Gotcha

by Shelley Hrdlitschka

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m not hungry enough for the money. All we each lose is ten dollars, but with some people you’d think their life savings was tied up in the game.”

  “Maybe that is the life savings of some people.”

  “Could be.” He smiles. “But I find it interesting to watch how crazy people get when they’re playing a game. It’s all or nothing. I can’t really relate.”

  Neither can I. I decide to ask Joel his opinion on something that has been bothering me. “Do you think Warren and Paige and I could get suspended for running the game? Fetterly made it clear it wasn’t to be a grad activity this year.”

  Joel shakes his head. “No, they’d have to suspend everyone who was playing it, all two hundred and twelve of us.”

  I hope he’s right. At some point it dawned on me that a suspension noted on my permanent school record wouldn’t impress too many colleges.

  When we pull up outside Tyson’s house, Joel leaps out of the car and grabs my crutches from the backseat. He hands them to me, and when I’m balanced, he wraps an arm securely around one crutch. “I guess this is how we’re going to have to link,” he says.

  “Yeah,” I say, for lack of any better ideas.

  “But I think I’m going to have to place my hand over yours on the crutch grip,” he says. “I don’t know what else to do with it. Is that okay?”

  Before I can answer, his hand is warm on mine, and that swooning feeling is back. You’d think I was thirteen years old.

  We make our way awkwardly up the path to the front door. I think of mentioning that we don’t need to be linked yet because there is no one else outside, but I’m enjoying the warmth of his hand on mine, and it’s fun trying to get into the rhythm of walking linked, with a set of crutches to maneuver.

  The linked team of Tyson and Jason open the door, and if they’re surprised to see us together, neither one says so. As we make our way into the kitchen, I feel myself tensing up again, expecting to see Paige. I look around the crowded room, but it seems she hasn’t arrived yet. The music is loud and I can see lots of people dancing in the living room, many of them with their arms strung through someone else’s. It makes for some pretty goofy dance moves.

  “I’d get us a couple of drinks,” Joel yells into my ear, “but I don’t know how I can carry them and move around linked to you.”

  “Then we’ll have to stand beside the bar to drink and sit when we’re not.”

  “Do you want something now?”

  I look around to see what’s available. There are beer and soda cans, liquor bottles and sticky-looking shot glasses scattered across the counter. When we arrived, Tyson told us that his older brother had done a run to the liquor store for us earlier and there was a cooler full of beverages that we could buy off him. Tyson’s girlfriend, who’s not in grade twelve, is sitting on a stool beside the cooler, collecting money. His parents both work in the travel industry and are away a lot, so he and his brother have become party-throwing experts. I consider asking for a cooler, thinking it might relax me, but decide that I don’t need anything that might make me even wobblier than I already am on crutches. I took a strong painkiller before we left, and I’m having enough trouble balancing as it is. “Not right now,” I yell back at him. I can feel my ankle throbbing and really want to put it up somewhere. “But if you want something, go ahead.”

  “I don’t want anything either. It would just make me have to pee, and you know how that would complicate things.” He grins down at me. “Let’s go over to the kitchen table and insist that a couple of able-bodied people give up their chairs for us,” he shouts in my ear. “There’s got to be some advantage in hanging with you tonight.”

  I retaliate by elbowing him in the ribs, and then we gracelessly cross the room together. Amy and Megan rise as a linked pair and give us their chairs. Someone else pushes an ottoman into the kitchen for me to rest my foot on. Joel slides his chair close to mine so we can comfortably stay linked.

  As people come through the kitchen, everyone asks about my ankle. Over and over I describe my fabricated snow-boarding accident. It’s harmless and way more entertaining and less klutzy sounding than tripping on a schoolbag. Joel enhances my story, even claiming to be right there when it happened.

  “You should have seen her,” he says. “She went off a jump, did a twist in the air, looked set for a perfect landing and then wham!” He slams his palm on the table and gives a vivid description of my wipeout, and even I am impressed by what a spectacular one it was. No one seems to remember that I’m not the athletic type and that snowboarding would be right out of the question. There is just complete admiration that I could take such a spill and live to tell the tale. With each retelling, we embellish the story a little.

  “It was a double black run,” Joel says.

  “And as I was rolling over and over, heading toward the cliff face,” I add, “all I could think about was my bead and how it might rip off and get lost in the snow.”

  The party gets louder as more drinks are consumed. I don’t see any beads being captured, but then people are not leaving themselves exposed. Those who have already lost their beads are the only ones free to move from room to room alone. Linked couples flow in and out of the kitchen, and each pair stops by the table to inquire about my elevated foot. By the eighth rendition, I find myself marveling at how easily Joel and I are able to play off one another. We’re a great team. I’m so absorbed in our little fantasy that I’m unaware of the arrival of some new partiers who are now standing behind us, listening. Someone decides to change the CD, and as the party noise diminishes momentarily, a familiar voice cuts through the room.

  “A snowboarding accident?”

  Everyone turns to see who is speaking.

  Paige is linked with Tanysha but still manages to strike an authoritative pose. “And here I thought you simply tripped over your schoolbag.”

  Six

  That’s all it takes, one snarky comment from Paige and the laid-back, cheerful party atmosphere completely changes. It’s like she’s the mood dictator. If she’s in the mood to party, we can have fun. If she’s ticked off, so is everyone else. The room gets completely still, and I can feel the tension build as people look from her to me. I’m tempted to turn to her and say, “See? There you go again, stealing all the attention!” but somehow I resist.

  Joel and I make eye contact, and I wonder if we can telepathically plan our next move. I see the spark in his eyes, and then his palm slaps the table again. He throws his head back and laughs, hard. “I can’t believe we had so many of you guys going!” he says, looking around. Then he turns to Paige. “And you! You ruined our little game. And here I always thought you were a good sport.”

  I decide to follow suit. “I don’t even snowboard,” I tell the room. “Not ever, not even once.” I laugh too, hoping it doesn’t sound half as phony as it is. No one laughs with me, and the room gets quieter still. The atmosphere feels menacing. What’s with these guys? It was just a joke. I would have told the truth eventually. Maybe. And anyway, who really cares?

  Tyson is leaning against a kitchen counter, still linked with Jason. “Very funny, you two,” he says. “You had me fooled.”

  “Thanks,” Joel says, bowing his head.

  “What I’m wondering now,” Tyson says, “is how bad Katie’s ankle really is. Maybe we should make her get up, alone, and walk across the kitchen, just to prove it’s sprained.”

  He sounds like Captain Hook, ordering me to walk the plank.

  There’s a chorus of “yeahs!” around the room. I’m surprised. Being elected to grad council immediately elevates your social status, and there’s a level of protection that goes with that. People don’t mess with me.

  “Hey,” Joel says. He leans forward and tugs on the hem of my jeans, exposing more of my swollen ankle. “Just look at it. She could really mess it up if she did that.”

  “Maybe,” Tyson says. “And she might lose her bead, too, wh
ich would be fair punishment for sucking us all in, don’t you think?” he asks, looking around the room for support.

  There’s raucous applause, whistles and more “yeahs!”

  Someone turns off the music. All eyes are fixed on the little kangaroo court playing itself out in the kitchen.

  “C’mon, Tyson,” Joel argues. “It was just a joke.”

  That prompts Tyson to turn his attention to Joel. “And for being Katie’s sidekick,” he suggests, “I think Joel has to remain unlinked and alone during Katie’s trek around the kitchen.”

  The cheers and wolf whistles escalate. I’m reminded of a lynching. How did the party atmosphere turn this mean-spirited so quickly? I know Paige’s presence has a strong influence, but something else has taken over here. My classmates have become vulture-like, circling their prey. I force myself to appear relaxed because I know instinctively that, just like animals, if they smell my fear, they’ll grow even more malicious. It’s not so much losing my bead that I’m worried about, but the pack mentality that has possessed them.

  Joel must sense it too. Gotcha has a reputation for turning vicious. “Very funny, Tyson,” he says, rising from his chair and pulling me up with him. “But if you can’t take a joke, I feel sorry for you. We were just having a little fun that has nothing to do with Gotcha, so I don’t feel one bit obliged to follow through on your stupid punishment. It’s been a great party, but I think it’s time for us to move on, so if you’ll excuse us...”

  With Joel latched onto my arm, I turn toward the hallway that leads to the front entrance but come face to face with Paige and company, who are blocking the door. Despite Paige’s small stature, they’re standing firm. I hesitate, wondering if we should just push past them, and in that split second I feel the circle of grads growing tighter around us. Tyson and Jason lurch over, and Tyson begins tugging on the crutch that Joel’s not linked to. Joel reaches around me with his free hand and shoves Tyson, but with only one leg to stand on for balance, I quickly lose the tug-o-war. Tyson passes my crutch to someone standing behind him and then grabs the one that Joel and I are sharing. I struggle to keep my balance, knowing how painful it will be to put weight on my foot, but I finally give up my grip. Joel doesn’t. He continues to fight Tyson for the crutch, with me clinging to his arm. The room explodes with cheering.

  “Just give it to him!” I yell into Joel’s ear.

  He either doesn’t hear or chooses to ignore me. I throw my arms around his waist, fighting to remain upright. People behind Tyson pull on him, creating an advantage, and now Joel falls forward, taking me with him. He lets go of the crutch and we crash to the floor. I scream as my ankle twists under me. The room erupts with applause and cheering. Joel and I untangle ourselves, and he quickly tucks his arm through mine while I hunch over, cradling my throbbing foot in both hands. It’s only fear that’s keeping me from sobbing in agony. I look up at a sea of monster faces laughing down at me, like in a nightmare. Tyson’s swinging the crutch over his head and dragging Jason around the kitchen in a dance of victory. Then I feel hands all over me, trying to pry me away from Joel. We cling to each other, anger fueling my strength, but I can feel myself losing my grip. I look at Joel and see panic on his face. His hands clutch at my arms, but there are too many people pulling on him, pulling on me...

  And then a familiar voice booms out over the ruckus. “What the hell is going on in here?”

  There’s a hush and Joel and I are released. We all turn to stare at the imposing figure who has replaced Paige and gang in the doorway. It’s Warren, class president, and he’s linked with Jenna.

  “Well?” he asks in a voice that commands an answer.

  But no one says a word. It’s like Warren’s voice has dropped us back into the real world, where people are civilized. Paige may be the mood czar, but Warren’s voice works like a slap of cold water, startling us out of this crazy hallucination. I look around at the faces of my classmates. Expressions that were hostile and vicious just one minute ago have become sheepish, and no one makes eye contact with anyone else. The rush of adrenaline that precipitated the mobbing is retreating as quickly as it arrived, and I sense no one really understands what just happened.

  Joel climbs to his feet and bends over to help me up. The pain shooting from my ankle is intense, and I’m afraid I’ll keel over if I get up too quickly.

  “Katie, you okay?” Warren asks, spotting me on the floor.

  I can only shake my head, and I stay where I am. Joel sinks back down beside me, linking my arm protectively. Someone passes my crutches to him, and the volume on the stereo is turned back up. I can hear the psst from beer cans as they are cracked open, and the party slowly resumes. Everyone moves away from where I’m still sprawled out, as dignified as a squashed spider.

  Warren comes over and squats in front of me, pulling Jenna down with him. “What happened, Katie?” he asks, looking concerned. His buttery smooth voice almost makes me forget my pain. Almost.

  “Just an attempted assassination,” I tell him.

  “Huh?”

  I shake my head. “I pissed Tyson off, and he was trying to get even.” I look around and the party is back on track, as if nothing had happened. “I can’t believe these people.”

  “Was it about your bead?”

  “Sort of.”

  “You still have it?”

  “Yeah.”

  He gently runs a finger across my ankle, which I’ve stretched out in front of me. “Whew!” he exclaims and whistles softly. “Did this just happen now?”

  Oh man. Just as Warren begins to get to me with his intoxicating voice, charm and knight-in-shining-armor-to-the-rescue style, I remember why I’ve never been attracted to him. He’s not very bright. It’s too bad.

  “No, Warren,” I explain, as patiently as I can given the pain I’m in. “It takes a while for an ankle to get that swollen and bruised.”

  He nods.

  “I came on those crutches.”

  “Oh yeah. Right.”

  “Thanks for coming along when you did,” I add, feeling a twinge of guilt for what I know is soon to be a traitorous act.

  “You’re welcome.” He grins like a little boy, pleased with himself. Now I feel even worse about what I know I have to do, sooner or later.

  As he stands back up, I wonder if he has a better understanding of how he stopped the mini-riot than those who were part of it understand how it happened. Does he purposely command respect or does it just happen when he opens his mouth? Either way, I’m glad he did.

  Joel and I slowly climb back up, and with my crutches firmly under my arms, we slink out of the house and back to his car.

  “Katie,” he says, turning to me before starting the engine. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Hey, not your fault.” And it wasn’t. But I’m feeling so mortified and abused and foolish that I can’t look at him. I just want to be home, in my bed, with my head buried under my pillow. I clench my teeth, willing the flood of tears I know is coming to hold off a little longer.

  “I brought you to the party and I helped create the story. I feel responsible.”

  I rub my face with my hands and press my fingers into my eyes, a dam to the tears. My ankle’s throbbing. My head’s aching. I take a deep breath. “Joel, it’s the game. You said yourself that people get crazy playing Gotcha. I’m dropping out.”

  Joel starts the car and pulls away from the curb. “Do you think they’ll let you?”

  “How can they stop me?”

  “I don’t know. But who would get your bead and the name of your victim?”

  “Whoever I give them to. You.”

  “Somehow I don’t think we’d get away with that, especially after the episode tonight.”

  I can only shrug. Right now I don’t care. I need painkillers so badly, and I want to get my foot elevated. How could an evening that started off so special turn sour this fast? I don’t even want to think about Gotcha anymore.

  Joel helps me unlock the door
to my house. “You’re going to be okay?” he asks, handing me my key.

  I nod, but I still can’t look at him. It’s getting harder to hold back the tears, but I don’t want Joel to know how I’m feeling. It will just make him feel worse.

  He hesitates, blocking the doorway, and I get the feeling he wants to say something else. But there’s nothing else to say. The awkwardness is too much.

  “Joel, I need to go in. My foot is killing me.”

  He jumps out of the way. “Sorry, Katie,” he says, sounding almost defensive. He moves out of the way and holds the door for me.

  “Bye, Joel,” I say and pull the door shut behind me. I slump against the wall and unleash the tears.

  Mom has gone to bed but she’s left some lights on and a plate of cookies on the counter. She must have figured I’d invite Joel in. When the sobbing finally lets up, I drag myself off the floor and swallow a couple of Tylenol. I’m exhausted, totally spent, my eyes are burning, my ankle’s throbbing, but I know I won’t sleep until the painkillers kick in. I decide to check my e-mail while I’m waiting.

  From: dannyo56@hotmail.com

  To: kittiekat17@hotmail.com

  Subject: sprained ankle

  Hey Katie,

  How is your ankle doing? It breaks my heart to hear you sounding so down.

  Listen, honey, I know you’re feeling the pinch, money-wise, but do you have any cash at all? The reason I’m asking is I’ve just been given a hot tip on an investment that promises to triple your money almost overnight. I have very little to invest myself, but I’m sharing this tip with everyone I know. Depending on what you have, it just might be your ticket to the finest of grad dresses, maybe even college tuition.

  Anyway, I hope you’re feeling better, and let me know about this opportunity. Keep that pretty chin up!

  Love Dad

  PS. Your father has not left you, your mother is not a cow, and you have a great future ahead of you.