Guess who showed up at work on the night before the big competition? Pete Haskill Numero Cuatro and two of his bro-magnons, both of whom had resting bitch face. When they locked the door to the outside to make sure no one entered or left, I knew they were here just to see me. Thank God Kate took the night off, just in case I was about to get a royal ass kicking. Since she stealthily slipped out of my house earlier in the week, we’d texted a lot about the competition, but she never ever mentioned the whole middle-of-the-night “sleepover.” And leave it to Pete to be the only one in the world who could get me to stop thinking about Kate being in my bedroom.
He whistled as he glanced around the waiting room. “So, Natey boy, this is where you spend all your time when you aren’t nerding it up at the library? Interesting.”
“It’s a good job. Some of us need jobs. Not everyone has four-car garages to hold our four Teslas.” Smack, take that, moneybags.
“We have only two Teslas. One Bentley. And a Lexus SUV for camping.” Correcting my Tesla count was idiotic, but the fact that he took a Lexus SUV out to the local campgrounds made him the biggest douche in the entire douchiverse.
“How’d you know I worked here?” I couldn’t imagine Jaxon or Zach telling Pete any shit about me.
“A little birdie named Annie mentioned it.” He threw back his head and laughed, cartoon-villain-like.
My stomach rolled. Damn it, Annie.
He continued the torture session. “I bought out the rest of the tickets for the entire night, so it’s just you, and us.” He made a sweeping hand motion, and his amigos stood at attention and gave him one of those smug jock nods. “I just wanted to see if you had time to think about the business proposal.”
I puffed my chest. “I’ve had some time to think about it, yeah.”
“And?”
“I have a pretty good shot at coming into some money soon. So thanks, but no thanks.”
He raised an eyebrow. “How much are we talking?”
“Fifty grand,” I gulped. Sweat beaded on my forehead, thinking about all there was at stake. I was losing my cool. Not that I’d ever played it totally cool with Pete.
He shot a look at his two buddies, who backed up to the door. “It’s higher than what we paid some other skids, but we can go up to fifty large. I’m not sure you get what’s happening here, but I’m not leaving till you say yes.”
My throat constricted, and I couldn’t get any air in. His two bros were positioned by the exit, preventing my escape. There were no windows in the waiting room. The escape room down the hall, absurdly, had no way to escape, with no entry or exit to the outside world. I balled my fists, ready to swing if needed. I could get a few punches in before these un-Incredible Hulks took me down.
The door to the escape room creaked open. We all jerked our heads in surprise.
“Hey, uh, Nate? You’re late. We should get started.” Damon, one of the longest tenured zombies, peeked his head out and surveyed the situation. Pete and his buddies relaxed their shoulders. Mine stayed tense.
Damon pulled out his phone from his tattered lab coat and straightened his black costume glasses. “Is everything okay here? Need me to…uh…call the owner? Or the police?”
Pete narrowed his eyes at Damon, my nerdy savior. “We stopped by to say hi to our buddy Nate here and were just heading out. No way are we wasting our weeknight playing some stupid shitty zombie game.” He turned my way and hissed, “We’ll see you later.”
Each word hit like rapid sucker punches to my stomach.
From his embossed leather wallet, Pete pulled out a crisp fifty-dollar bill and threw it at me. “Here’s your tip, skid.” He spat that last word at me. The money fluttered at first, then spiraled straight to my feet. In normal circumstances I’d be thrilled with any gratuity for my gracious hospitality and well-paced comedic monologue. Clearly this was not that kind of transaction. He’d thrown his “fuck you” money at me like I was a slum dog, small and pathetic.
He unlocked the entry door, and his buddies followed him outside. When it clicked shut, I exhaled slowly. How long had I been holding in my breath?
An excited look crossed Damon’s face. “Wow, big tipper! Does this mean we get the night off?”
With a sad smile, I picked up the bill and focused on the positive. “You and the rest of the guys can split the tip.” I sighed deeply. “And yeah, let’s call it a night. It’s been a long day.” I released the zombie talent early and locked up.
Rain pelted my windshield on the drive home, making the white and yellow lines on the road nearly impossible to see. Lucky for me, I’d taken this exact route home hundreds of times, so the trip home was essentially on autopilot. Full-body numbness set in during my ride, and at first, I assumed it was from nerves about the looming zombie survivalist competition. But the feeling of doom rising in my chest, the unmistakable urge to throw up, well, that wasn’t anticipation. Or excitement. That was fear, of the unbridled variety. Pete’s plan was not actually a choice; it was a mandate.
The downpour continued as I pulled the car into my driveway. In the streetlamp light the fuel gauge was dangerously close to E, and I was driving on fumes. And, more visibly now, it was clear that my hands were shaking violently.
* * *
Annie messaged me just before I crawled into bed.
Hey, she wrote.
Hey back
I’m coming to the cross-country meet. Good luck!
My stomach clenched. I’m not going. Got other plans.
I accepted a video chat request. “Whaddya mean you’re skipping the meet? Is everything okay?” Her bedside lamp glowed so brightly that it took over half her screen, partially obscuring her face. She was wearing a tattered Adam Levine shirt. I couldn’t tell if she was being ironic or not, so I kept my mouth shut. I also didn’t feel like mentioning that Pete had paid me a visit at work. No need to add even more stress the night before the big competition.
“Everything’s fine. I’ve already sent out most of my college applications, so this meet isn’t that big of a deal to me. And I qualified last year. Because I’m so awesome.”
She moved her head so the background light gave her an angelic halo. “So what are you doing instead? Masterminding a new product release in your basement? Going on a hot date with a girl?”
Did competing in a zombie survival contest with a cute girl count as a hot date? “Well, because you asked, Zeneration is sponsoring a survivalist competition tomorrow and Sunday. There’s a huge cash prize, and I think I’ve got a good shot at it. I need to be there bright and early in the morning, though.” I bit my lip. “So, actually, I’d better try to get some sleep.”
Annie’s eyes widened. “Oh wow, good luck! That sounds so cool.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you know how it goes.” We said our goodbyes, and when the call ended, I let out a deep breath and turned off my lamp.
Sliding the comforter to my armpits, I closed my eyes and prayed for sleep.
It never came.
* * *
In our front hall, I wrestled with the laces on my hiking boots. My mostly deflated ankle barely fit in there. I needed an ankle girdle, desperately.
A few yanks of a double knot, and finally, I was ready to go.
The weather forecast predicted no rain, but a chilly forty-three-degree low and sixty-two-degree high for each day of the competition. I put on my trusty Patagonia thermal jacket and hoisted my backpack. Carting around an extra fifty pounds on my backside turned me into a human packhorse.
A door down the hall creaked open, and a pitter-patter of tiny feet echoed in the darkness.
Lucy, in her PAW Patrol pajamas, padded toward me holding a ziplock bag. She rubbed her eyes and asked, “Where are you going?”
“Luce, go back to bed. I have to go on a quick trip.” I didn’t have time to chat. I had to meet Kate at the campground location at five a.m.
“But, your birthday. We were going to have pizza. And I have a present.” Her bottom lip jutted out, and her eyes brimmed with tears.
I reached out and ruffled her hair. “We can celebrate when I get back, I promise. Mom and Dad think I’m going to a track meet and staying over at Jaxon’s this weekend. Can you keep a secret? It can be my birthday present.”
“I already got you a present.” She held out the bag. Inside was a mix of play money (a few fake hundreds) and real currency (maybe about four bucks in coins). She gave me a firm midsection hug, the kind I’d imagine an octopus used to suffocate prey.
“Thanks, Lucy Goosey. Now go back to bed. I really have to go. I’m already late.”
Through the window on the front door, lightning brightened the dark sky. So much for the zero percent rain forecast.
Lucy loosened her death grip and cried all the way back to her room. Once her door clicked, I unzipped the plastic bag she gave me. Inside was a handwritten Post-it note in smeared washable blue marker: “ish creem cake munny.”
She’d drawn a picture on the back of both of us standing in jumping-jack formation, smiling ear to ear, with a giant birthday “ish creem” cake between us. I laughed and wiped my eyes with the palm of my hand. Thunder crashed again, drowning out the sound of my heart exploding into pieces.
Sometimes I liked being a brother.