The Revenge Playbook

by Rachael Allen

  8. Go to LP Field and reenact the “Music City Miracle.” (Everyone)

  9. Go to Centennial Park and jump into the pond behind the Parthenon. (Everyone)

  10. Go to The Jackrabbit Saloon. Walk to the very middle of the dance floor and attempt to do the worm. (One person)

  11. Go up to a girl who is totally out of your league, get down on your knees, and ask her to marry you. (One person)

  12. Go up to a fat girl and tell her “You’re so beautiful . . . for a fat chick.” Bonus points if she throws her drink on you. (One person)

  13. Hug a biker. Bonus points if he has a mullet. (One person)

  14. Get a girl to give you her thong. (One person)

  DARES REMAINING: 8

  10:35 P.M.

  LIV

  The night is perfect and full of possibilities. We walk past house after house of catcalling college boys, and I bask in the attention. I am so full of energy I can feel my blonde Disney princess curls bouncing with each step.

  “There it is. Delta Tau Beta.” I lead the girls up the walkway to a three-story brick structure ornamented with columns and filled with boys.

  Two burly security guards preside over a table in front of the house.

  “Ladies, can we have you sign in?” the burlier one says to the girls in front of us.

  “What for?” I hear one of them ask.

  “This is an official party, so we have to keep tabs on everyone who enters and give wristbands to those who are twenty-one and over.”

  The girl seems annoyed, but she and her friends bend over the list and write their names anyway. I peek over their shoulders. Trevor’s name is there. So are Weston’s and Rey’s. They signed their real names? Amateurs.

  I sign my name next: Ashley Benson. After I finish, I look over my shoulder at Peyton and wink. She’s blushing like crazy when she catches up with me on the stairs.

  “Your face is bright red,” I whisper. “Did you sign a fake name too?”

  She nods sheepishly, and I let out a belly laugh. “This is going to be the best night ever.”

  Melanie Jane and Ana are right behind us. “What are we going to do if the guys are here?” asks Ana.

  I shake my head. “They’re not. I texted Trevor on the way over to ask if I’d see him at The Jackrabbit soon, and he said they were just leaving a Vanderbilt party.”

  Melanie Jane bumps me with her hip. “Nice work, ninja.”

  A blond guy lounging on the front porch leaps up from his rocking chair when he spots us. “Girls!” he yells.

  “Boy!” I yell back.

  He picks me up over his shoulder and spins me around.

  “Do you know him?” asks Melanie Jane when he sets me down.

  I shrug. “No.”

  “I’m Jack,” he says.

  “I’m Olivia.” Using my full name is enough of a cover. No one ever calls me that.

  “You girls wanna come up to my room and have a drink with us?” Jack asks, gesturing to himself and a couple of pledges.

  “Sure. I’m actually looking for someone, though. A guy named TJ?”

  Jack rolls his eyes. “Every girl is looking for TJ.” He sighs. “Come on. He’s my roommate.”

  Peyton and I follow Jack and the pledges upstairs. A thin coating of grime covers each step, and I have to hop over a large, sleeping Labrador named Bob Marley while navigating the landing.

  Jack stops in front of a room with a ripped futon, two wooden lofts overhead, and a blond guy pulling a beer from the fridge. “Here he is. The football star.”

  TJ, aka the Football Star, throws beers around the room while we introduce ourselves. He sure has skinny arms for a quarterback. I pop my beer open and “cheers” him (I’m the one doing this dare), all the while scrutinizing his legs. Luckily, he’s wearing shorts today. I spot the gnarliest scar on the back of his calf. It almost looks like a kraken or something. One of the boys starts talking to me, but I get distracted by the beautiful Hamer Sunburst tucked behind the futon. I picked up my first guitar when I was eleven, and since then, I’ve been obsessed.

  “Jack, is that guitar yours?” I ask.

  “It’s TJ’s, but mine’s in the closet.”

  “We were having a jam session before you girls came over,” says TJ.

  TJ is now the most interesting person in the room as far as I’m concerned. QB1 status aside, I am picking up a rock-star vibe, and it is hot. Without thinking, I grab TJ’s arm.

  “TJ, will you play a song for me?”

  “Sure,” he replies. “What do you want to hear?”

  “I’m feeling old school today. How about ‘Over the Hills and Far Away’?”

  TJ starts playing, and he is good. Even better than me. I find this immensely attractive. We talk between songs and find out we like all the same music.

  “Can I play one?” I ask after a few songs.

  “You play too?” His eyes spark with interest.

  I nod, and he passes me the guitar. I strum the strings lightly a couple of times like I don’t really know what I’m doing. Then, I play Aerosmith’s “Walk This Way.” His eyes goggle when I get to the first solo. I grin. Surprising boys with my guitar-playing skills never gets old. I hand his guitar back to him.

  “You’re awesome. Let’s play together sometime.”

  My eyes light up. “Oh my gosh, we should totally start a band.”

  “What should we call it?”

  “I don’t know, but we need a fantastic name. And a drummer and singer.”

  TJ nods seriously. “And someone to play the tambourine.”

  Just then, my phone vibrates in the back pocket of my skirt.

  “Ah! My butt is vibrating!”

  TJ laughs, and I whip out my phone.

  “My other friends just texted me. They’re leaving.” I let out an exasperated sigh. The text is actually from Peyton who is still in the room. She needs his legs to turn to the side so she can get a good picture of the scar. I give her a nod. The sigh was real though. We are going to have to leave soon, and I am really starting to enjoy this TJ character.

  “I’d better go.”

  “If you have to,” says TJ, pushing out his bottom lip.

  When he pouts, I can’t help but notice that his lips look irresistibly kissable. On impulse, I lean over and press my mouth to his, pinning him to the couch so his legs twist to the side. Then I grab Peyton and dart out of the room.

  “See you later, TJ,” I call over my shoulder.

  For the second time that night, TJ looks pleasantly stunned by the force of nature that is me.

  “Did you get the picture?” I ask Peyton. “Because I could totally go back and do that again.”

  She laughs. “I got it.”

  Melanie Jane and Ana pounce on us as soon as we enter the stairwell. There’s a small platform at the top of the stairs with the fraternity’s seal painted on the wall behind it. I guess they’ve been waiting here.

  “What are you guys doing?” I ask, just as Melanie Jane grabs my wrists.

  “Did anyone see y’all?”

  “Um, no.” I pry back her fingers. Ohmygosh, she’s so strong. “I told you, Trevor texted me. The guys already left.”

  She shakes her head. “Trevor left. But there’s a guy shotgunning beers in the room right across the hall, and I swear he’s on the football team.”

  Before I can tell her I’m pretty sure we’re safe, a yell travels up the stairwell.

  “Greg! Where’d you go, you drunk son of a bitch?”

  Melanie Jane’s eyes go wide. She mouths a name at us—Weston.

  Heavy footsteps echo on the stairs below. We back away from the railing as one, pressing as close as we can get to the wall with the seal.

  “Greg, the other car already left for LP Field! If I have to walk out at Homecoming naked because of your drunk ass, I will kill you.”

  The footsteps are getting closer. We won’t be able to make it through the door in time. He’ll see us. But if we wait here, h
e’ll definitely see us. I’m just considering whether knocking him unconscious and hiding him in a closet somewhere would be too extreme, when Ana hisses, “In here.”

  What the crap? The wall with the seal is actually a door, and my friends are all rushing through. Melanie Jane grabs me by the arm and pulls me along with her because I’m having trouble doing anything besides staring. Ana closes the door with seconds to spare. I can hear Weston on the platform now, still hollering an assortment of threats and insults. We wait in the dark until the door slams behind him. Then, light floods the room, and I see Ana standing by a switch.

  “What is this place?” Her nose wrinkles. It smells like grain alcohol and armpits in here.

  I take in the room—it’s the weirdest combination of a man cave and the place where we had model UN semifinals. Couches of questionable cleanliness are raised up at different levels so they form a lazy-man’s stadium surrounding the tables at the front. I watch Melanie Jane pick up a book and turn it over slowly. And then all the color drains from her face.

  “I know where we are.”

  She sounds so serious, I pull my hands away from the podium even though I desperately want to bang the gavel.

  “This is a chapter room. Both of my brothers are in fraternities at Tennessee. This room, it’s like where they have all their secret stuff. No one’s allowed in here except members. Definitely not girls. We need to get out of here before someone finds us.”

  We don’t have to discuss it. We are all in agreement. Even though there’s a chance that Weston or someone else might see us, we will open the door and race down the stairs. Because men can get a little crazy about their secrets. And there is nothing more dangerous than getting caught trying to uncover them.

  6

  Saturday, August 22

  PEYTON

  We giggle like kids with a secret as we dress all in black, and Liv paints dark stripes under our eyes. As we pile into Ana’s car, all of us talking over each other about how awesome tonight is going to be. Ana turns onto a dirt road, and Liv bounces in her seat, and we all crane our necks for that first glimpse of the barn.

  “There!” says Melanie Jane.

  She points out the window, and I lean across the backseat. Liv can’t see from up front, and it is just killing her, so she rolls down her window and sticks half her body out, so she can look over the top of the car.

  “The car is still in motion!” Ana attempts to tug her back inside by her belt loop, but Liv wriggles farther out the window, so Ana settles for stopping the car instead.

  “I guess we can get out here since some of us can’t wait.”

  I eye the barn again, high up on a hill over the fields, a good half-mile hike away. The place is dilapidated, at best. The wooden walls are a sun-faded gray—only a few boards show reminders of the original red paint. The tin roof is dark with rust. An army of kudzu crawls up the back of the barn, its tendrils curling over the roof, like it’s about to drag the barn into the forest. My eyes dart around the property, scanning for any signs of life, and I have a realization.

  “If we can see the barn, doesn’t that mean anyone who comes there later will be able to see the car?”

  “Shit, you’re right,” says Ana.

  She drives farther down the road, snailing along because Liv is still hanging out the window, and stops once we’re out of sight of the barn. The boys will be coming to the barn straight from Big Tom’s house, so it should be safe here.

  As we climb over the rough wooden fence and wade through clumps of scratchy grass, I feel anything but safe. First of all, I didn’t wear my hiking boots, and there could be snakes. And second of all, we are breaking and entering. Well, entering anyway. I don’t think any of us are planning to break anything. But, still, that’s got to be a felony or something. Although, if I’m really being honest with myself, getting caught by the police scares me much less than getting caught by the football team. My thoughts run to Charlotte Fisher, and I shiver even though I’m sweating.

  “It is hot as blazes out here, and this grass is scratching my legs, and I’m pretty sure one of my shoes is ruined.” Melanie Jane flails around dramatically behind us.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have worn designer shoes to a barn break-in,” Ana calls over her shoulder.

  I glance at Melanie Jane’s Marc Jacobs ballet flats that are as adorable as they are impractical.

  Melanie Jane glares at Ana, but before she can open her mouth, I say, “Here. Walk behind me. It’ll be easier on you if you follow my steps.”

  “Thanks,” she grumbles.

  I hate it when they get like that. I know I’m overly sensitive to tension or conflict or whatever, but I think even Big Tom would pick up on whatever it is that’s going on between them.

  We get to the top of the hill and tiptoe inside the barn. It’s empty. Of people, I mean. As soon as the other girls realize this, they run around the barn giggling and speculating. There are all kinds of things to be investigated: crates, candles, a two-handled metal vase, piles of black sheets. We are definitely in the right place.

  “So, I guess we should set up in the hayloft?” says Ana, and everyone comes to a halt.

  They tore around the barn like crazy people, but when it comes to climbing into that loft, they’re all so hesitant. I take in Melanie Jane’s ballet flats, and Liv curling her hair around her fingers protectively, and even Ana—even she wore lace shorts and a fedora. That’s when I realize—I’m the tomboy. I mean, I don’t wear trucker hats or punctuate my sentences by spitting or anything, but out of these girls, I have to be the first to climb the ladder into the dirty, scary hayloft. I have to be the brave one.

  “I’ll go,” I say.

  Liv takes a half step like she wants to stop me. “No, Peyton, you don’t have to.”

  “It’s fine.” I step onto the first rung of the ladder. “I don’t mind.”

  It makes me feel good, like I can do something useful, like I’m not just some pathetic girl tagging along behind these shining goddesses. Once I’ve climbed to the top, the other girls follow, but not without reservations.

  Melanie Jane seems hesitant to touch the rungs. “Ew! I am going to get ringworm!”

  “Do you think there are rodents in here?” asks Liv. “Because I’m terrified of rodents.”

  It takes a while for them to get comfortable (and by comfortable, I mean non-terrified) and for Ana to set up her video camera so it’ll record even in next-to-no lighting. She wants every second of the football-stealing recorded for posterity. There’s a blanket behind some hay bales, and it’s nice enough to sit on as long as you don’t stop to think about why Big Tom would have a blanket in his hayloft.

  We get to talking and kind of forget why we’re here. I wonder if my parents suspected anything when I said I was going to a sleepover. I thought about telling someone—not them, but someone—what we’re up to in case we get caught and are never heard from again, but it didn’t seem right. None of the other girls told anyone, and I keep my promises.

  “Mel-Jay, aren’t you supposed to be watching the window?” asks Liv.

  “Oh, right.” She skips over to the window and peeks out. “Someone’s coming.”

  Ana crosses her arms. “Ha-ha.”

  “No, really. I see flashlights.”

  Liv stands on her toes so she can see over Melanie Jane. “Someone is coming. A lot of someones.”

  We rush to our positions on the blanket behind the hay bales, and just in time, because the barn door creaks open with a noise straight out of a horror movie. Liv squeezes my hand in excitement. We can’t see anything without getting up on our knees, so for now we just listen. It’s not enough for Ana, though. She tries to push herself up into a crouch so she can see what’s going on, but she can’t keep her balance. At the last second, she saves herself from falling out from behind the hay bale (aka certain death), but she can’t hold it in. She squeaks. Loudly. Melanie Jane claps her hand over Ana’s mouth, and we all duck. Please don’t
let them notice. Please don’t.

  “Hey, did you hear something?”

  Crap.

  “Yeah, I think it was coming from the loft.”

  Flashlights cut back and forth over our heads. I close my eyes tight like that’ll help hide me.

  “Should we go check it out?”

  No. No, you shouldn’t. You should go back to setting up for your stupid thirteen-year-old sleepover séance.

  “Naw, it’s all right,” says Big Tom, and I’m finally able to breathe again. “There’s a pack of rats living up there. That’s probably all it was.”

  My eyes snap open in time to see Liv mouth, “Rats!” with a panicked look. I grab her hand and force her to lock eyes with me. It’s going to be okay. Calm down. I’ve got you. I try to beam these thoughts directly into her brain, but I don’t think our mind meld is working because her breathing keeps getting faster and louder. If I can’t think of some way to calm her down soon, they’re going to hear her, and who knows what they’ll do to us.

  Whenever my mom’s stressed out (which is often), I give her a hand massage, so I try it now with Liv because I don’t have any better ideas. All I do is take her hand between my thumb and fingers and massage out the tension, working my way around so I get her fingers and knuckles and especially that loose skin beside her thumb. By the time I switch to her other hand, her breathing has reached subaudible levels. She smiles sheepishly and mouths, “Thanks.”

  Saturday, August 22

  ANA

  That was close. Waaay too close. I stay put for a while even though I desperately need to record what’s happening. Dozens of feet shuffle against the barn floor below, but other than that, the boys are silent. At first. Someone must be setting things up, and the tribe is getting restless because I hear rustling and a few clanks and then a thunk followed by the f-bomb and several “shhhhs.” Ha. When it comes to their man ceremonies, these guys can shush like old ladies.

  As quietly as we can, we slip onto our knees and peer over the hay bales. This time I don’t fall over. The barn looks pretty much the same, except now all the candles are lit, and there are a bunch of dudes standing around in black robes. I make sure to get it all on camera.