Crimson Catch (Game Time #1)

by S. M. Donaldson

  She smiles and nods, “That’s perfect.”

  I walk into the 80s-style bathroom and turn on the mustard yellow sink with a very rusty water stain down the middle of the bowl. I brush my teeth, run a brush through my hair, and swiftly pull it into a waterfall braid that Mom and I saw on YouTube by a lucky girl who had an iPhone of her own.

  I look in the mirror, and staring back at me is an average looking girl with slightly wavy, deep brown hair and green eyes that my mom promises me are the most beautiful eyes she has ever seen. I don’t argue with that compliment, seeing as they are the same as hers. Beautiful, I’m not sure of. Above average … possibly.

  Regardless of how I feel about myself, I am reminded of the great words of Effie Trinket, “Chins up, smiles on!”

  As I head for the stairs, I peek into my parents’ room to see my dad is still asleep. No shocker there. He had sock throat last night. That’s what happens when he has had a few too many “sleeping pills.” He sounds like someone stuffed a gym sock in his mouth, and he swallowed down the next shot too fast. That’s something they don’t talk about in health class—sock throat.

  Apparently, we don’t talk about it here, either. Mom only tells me, “He’s just going through a rough spell right now.” Said spell has lasted, oh, about three years, since the layoff that “ruined” his life. The wizard that must have cast such a spell has to have been Voldemort.

  “Morning, Dad,” I whisper, though I know he won’t hear me.

  Sleep it off, man, sleep it off.

  I head downstairs and nearly trip over our old, fat, yellow cat. “Shove a cheek, Yolo,” I growl at him.

  Yolo, yes, Yolo.

  I got a cat for my birthday two years ago, during the peak of my Hunger Games obsession, so I named him Buttercup. He got hit by car exactly one month after my birthday. Apparently, cats DO NOT have nine lives.

  Then this fatty showed up, so we fed him. Now he won’t leave, and he is not friendly.

  Quite honestly, I don’t like him.

  “He was meant to be yours, Hadley. Look at the signs. He showed up exactly one week after Buttercup disappeared.”

  “Disappeared, Mom? I saw him get hit. I watched as Dad scraped him off the street with a shovel. His blood stain stayed there as a reminder of my rotten luck.”

  “Honey, he was meant to be yours for a short time—”

  “A reminder that cats actually don’t have nine lives?”

  “Well, maybe that’s the lesson you were supposed to learn from the experience.”

  “Whatever, Mom,” I say as I walk down the stairs to head to school.

  The odds were certainly not in Buttercup’s favor

  ~~~

  My mother takes me to school, and by the grace of God, she doesn’t ask me a hundred times if I am all right. She only does it once in the half a mile it takes to get there. I let her know that it’s nothing new, but it is because this school is much smaller than I am used to. It will make it harder to blend in.

  We walk up the front walk together and pass several of my new peers through the loud, busy halls toward the main office. They all notice me, and only a couple smile. I suspect it’s because my mother smiles brightly at all of them.

  “Hadley Asher, first day of school,” Mom announces in a very chipper tone to the round receptionist with the tight bun.

  “Of course,” she says as she types something on her keyboard then pushes back in her chair and walks over to grab to the paper from the printer. “Locker number one four two. Take a right when you walk out the door. Your first class is global on the second floor, next to the library, room two one two.”

  When my mom smiles and acts as if she is going to hug me, she sees I am mortified and stops. Instead, I walk out of the office and look back as Mom heads left toward the main entry.

  “Mom,” I call out, and she stops, looking back and giving me a sad smile. “I’m gonna walk home.”

  “You sure?”

  I nod, wave, and smile, wanting her to know I’m fine. Why? She deserves it.

  I make my way to my locker, noticing the stares, the whispers, and a couple people smile. I give them a quick smile and then open my locker to put my Jansport backpack in it. I keep a binder, a pencil, and a pen, hoping it’s all I will need. Glancing at my schedule, I see that after global I have chemistry, algebra 2/trig, English, home economics, lunch, physical education, study hall, Spanish, and then homeroom.

  The school is like a hotel compared to my last one. It is clean, and the locker-room doesn’t even smell like dirty feet. In each class, I am introduced by the teacher. I force a smile, then look back down and pretend to take notes. I collect my books, the syllabus, and make sure to jot down any questions I may have.

  When the class is excused, I take the time to ask the teacher a question. This almost always makes me late for the next class, which is perfect. I am given a hall pass and skate in as class begins, avoiding awkward moments where I may have to actually interact.

  Every class, I end up sitting in the front. This is preferred. I catch no dirty looks if I have to sit by someone who doesn’t want me there; the teacher doesn’t label me as a bad kid because I am not in the back, trying to mess around; and my peers don’t think I am a butt kisser sitting in front, because they know it isn’t a choice.

  The students are all dressed to impress. They are all Abercrombie, and I am definitely not Fitch. The girls, every single one of them, have their hair done in a way that lets you know they spend more than half an hour styling it and doing their make-up. The boys … well, they may have spent more time doing theirs than I did, too.

  Blue Valley is picture perfect, and I am certainly drawing unwanted attention, even with a bowed head and making sure there is no eye contact.

  At lunch, I hide out in the bathroom. It isn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last. I prefer it over walking around the lunchroom, trying to find a place to sit and eat when I know I won’t be eating anyways. Why? I am a nervous wreck.

  Historically, it will pass in about two weeks. I will no longer be the un-shiny new girl and will have perfected the blending in. This school is different, so blending will be harder, but I will figure it out. I will also have figured out who to avoid and who is going to cause the least amount of drama.

  When the last bell rings, I stand nearly inside my locker and wait until the hall is almost bare before I leave. I am avoiding the crowed, blending. I am doing all the things I need to do to get through day one at a new school. When I round the corner on my way home from school, Mom is outside, bent over and looking in the bushes, singing, “Yolo, come here, kitty-kitty. Hadley is almost home. You’ll be best friends.”

  Dear God, woman, I think.

  I turn, ready to make a run for it, when I see the blonde–haired, short and slender neighbor girl laughing at me, and my cheeks flush red with embarrassment. She gestures for me to come over to her yard.

  “Yolo, Hadley already loves you! You just have to return the love!”

  The girl again waves for me to come over, and I make a run for it.

  As soon as I reach her yard, she speaks, “I’m so sorry.” She laughs.

  “I’m sorry you had to see that. I’m Hadley.” I smile.

  “Oh, I’m Lana,” she says, oblivious to the fact that I was most obviously trying to change the subject, but then she seems to catch on. “I saw you! You’re in, like, three of my classes! The new girl!” She is obviously happy with her observation.

  “Yeah, I think so. Anyway, I’ve got to go home. See you around!” I smile.

  ~~~

  Throughout dinner, the cards and boxes taunt me. It seems to be an eternity before Mom laughs and brings out a small blue cake with the words “Happy Birthday, Hadley” written in neat, white lettering.

  She places fifteen candles on the cake and lights them. Then, for “Happy Birthday,” Mom sings cheerfully while Dad grumbles along. I blow out the candles mindlessly, and then we each eat a piece of cake, Dad f
inishing last. After taking his sweet time and a few swigs of whatever’s in his glass, he stacks his plate on top of ours as Mom carries a card and four boxes over to me.

  I open the card first out of respect, and it’s this sappy drugstore thing that says nothing but how ‘amazing’ I am. I thank them both then pick up the smallest box. When I take off the wrapping paper, my jaw drops because it’s an iPhone 4. I run over and hug both parents then open the phone box, looking at the shiny black screen and the silver body just like Mom’s.

  The next biggest box has two phone cases. Both are ones Mom has seen me look at when we went shopping a week ago at a mall kiosk. There is also a pair of ear buds in it. The next box has a blue Lifeproof phone case in it. The biggest box is full of smaller and smaller boxes, and in the smallest box is a fifty-dollar iTunes gift card.

  I hug them both again after I open them all. Then I carefully put everything in the largest box and carry it to my room.

  Once I reach my room, I put the Lifeproof case on my new phone and plug it into the outlet next to my nightstand. I set the phone on the stand so it can charge before I mess with it.

  Finally, the screen turns a lighter shade of black, and the Apple symbol materializes, making me grin. After two hours, I have two books and twenty-five of my favorite songs loaded onto the phone as well as a few free games to play. Soon enough, I set it down and fall asleep.

  ~~~

  The next morning, Lana is waiting for me on the sidewalk. “Do you want to walk together?”

  “I have my bike,” I say as I see a boy backing out of her driveway.

  “Need a ride, Lana?” he yells out the window.

  “No thanks, Pax. I’m gonna ride my bike.”

  “You’re doing what?” He laughs at her.

  “Go, shoo, I’m capable.”

  He shakes his head as she runs to the garage and grabs her bike.

  “See you later, new girl,” he says with a wave as he drives away.

  I watch as the black Honda Accord backs out of the driveway. The driver is wearing a gray hoodie, black winter vest, and has aviator sunglasses covering his eyes. I assume he is Lana’s brother, and Lana must have told him about me.

  New girl? I wonder if she remembers my name.

  “It’s been a while.” Lana gestures at her bike in explanation. “Hopefully, I remember. I have ridden with him ever since he got his license.”

  “From what I understand, it comes back to you fast. You know, ‘just like riding a bike.’ ”

  She laughs and looks at the ground. “What the heck are we doing? It’s winter. Do you really ride your bike to school in this crap?”

  “There’s no snow on the ground.”

  “Okay, but seriously, we’re going to look like a couple idiots. I can’t do that, and if we’re going to be friends, I seriously can’t allow you to, either.”

  With that settled, we end up walking to school together, talking the entire way, or rather, she talks, and I listen. She makes me feel at ease, which is quite a feat in itself.

  We walk down a sidewalk crowded with other students. Today I am dressed in a way to make blending an option. I am wearing a pair of less tattered jeans and a sweater Mom got off the sale rack last season at The Gap.

  I blend in during global, but as soon as I walk into chemistry, Lana yells out my name and pats the seat next to me.

  “Sit here, Hadley.”

  So I do. I sit there and watch as some of the judgey faces from yesterday seem to become less harsh.

  When class is over, we walk out, and she shows me where the next class is. I already know—I was here yesterday—but I don’t remind her of that. I just thank her because, well, she’s been very nice.

  Before lunch, she finds me right as I am about to make my escape toward the bathroom.

  “Come on, Hadley. You’ll sit with us from now on.”

  I feel good about this. She seems completely genuine, and I am nervously excited about the idea of having such fast friends here.

  We sit with her friends, Bee and Skylar.

  “Wait, before you sit, tell me, are you Everlark or Everthorne?” The girl who has dark hair and eyes—I think she is Latina—and is short and stocky … Bee. Her name is Bee.

  “You better give the correct answer, or Bee here will flip,” Skylar, the tall, mixed race, very thin and gorgeous girl says.

  “If I have to sit on the floor and eat, it’ll be okay. It is and always will be Everlark,” I answer.

  To our benefit, we all say we are team Everlark and that Gale and Katniss don’t even make sense together. Beatrice even has an interesting theory on the fictional character-napping of our beloved Peeta. This is the way the conversation continues to go the entire time. It’s all about The Hunger Games. I am more at ease now than ever.

  I think I’m going to like it here.

  I find out Bee and Skylar have gone to Blue Valley together since kindergarten, while Lana moved here only a couple years ago.

  After school, they convince me to go with them to winter intermural. Apparently, the PE teacher is a field hockey enthusiast and wants to have the best team in Central New York this coming fall. A couple other schools in the area are doing the same thing, so we will have actual games. This makes me happy. Now add to it that my new, very fast friends want to play, as well, and okay, I know I’m gonna like it here.

  When I send a text to my mother and tell her I’m staying after, she replies with way too many colons and capital Ds, which makes me laugh to myself.

  “Nerd girl alert,” I hear a tall, very long-legged, very pretty blonde laugh to her group of friends as we walk into the locker room to change.

  I immediately think of Glimmer and how her outward beauty only masks her inward ugly.

  “Kiss it, Claire,” Lana says, giving her three fingers.

  I look at her like she’s crazy.

  “Hunger Games,” Bee explains. “Lana uses it to flip people off without getting in trouble.”

  “Nice.” I laugh.

  “Right? Then the parental units don’t catch on,” Lana explains further.

  “Gotcha,” I say as I watch the girl Claire whispering to her friends.

  “P.I.R.,” Skylar says.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Parents in room,” Bee chimes in. “Text terms. How do you not know that one? You have an iPhone.”

  “I just got it yesterday for my birthday.”

  “Birthday? No way! How did we miss that?” Skylar asks.

  Wow, just wow, I think to myself.

  “Um, hello, Sky, she just moved here.” Lana laughs.

  “Duh, of course.” Skylar laughs it off.

  “What’s her problem?” I nod to the group of girls.

  “Oh, her? Pax broke up with her last year. She is one nasty, little thing. She hates me and tried starting a rumor that I had a crush on him. Can you imagine?” Lana laughs as she ties her cleats.

  “Your brother?” I gape.

  “Stepbrother,” Bee corrects.

  “Same difference. God, can you imagine crushing on a boy you’ve been raised with? Gross!” Lana gives a disgusted look.

  “No way in heck,” I agree, as I pull my warm up pants on.

  “Do you have I-G?” Bee asks, playing with my phone. “Guess not yet.”

  “Are you into role-playing?” Bee asks, downloading the app.

  “No, why?”

  “You’re about to enter into the coolest game in the world. It’s fierce.” She looks up, then talks me through the set up before handing me my phone. “Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy.”

  “I’m not into games.”

  “Okay, let me explain. Role-play, or RP as, like, everyone on the face of the fandom world calls it, is like writing a story with your friends. I’ve met a lot of cool people there. There are academies, schools, camps, arenas, districts, factions—practically every fandom has an RP. It’s pretty cool,” Bee explains.

  “You’re into books, though, right?” Lana
asks.

  “Of course.”

  “You’ll love it. Trust us.” Bee smiles at me. “Enter your username, but choose wisely.”

  “What are yours?” I ask.

  “Mine is beesbookbuzz.” Bee smiles.

  “I’m sky-dot-da-dot-limitless.” Sky smirks.

  “I’m fanchicks123,” Lana says.

  “Okay how about thefiercefangirl? Or is that really lame?”

  “Perfect.” Bee nods. “Love it.”

  ~~~

  Apparently, I am pretty good at field hockey because, even though I’m only a sophomore, I am placed as a starting forward, opposite Claire. I don’t like that I am not playing on the same team as my friends, but we travel and practice together, so I see them just as much. Evidently, field hockey is a dying sport around here because every other indoor team is over an hour away.

  Claire and I may not talk, like ever, but by the end of the short eight week season, which I only play four weeks of, we have found a groove. Coach Douglas likes the way we work together and mentions that we could be state champions in the fall if we work a little harder together. He wants us to become friends.

  “Fat chance,” she mumbles under her breath as she brushes past me, walking out of his office.

  Peace, sister, I think to myself as I walk out behind her.

  I am thankful that I only have the end of the season party that I will have to see her again at. Then, I will be able to hang out more with Lana, Bee, and Skylar, and I will have a chance to read again.

  Thank God!

  ~~~

  Within a week, I am borderline obsessed with fan fiction and role-playing, thanks to my friends. Now it’s a month later, and Lana, Bee, and I easily spend an hour, maybe more, invested in this crazy, new world every day. Sky is a little less obsessed, but she plays along for the same reason I spend some Saturday mornings at the park with a sketch pad in one hand and a piece of chalk in the other. They love to sketch in the park and have asked me to go, and that’s what friends do.

  Through DM, or direct messages, each person creates a character. Then, message after message, a story unfolds.

  thefiercefangirl: Okay guys, The Hunger Games Role play, or THG RP. My character is Quinn Greenwood. You know, my usual.