The Revenge Playbook

by Rachael Allen

  “Are we ready for them?” The voice comes from the biggest robe—it has to be Big Tom.

  Another robe nods, and Big Tom leaves the barn. He is clearly not pleased with what he finds outside.

  “What the fuck is this?” I hear him yell like he’s right beside me. “Did I or did I not tell you to do push-ups until I came back for you?”

  Someone must have answered, but I can’t make it out.

  “Well, then why the fuck would you stop?”

  There is a great deal of shouting and assigning of calisthenics before Big Tom feels satisfied that the “pack of vaginas” outside deserve to be allowed to follow him into the barn. He appears in the doorway, accompanied by a bunch of guys in boxers who look like they want to pee themselves. They’re covered in . . . something. I think the first round of aerobics might have taken place in a field with a lot of cow pies. I also think I can smell them. Ewww.

  Melanie Jane silently gags beside me, her hand cupped over her mouth. I roll my eyes because even in a barn, in the dark, mid–dry heave, she has taken care to position The Finger so it doesn’t show. But that’s the running philosophy at our high school. Hide anything about yourself that isn’t pretty and perfect because if the rest of them find out, they’ll shun you. I can’t believe I was ever dumb enough to think our friendship might be worth her going against them.

  I turn back to the barn floor where the herd of guys stands, awaiting the inevitable. A couple of them seem to be shaking, whether from fear or exhaustion, I couldn’t say. After what seems like an eternity, someone finally speaks.

  “Gentlemen,” booms the voice. I know it’s Chad by the way my fingernails involuntarily dig into my palms. “We are gathered here tonight to honor an ancient tradition.”

  Well, I don’t exactly know that the ’70s qualifies as ancient.

  “Only the best men have worn the Panthers uniform and played for glory on our field. Only the most determined, the strongest, the fastest, can claim a spot on our team. We are men of honor. Our values and ideals are second to none.”

  Men of honor, my ass. Men of honor wouldn’t have beat up Grayson. And they don’t drug girls at parties. Watching all of those new guys stare up at Chad like he’s God’s gift to mankind and he’s spewing pure gold instead of bullshit—I can’t take it. I’m going to explode.

  “Tonight, you will become part of an elite brotherhood. If you’re scared, if you’re not willing to give everything to this team, you can leave. Now.”

  He waits all dramatic-like, but nobody moves. Too bad. That would have been fun.

  “Joining this brotherhood is a commitment. It should not be taken lightly. You’re going to have to put a lot of work into proving yourself. That’s why we have this ceremony. So you understand what it means to be a part of this team and join it with the proper amount of respect. And serious . . . ness.”

  I can’t help it. I snort. Not loudly or anything. Nobody hears me. But they’re so ridiculous and pompous, and for what? High school football? It is really very sad. The football players at this school think they’re gods or something. Probably because everyone in this town treats them like gods. There’s got to be some way to break the horrible cycle. To shake everyone up and make them see reality.

  Liv flicks my arm and points down at the boys. I frown. I don’t know what’s so serious that— Oh. The football. Chad holds it high overhead like that old baboon did with baby Simba in The Lion King, and with much the same results.

  It’s right there, taunting me. Just a few yards away. Now all we have to do is figure out how to get it.

  Saturday, August 22

  LIV

  If I were to jump out of the loft and tackle Chad, I could probably grab it. Not that I’m thinking about doing that. Okay, maybe I am, but even I have a little self-control.

  Chad clears his throat. “All right, men. Weston Albright, you’re first.”

  If Weston hadn’t just dumped Melanie Jane, I might feel bad for the guy. I note how his head ducks as all the hooded figures turn to watch him walk to the front of the barn in his underwear. How his chest rises and falls so rapidly as he stands in front of Chad. I think I even see his Adam’s apple bob up and down like a cartoon character’s.

  “Weston Albright.” Chad’s voice booms louder than before. “Place your right hand on the game ball of ’76.” Weston does it. “Do you swear to uphold the values of the Ranburne High School football team, to put the needs of the brotherhood before those of yourself, to trust and respect your family and obey their guidance, to put everything you have into being a better player and to winning State this year?”

  Weston hesitates, clearly unsure of what to do next. “I do,” he finally says in a squeaky voice.

  Chad snorts. “We’re not getting married.” The guys snicker in their hoods. “Say, ‘I swear.’”

  “I swear,” says Weston, his face turning red.

  I glance to my left and notice that Melanie Jane is smiling at his misfortune.

  Chad says, “Welcome, brother,” and does the manly handshake-pat-on-the-back hug. “You’re part of this team. You may now drink the sacramental wine and claim your spot.”

  Big Tom hands Weston a gigantic urn—the poor guy can barely lift it, and it sloshes down his chest when he takes a sip. Someone else places a black robe over his shoulders. You can see the pride shining on his face, which is pretty funny considering he’s half naked and covered in poop.

  Some other guys go, and before I realize what’s happened, it’s Trevor’s turn. He steps up to Chad in his SpongeBob boxers. His straight back says he’s not afraid, but his finger scratching against his thigh says the bravery is just a show. Chad feeds him the same oath the other guys got. For just a moment, Trevor hesitates, and I get the idea that maybe he’ll turn the whole thing down. I lean forward, wishing so hard I forget to breathe, but then he says, “I swear,” just like everyone else, and I feel stupid for thinking anything different might happen.

  As they place the cloak upon his head, I whisper into the straw in front of me, “I hope it’s worth it.”

  Rey is next, but he doesn’t seem scared at all. I notice Peyton sits a little straighter to watch him, but that’s the only tell that he’s any different from the other guys in boxers. Then there’s a light scratching noise behind me, and all I can think is THERE ARE RATS UP HERE! Peyton’s voodoo calming powers may have worked before, but if I see an actual rat in this barn, I’m screaming, and nothing and no one will be able to stop me.

  We have to suffer through a billion more of these ridiculous ceremonies before they’re finally finished. The novelty of seeing what the football team gets up to in secret wore off a long time ago, and all four of us are yawning.

  Peyton nudges me. They seem to be wrapping up.

  “Welcome to the team, gentlemen,” says Chad. “Now, let’s go get drunk!”

  Hooting and hollering fills the barn. The newly minted members of the football-cult-of-everything-that-is-wrong-with-this-town file out first and the other guys follow. Including Chad. Who is taking the football with him. Crap.

  Crap. Crap. Crap.

  Well, what did I think was going to happen? That he’d leave it there on a platter with a note that said, “Just in case anyone wants to steal me, go ahead”?

  “I can’t believe we went through all this for nothing,” mutters Ana.

  “Right?” says Melanie Jane. “I spent all night in a stinky old barn—I ruined a shoe! And we’re still not any closer to getting that stupid football.”

  Peyton blows listlessly at her bangs. “They probably never let it out of their sight. I don’t see how we’re ever going to pull this off.”

  And even though they’re saying all the things I’m thinking, I don’t want anyone else feeling like the night was a total loss.

  “You guys, don’t talk like that. We’ll find a way. There are keys to the football when it’s locked up—we can still try that. I know tonight was disappointing, but think of it.” I ju
mp to my feet. “We got to see something tonight that no girl has ever seen. We penetrated the football team’s inner sanctum.”

  Ana snorts. “You said penetrated.”

  I roll my eyes. “This is huge! We have them on tape. We know their secrets. And we didn’t get caught.” I’m buzzing with energy now. I can feel every nerve ending, each individual hair standing at attention. I’ve managed to hype myself up—that’s what pretending to be positive can do. “We are amazing. We are badasses. And now we’re going to do something we’ll never forget.”

  They look confused. “We are?”

  “Yes! Follow me!” I climb down the ladder and grab the lighter from the table. Light up the candles the boys left snuffed out all around the barn. I pick up the urn of “sacramental wine” and sniff. Smells like Boone’s Farm to me. I dump out what’s left, splash around some wine from the bottle to disinfect because, you know, football-player germs. Then I refill it and set it on the table.

  Melanie Jane is regarding me with extreme curiosity. Or dread. Sometimes it’s hard to say which with her. “What are you doing?”

  I grin. “We are going to say our own vows.”

  I have to do something to turn this night around, and I think this is my best chance.

  “Um, that sounds cool,” says Peyton.

  I throw one of the robes over my clothes and lean over a crate so the candles cast eerie shadows on my face.

  “Tonight we honor an ancient tradition,” I say in my best spooky voice. Peyton moves to stand beside me. Ana starts to hang back, but Melanie Jane prods her along.

  “You are about to become part of an elite sisterhood. We are brave. We are strong. We have honor . . . and some other lame shit.”

  Ana smirks and steps forward. I’ve got her now.

  I turn serious. “Tonight we did something no one else has ever done. We started something. And we’re going to finish it. We will steal that football. We will have our revenge. And we will change this town.”

  I pause. No one is smirking now. There is only hunger on their faces.

  “It won’t be easy. But it will be worth it. And the only way we can make it happen is if all of us are in this together. If you’re in this, say ‘I swear.’”

  I barely get the words out of my mouth before Peyton says, “I swear.” Her voice is soft, but her face isn’t. I offer her the wine, and she drinks.

  Melanie Jane is next. “I swear.”

  She sips the wine and wrinkles her nose and scoots the urn in Ana’s direction. We all wait for Ana, standing there with her arms crossed over her chest—she’s the only one I’m not sure about. She stares us down for a few uneasy seconds before letting out a prolonged sigh and gripping the urn with both hands.

  “I swear,” she says, and something like surprise flutters behind her eyes.

  She passes the urn of wine back to me, and I lift it to my lips. “I swear.”

  As the words roll off my tongue, the most unearthly tingle crawls up my spine. Like the vow we’ve made tonight is bigger than all of us.

  RANBURNE PANTHER SCAVENGER HUNT

  In Ranburne:

  1. Fill a condom up with water. Draw a face on it. Put it on Principal Corso’s doormat, and ding-dong ditch. (One person)

  2. The egg-on-a-string trick. Hang an egg from a power line by a string and watch a car run into it. (Everyone)

  3. Paint the David Bowie statue at Old Lady Howard’s corn maze. (Everyone)

  4. Chair race through Walmart. (Everyone)

  5. Get a picture of the team with the Ranburne Panther. (Everyone)

  6. Go to the Dawsonville football field. Find that stupid rock they touch before their games. Pee on it. (Everyone)

  In Nashville:

  7. Visit the illustrious Delta Tau Beta fraternity at Vanderbilt. Have a beer with Panther alum TJ McNeil and take a picture of the legendary scar he got during a game-winning play against Dawsonville. (One person)

  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: 7

  11:20 P.M.

  PEYTON

  “What’s next? What’s next?” Liv is still on a high from her stolen kiss. She keeps asking to see the scar picture every five minutes. “Doesn’t it look like a kraken to you? I think it looks kind of like a kraken!”

  I check the list. “LP Field is next if we go in order. And then jumping in that pond at Centennial Park. Maybe we should save that for last since we’re going to get all wet.”

  Melanie Jane walks shoulder to shoulder with me so she can read the list at the same time. “I think we should go straight to the bar. If we beat them there, we could get some of this stuff done without them seeing.”

  “Yeah. That’s a good idea,” says Ana.

  She unlocks her car, and we pile in. Melanie Jane mans the GPS and gets us there in record time, while Liv and I discuss exactly what it was like kissing the legendary TJ McNeil.

  We walk through the swinging doors of The Jackrabbit Saloon, which is everything you expect when you hear the words “honky-tonk bar.” A stage stretches almost the whole length of the main room with a band playing country music, complete with fiddles and harmonicas. There are tons of people dancing. Tons. And even more at the various bars and the bull-riding arena and smaller rooms I can’t see the inside of. The decor is kind of hokey—rough wooden walls, barrels for tables, riding gear and wagon wheels and so many animal heads I’m tempted to have a moment of silence. It’s definitely over-the-top country. So are most of the people here.

  Liv races off as soon as we get inside and returns with the biggest grin on her face. “They’re not here!” she squeals. “The old Varsity guys are playing pool in one of the other rooms though, so if we want to do dares, we need to do them in here.”

  “Perfect.” Melanie Jane points to the dance floor where the line dancing is going full force. “You ready to do the worm?”

  Liv’s grin disappears. “I can’t do the worm.”

  “What?!” Melanie Jane and Ana both look like they’re going to have coronaries.

  “How can you not do the worm? You dance better than anyone in school,” says Ana.

  Liv lets out a serious sigh. “And it is one of my great downfalls as a dancer that I am unable to do the worm.”

  Melanie Jane paces in her heels. “Well, what are we going to do? I can’t do the worm.”

  “I can do the worm,” I mumble.

  Ana takes a quick peek at the list before shoving it back in her purse. “It says attempt. We just have to attempt it.”

  “I can do the worm,” I say a little louder.

  Ana grabs my arm. “Wait. What?”

  I sigh. “I said I can do it. The worm, I mean.” I can completely humiliate myself in public and have everyone stare at me and probably contract a disease from lying on the floor of a bar.

  “Peyton!” Liv spins me around. “This is amazing!”

  My eyes don’t leave the dance floor. So many people. “I guess so.” I gulp.

  I walk the path to the dance floor like it’s my very own green mile. I can do this. People will watch. People will laugh. But it will be over soon, and it has to happen. We need this in order to beat them. I weave to the very center of the wooden floor, taking care not to bump any of the dancers. I hope no one steps on me, I think as I lay down and try to ignore the sticky spot under my ri
ght arm. I take a deep breath. And then, in a feat of nearly impossible muscle coordination, I send a ripple down my body. Once. Twice. Three times. I alternately contract and relax my muscles in isolated segments, creating, what I have to say, is a very impressive wormlike effect.

  I stand up to cheers all around me. To huge hugs from Ana and Melanie Jane and a tackle hug from Liv that nearly lands me on the floor again. I’m sweating, that’s how nervous I was, and I know my cheeks are redder than red. It feels amazing.

  The country band fires up a fast one, so we celebrate with some victory dancing. The girls agree I’ve done enough daring for now and could use a break. Liv, inspired by my worminess, demands to go next.

  “Find someone out of my league!” she tells us. “I’ll do the asking.”

  She grabs my hands, and we dance around while Ana and Melanie Jane have a debate that goes something like this:

  Melanie Jane: OMG. That guy is so cute.

  Ana: Yeah . . . no.

  Melanie Jane: Are you kidding?

  Ana: He isn’t.

  Melanie Jane: Is.

  Ana: Not. You’ll have to excuse Melanie Jane. She has tall goggles. It’s why she always dates athletes.

  Melanie Jane: Not always.

  Ana: Okay, who?

  Melanie Jane: Someone. Michael. His name is Michael, and oh, by the way, he’s meeting us later.

  And then she’s all tongue-tied and blushing and totally un–Melanie Jane–like. Ana doesn’t push her on it because at that moment a seriously gorgeous man walks past us. Not even his Lee jeans and plate-sized belt buckle can eclipse that kind of breathtaking splendor.

  “Him!” we all shout simultaneously, and then burst out laughing.

  Liv salutes us all and follows him to the bar, where she gets down on one knee and proposes as I take a picture. He’s laughing as he helps her up. He’s got to be at least ten years older than us. Then he kisses her hand and tips his hat and goes back to ordering his drink.