Page 17 of Did You See Evie

“See?” Nadia said. “Nothing even happened.”

That was our first dash and go. The first time Nadia and I decided to take our fates into our own hands. Many reckless decisions followed that night, some now happy memories, some purely dangerous. And here we are, fifteen years later, Nadia trying to pressure me into stealing once again.

The phone on the desk buzzes again. Another message.

You owe me.

My blood runs cold. I’ve been waiting for her to say something like this. Nadia could easily tell the parents about my string of juvenile arrests, but that’s not the real threat. I’ve done something much worse in my life, and Nadia’s the only person who knows about it. The one person who helped me hide it.

She’s right. I do owe her. More than that, I owe it to myself to keep this life I fought so hard to get. I won’t let anyone, especially Nadia, take it away from me.

All I have to do is open a door.

I lean over, my head in my hands, trying to decide what to do.

NINE

It’s Friday night, and Joanna and I are standing at the front lobby, waiting for our players to arrive. What should be a moment for excitement and celebration is ruined by the dread I feel about what will happen later tonight.

The parents are scheduled to drop off the girls at eight. That provides enough time for them to socialize, snack and watch a movie before going to bed around midnight. I don’t expect them to go down easily. What girls would when they’re staying overnight in a gymnasium with a dozen of their closest friends? Still, I need them to be asleep, or at least well occupied, by midnight. That’s when Nadia and her team will arrive to steal the tech equipment.

“Pizza should be here in an hour,” Joanna says, looking at her phone. She slides it in her pocket and looks ahead as a car pulls into the lot. “Is the whole team coming?”

“They all turned in their forms,” I say. “None of them would want to miss it.”

Beatrice Nichols is the first to arrive, a stuffed duffel bag over her shoulder. Their parents are scheduled to pick them up at nine in the morning; I can only imagine what nonsense they might have packed.

“We’re the first to arrive?” Lynette Nichols asks.

“You sure are,” I say, smiling at Beatrice.

“Where should I put my stuff?” she asks.

“Just pick a spot in the center of the floor,” I say. “Everyone will be sleeping on the court so we can keep a better eye on all of you.”

Beatrice enters the school building, her excitement obvious, from her smile to the giddy way she skips off.

“I’m a little nervous about this,” Lynette says. “This is Bea’s first time staying overnight somewhere with someone besides family.”

“Really?” Joanna sounds surprised. “She’s never slept over at a friend’s house?”

“Heavens, no.” Lynette says. “You can’t trust anyone these days.”

I’ve listened to other parents and teachers come out with similar phrases. The friendly slumber party isn’t in fashion like it once was for a myriad of reasons, the main one being, in my opinion, people aren’t linked like they once were. Parents no longer seem to have the connections they used to with one another in previous generations, the deep ties. Not to mention, even if you know a child’s parents, you don’t know the other people in the house. Siblings, friends of siblings, neighbors. If I had a child, I’m not sure whether I’d feel comfortable letting them stay inside a complete stranger’s home for the sake of fun.

Nadia and I often spent the night with one another growing up, but that was different. We crashed at one another’s houses to avoid the chaos taking place in our own lives, a different dynamic from having a pre-planned party with snacks and entertainment. As I peer into the gymnasium and catch a glimpse of Beatrice, still unloading her things, I mourn for the little girl I once was, for the experiences she never got to have.

“Of course, this is a little different. She’s at school, where she feels safe,” Lynette says, her words shaking me out of my melancholy. “And there will be so many of them. If anything, I feel sorry for the two of you.”

“Don’t worry about us,” I say. “It will be a fun night.”

“Are you sure you don’t need an extra pair of hands?”

“We’re all set,” I say, putting my hand on her shoulder, guiding her gently to the door.

“Looks like we have another one,” Joanna says, as another car pulls into the lot.

Melinda Terry arrives with Amber and Tara. The two girls barely acknowledge us as they head off to join Beatrice. Still sour about the failed waterpark excursion, Melinda doesn’t address us. Instead, she stands in the parking lot gossiping with Lynette Nichols. Every so often, their heads turn in our direction.

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