Page 14 of The Bad Girl List

“I’m sure it’s fine.”

“I watched a documentary about rats on National Geographic,” Annika says. “Those are exactly the kinds of bushes they like to nest in.”

“You watched a documentary on rats?”

“You gotta get into the mind of your enemy, Dom.”

Neither of us moves from our seats as the car idles in front of the house.

“Spaghetti spam, a lecture on poor time management, and rats,” Annika says. “Honestly, cuz, I’m not feeling it. What do you say we text the aunties, tell them we got stuck in traffic, and go grab a drink somewhere?”

That sounds like a fantastic idea, but I don't say that. Instead I say, “We can’t do that. I bet they’ve been waiting for us. It’s their bed time.” I hold up my phone to display the time. It’s almost ten o’clock.

“Then we’re doing them a favor,” Annika replies. “They can go to bed now, and we can go drinking.”

“Hey, is this a chance to cross number five off my list?” I dig in my cargo pants pocket and pull out Annika’s Post-It note with the Bad Girl List.

Number five. Lie.

Even though the prospect of crossing something off the list is appealing, the feeling is at odds with the uneasiness that comes with the idea of lying to the aunties. I remind myself that free rent is on the line.

“Puh-lease,” Annika replies. “This is the Bad Girl List. A text message lie doesn’t count. You have to look the aunties in the eye and lie straight to their faces.”

“That’s not what the list says.” I point at the rumpled Post-It note. “It just says I have to lie.”

“I’m the one who came up with the game and I’m also the one who has to dole out the prize. That means I get to set the rules.”

“But–”

“Think of this as your practice round. Like, letting a guy feel you up on the first date before you let him take your pants off on the second.”

“How is lying to the aunties anything like that?”

Annika rolls her eyes. “You’ve only been with one guy, Dom. Do you really need me to spell this out for you?”

“Fine. I’ll do it.” I tap my phone, determined to show her I can do this.

As soon as I pull up the text message screen, some of the fight leaves me. My finger hoovers over the buttons.

“This might give me an anxiety attack,” I say.

“Where’s the girl who switched out her label designs at the eleventh hour?” Annika asks. “That’s the cousin I want to hang out with.”

“She’s been incarcerated and will never again see the light of day.”

Annika grins like a wolf. “Hey, maybe we can get you shit-faced tonight. Then we really can cross something off the list. Now send the message.”

Holding my breath, my thumbs tap out a rapid message to my mom. Hit some traffic. Stopping to eat on the way. Don’t wait up for us.

As soon as I hit send, I giggle. The giggle starts in my throat and works its way down my esophagus all the way into my belly. Before I know what’s happening, my whole body is shaking with laughter.

The last time I remember feeling like this was in sixth grade, when I snuck out of my room and stole three pieces of candy from my Halloween bag, which my parents had put on top of the refrigerator. I hid under my bed and ate M&M’s, Snickers, and Pop Rocks. I think it was the most food dye I’d ever had in one sitting up until that point.

Annika, watching me, bursts out laughing. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Didn’t Auntie Helen send us a list of all the most affordable places to eat in town?” Annika pulls away from the curb. “See if there are any bars on that list.”

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