kara found all of Shaila’s letters. Her mom kept them in some box in her office. Kara went through them and took a million pics. She just sent them over.