Save the Date

by Morgan Matson

  “Priya was on the right track,” Rodney said around a yawn. “We should probably turn in.”

  “Yeah,” Linnie said, pushing herself off the counter.

  “Wait,” I said quickly, shutting the fridge door without taking anything and turning around to face everyone. “We can’t go to bed yet!”

  “It is kind of late, Chuck,” Danny said.

  “But—we all just got here.” I knew this wasn’t technically true, but it felt like it. I was finally with my siblings, in the kitchen, without alarms going off or tent crises or guests coming and going. And yes, technically there was both an unexpected girlfriend and a beagle. But just going to bed felt like I would be letting this chance slip by. How many more times would we even be in this kitchen together? I had a feeling I could probably count them on one hand, and the thought made me feel panicky. “We need to do something fun, something to mark Linnie and Rodney’s last single night.”

  “Like what?” Linnie asked, leaning back against the counter. My thoughts were racing as I tried to think of something that would fit the criteria I had given. Playing a board game or watching a movie just wasn’t going to cut it. It needed to be something more than that, something epic.

  “Something we can all do together,” I said, stalling for time in the hopes that something would come to mind.

  “And Brooke, too,” J.J. added.

  “It’s fine,” Brooke said, glancing at Danny. “I don’t have to . . . I mean, whatever it is, you guys can just . . .”

  “Aw, come on,” Danny said, taking her hand across the table and giving it a squeeze. “Don’t be a spoilsport.”

  “I’m not,” Brooke said sharply, and we all simultaneously felt the need to look at either the ceiling or the floor.

  “I’ve got it,” I said. We hadn’t done it in forever, but it had once been a Grant family tradition, something we did every Fourth of July, and even Christmas, if it wasn’t snowing, and sometimes even if it was. “Anyone fancy a game of CTF?”

  “What is that?” Brooke asked.

  “Really?” J.J. tilted his head to the side. “We haven’t played CTF in years.”

  “I know!” I was bouncing on the balls of my feet now. “That’s what makes it perfect. We can bring back an old tradition before we have to say good-bye to the house.”

  “Only if J.J. finally admits I am the master,” Danny said, starting to smile.

  “Um, I believe I beat you the last time we played.”

  “Wasn’t that, like, five years ago?” Rodney asked.

  “So?” J.J. and Danny said simultaneously.

  “Linnie?” I asked. She was the bride, after all—and if she wanted to go to bed, I had a feeling the game wouldn’t be happening.

  “I think a midnight game of CTF the night before my wedding actually sounds like a great idea.” She grinned at me. “Let’s do it.”

  * * *

  Wait,” Brooke said, hurrying behind Danny as we all trooped out to the backyard, a furrow between her eyebrows. “What are we doing?”

  “Capture the flag,” J.J. said with a grin. “Grant-style.” He looked at her and shook his head. “Don’t you want to change? Charlie, lend her my gnome sweatshirt.”

  “Why?” Brooke asked, her voice going higher. “What is this?”

  “You’ve never played capture the flag?” Danny asked, his eyebrows flying up. “Didn’t you ever go to camp?”

  “No,” Brooke said, looking around at all of us. “I . . . didn’t.”

  “You’re definitely going to want to change,” J.J. said as we arrived in the center of the backyard—in the spot the tent would be tomorrow. “I have extra clothes upstairs if you need them.”

  “Thanks,” Brooke said, “but—”

  “Hey!” J.J. yelled toward the house. “What’s the holdup?”

  “Shh,” Danny and I said immediately. There were still nine people and a dog inside the house—and Uncle Stu in my mother’s studio—all of whom were presumably asleep. When we’d agreed in the kitchen to play, Rodney had put on the condition that it happen quietly enough not to wake up anyone inside. The center of the backyard was far enough away from the bedrooms so that we should be okay, but there was no need to push our luck.

  Capture the flag had been a Grant tradition ever since Danny spent a summer at sleepaway camp when he was eight. He’d brought the game home to us, and though we’d had others throughout the years—we’d gotten very into Manhunt for a while, despite the fact that we never seemed to have enough flashlights—CTF was the game we’d always come back to when we could play outside. Over the years, we’d devised a set of rules that had made the game uniquely ours. But a few years ago, we’d just stopped playing it, and I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it until I ran out into the backyard in the moonlight, feeling the cold night air on my face and my hair streaming behind me as I ran to catch up with my favorite people.

  Once we’d agreed to play, J.J. had yelled “Break!” and we’d dashed upstairs to change out of our rehearsal-dinner clothes. I knew from past experiences that when we played CTF, things could get very messy—J.J. especially was not above pushing you into the dirt if the flag was in his reach—and the last thing I wanted to do was wreck my dress.

  Since I’d left Brooke and Danny in the kitchen, I figured I had at least a few seconds to duck into my room and grab some clothes before they made it up there, since none of the clothes I’d taken out of my room in preparation for this weekend were CTF-appropriate.

  I opened the door and stepped inside, taken a little aback by how, after only a few hours, it felt like I was in a room I needed permission to be in, that somehow being here without asking was like trespassing. Danny’s suit for tomorrow was hanging in my closet, and there were three dresses next to it—just how many times was Brooke planning on changing during the wedding, anyway? The top of my dresser was now covered with a huge, professional-looking makeup case, a curling iron, a hair straightener, and three separate brushes. I just stared at it all for a second, a little amazed that Brooke had brought all this with her from California. When I heard footsteps coming up to the third floor, I realized I needed to get a move on. I grabbed my clothes, then hurried out the door, closing it quickly behind me.

  Danny had turned on the outside lights, and then we’d all stood perfectly still in the kitchen, waiting to hear if it sounded like people were waking up, if the light coming in through windows was bothering anyone. When we didn’t hear anything after a solid minute of listening, we decided it was probably okay and had headed out to the backyard to wait for Linnie and Rodney, who were getting the flags. I’d put on sneakers, sweatpants, and a T-shirt with a sweatshirt over it, and while J.J. and Danny had also both changed into jeans and long-sleeved T-shirts, Brooke was still in her rehearsal-dinner dress, though she had taken off her heels and was standing barefoot on the lawn, a look of apprehension on her face as she glanced around, her arms crossed over her chest.

  “It’ll be fun,” Danny said, smiling at her. “It’s always a good time.”

  “I just don’t understand how this works,” Brooke snapped, sounding annoyed and tired. “And if someone’s not going to explain it—”

  “It’s easy,” J.J. assured her. He pointed to one side of the lawn, then the other. “So, there are two bases. We divide into teams and the goal is to steal the other team’s flag and bring it back to your base without getting tagged.”

  “When you get tagged,” I said, looking at my middle brother in the moonlight, “someone is supposed to lightly tap you. They are not supposed to shove you over, or push you into a pile of dirt, or pick you up—”

  “Anyway,” J.J. said loudly, talking over me, “if you do get tagged, then you have to go to the other team’s jail.”

  “Jail?” Brooke asked, looking from J.J. to Danny, her brow still furrowed—it didn’t seem like this was clearing anything up for her.

  I nodded. “Yeah. We use the trampoline”—I pointed to it—“and the doorway
of the greenhouse. If you get tagged you have to go to jail, and you can only get out if one of your teammates tags you for a jailbreak.”

  “Or if they get the flag,” Danny said, snapping his fingers. “Didn’t we decide that was a get-out-of-jail-free card?”

  “Yes,” J.J. said, nodding. “But if they don’t manage to get back to their base with the flag, then you have to go back to jail.”

  “But don’t forget about the sixth amendment!” This was Rodney; I turned to see he was jogging toward us, wearing jeans and an ancient green Dartmouth sweatshirt.

  “Rodney added this,” Danny said. “It’s how we should have known he would end up a lawyer.”

  “It’s a good addition!” Rodney said, smiling wide. “So, if you’re in jail, you can yell ‘sixth amendment!’ and then you’re allowed to present your case for why you should be let out of jail. If even one person on the other team agrees, you get to go free.”

  “It only ever works with Rodney, though,” J.J. said, shaking his head.

  “What?” Rodney said with a shrug. “I believe in one’s right to represent oneself at trial. It’s my favorite amendment.”

  “You have a favorite amendment?” J.J. asked.

  “You don’t?”

  “Got it?” Danny asked, smiling at Brooke.

  “Um . . .” She looked around at us, then at the backyard. “I’m not sure . . .”

  “Got the flags,” Linnie said, jogging up to us. “They were both pretty dusty. When was the last time we played this?”

  “It’s been a while,” I said as I watched Linnie shake them out.

  One was a beautifully handmade triangular flag that read GRANT on it—my mother had drawn a strip about us playing CTF and a reader had given it to her at a Comic-Con years ago. The other flag was a small white towel that read ANDERSON GENERAL LIFE INSURANCE in blue letters that were mostly faded out. This towel was one of our house’s many mysteries, since my parents didn’t have Anderson General Life Insurance and were baffled as to how a promotional towel had ended up in our house. But since we’d been playing, it had always been our other flag, mostly because it had a loop at the top so you could put it on a stick.

  It was one of the many things that had become completely irreplaceable simply because we’d been using it for capture the flag my whole life. I had hidden both flags in the games closet during the tag sale purge, terrified that while I was up at Linnie and Rodney’s, my parents would have found them and sold them to people who wouldn’t understand their importance. Because the Anderson General Life Insurance towel technically wasn’t worth anything—except for the fact that it was priceless. And where would we play CTF in the future?

  “Did you want to change, Brooke?” Linnie asked, looking at her white dress. “I can let you borrow something.”

  “I think I’ll sit this one out,” Brooke said, starting to back away.

  “Oh, come on,” Danny said. “It’ll be fun, babe.”

  “But . . .” Brooke shifted her weight from foot to foot.

  “I thought you wanted to be here,” Danny said, a sigh somewhere in his voice.

  “Okay,” Brooke said after a pause. “Sure.”

  “Great,” Danny said, shooting her a quick smile. “So, here’s the rundown. Linnie’s going to throw the flags in the air to pick for teams, and you have to run to the one you want to be on—either Grant or Anderson General Life Insurance. And then the teams take the flags to their separate corners, and when we’re in place, we begin.”

  “But if you’re in the no-man’s-zone when the game starts, then whoever tags you, you have to become part of their team,” I pointed out.

  “Unless you get tagged back,” Rodney said, shaking his head, “before you get into jail. Then you can pick which team you want to be on, but you can’t change after that.”

  “Basically, it’s easier just to make sure you’re on a side when the game begins,” Linnie said.

  “But . . .” Brooke looked around at us like she was hoping for a more detailed explanation. “But I don’t . . .”

  “It’s really more of a learn-as-you-go type game,” I said. I was tempted to suggest that she just sit out the first round and watch, but held it back.

  J.J. nodded, patting her on the back in what I’m sure he thought was a comforting manner. “You’ll pick it up.”

  “Ready?” Linnie asked, looking around at all of us, then grinned. “Go!” She threw the flags up in the air.

  I raced toward Anderson General Life Insurance, mostly because J.J. had a weakness for the Grant flag. Sure enough, I was right—J.J. and Linnie ran for the Grant flag, while Danny and Rodney headed toward Anderson’s, and Brooke stayed in the same spot, looking around, increasingly unhappily.

  “Yes!” Danny said, holding up his hand for high fives, which Rodney and I returned. “We got this, guys. We’re going to crush it.”

  “I . . .” Brooke edged toward the house. “I think I’ll just . . .”

  “Babe, you can’t bail now,” Danny said, starting to sound annoyed. “The teams’ll be uneven! You can be on Linnie’s team.”

  “Yeah, come be on our team,” Linnie said, grinning at her. “It’s the best team. And this way, we have a medic if someone gets hurt!”

  “Don’t worry,” Danny said with a wink as we started to head over to our side of the yard, “I’ll take it easy on you!”

  “Also, everyone watch out for the tent posts,” Rodney reminded us.

  Danny found a stick and we planted the flag, after some quick deliberation, just a few feet away from the greenhouse entrance that would be serving as our jail. “Think J.J.’s going to put their flag in a tree again? Remember when he did that for like a whole year?”

  “Start in one minute,” Linnie called across the yard in a loud whisper that nonetheless carried.

  I gave her a thumbs-up, and then Team Anderson General Life Insurance turned to face each other. “I call jailer,” Rodney said immediately, raising his hand. “Groom’s prerogative.”

  “Okay,” Danny said, and he was smiling widely. “We ready to do this?”

  “Here we go,” Linnie whisper-yelled across the yard, and I turned to see that they’d had the opposite idea we had—their flag was almost as far away from the jail (the trampoline) as possible. “Three . . . two . . . one . . . capture the flag!”

  We all set off running as fast as possible. I headed straight into enemy territory, then dashed to the left to avoid J.J., who was coming right at me—it was always his strategy to try to get as many people in jail as possible to make flag stealing easier. Danny ran in the opposite direction from me, and it looked like Linnie was playing defense, not offense—she wasn’t moving toward our territory; she was going to guard her own. Brooke was standing still, just looking around at the rest of us in motion, like she was still waiting for a more detailed instruction list.

  “Got it!” Danny yelled as he grabbed the Grant flag out of the ground and started to turn and run back to our base with it, only to have J.J. pivot from trying to get me to run full speed at him.

  “Danny,” I yelled, breaking left to avoid Linnie, who was advancing toward me. “On your ten!” He turned but just a second too late, and J.J. tagged him.

  “Get outta here,” he said, pointing to the trampoline.

  “Is the game over?” Brooke asked hopefully.

  “No,” Linnie said, stopping and turning to her, and I took this moment of distraction to run full out toward the trampoline.

  Danny saw me coming and smiled, stretching his hand out as far as it would go while still keeping a foot touching the metal base (as had been decreed years ago by the rules). I slapped his hand and he grinned at me. “Thanks, Chuck.”

  “I’ve got your back,” I called to him, but he was already running in the other direction, toward our base, trying to intercept J.J., who was barreling toward the flag. Which meant—I whirled around, ready to try to grab the Grant flag, only to see Linnie standing directly in front of me.r />
  “You’re out,” she said, tapping me on the shoulder and pointing. “Trampoline. I call jailer,” she added to Brooke, who had now wandered a little farther from their base but still wasn’t making any move to try to grab our flag—which was woefully unguarded at the moment, as Danny chased J.J. and Rodney tried to box him in. “Doesn’t she realize she could grab it?” Linnie asked, shaking her head.

  “Jailbreak!” I looked over, startled, to see Rodney running full out toward me, tagging me on the shoulder, then pivoting away.

  “Thanks!” I yelled, sprinting away from the jail on Rodney’s heels. I decided to head back to our base for a bit, regroup, maybe play defense for a while. Just as I’d had this thought, though, J.J. started running in our direction, brandishing the Anderson General Life Insurance flag.

  “No!” Rodney yelled, running after him, only to have J.J. pivot and change directions—running toward Brooke. Glancing behind her, she started running—directly into one of the tent posts. She tripped over it, her feet tangling, and she windmilled her arms for a second, trying to stay upright, before falling to the ground, hitting it hard. “God!” she yelled, trying to push herself up to standing, but then losing her footing and falling again.

  J.J., not noticing any of this, sprinted to his base and threw the Anderson General Life Insurance flag to the ground, then raised his arms in victory. “Take that!” he yelled, spinning around in triumph, then frowning when he saw everyone else had stopped running. “What’s going on?”

  “You okay, babe?” Danny asked, jogging over to her. He reached out a hand, but Brooke pushed herself up to standing. She looked down and seemed to see what had happened at the same time the rest of us did—there was a huge dirt and grass stain all down the side of her cream-colored dress.

  “No, I’m not okay!” she snapped, her voice breaking. I couldn’t tell, going by just the outdoor lights and moonlight—but I was pretty sure there were tears in her eyes. “I didn’t even want to play this stupid game. Why did you make me?”

  “I didn’t make you,” Danny said, sounding taken aback. “I thought it would be fun.”