Page 83 of The Fake Out

“Don’t call me Freckles,” I snapped. There, that was better. Let’s get some irritation in my voice. Much better than confusing feelings I wasn’t ready to feel.

A corner of his mouth hitched, and he tapped my nose gently. “But there are just so many of them. Like sprinkles. Makes me crave something sweet.”

I crossed my arms. “My freckles give you a hankering for dessert?”

A slow smile spread across his face. He waited a long beat. “Something like that.”

“What does that mean?”

With a low chuckle I felt in my belly, he walked around me and headed to the water without answering.

THIRTY-SIX

In high school, I seriously had a boy come up to me, reach around to the back of my shirt, and when I said, “What the hell are you doing?” he responded, “Checking your tag to confirm you were made in Heaven.” I burst out laughing, which I suppose was his intention.

—DILIANA D.

After a few hours enjoying the water, we ate a late dinner. Around 7:30 p.m. we decided to pack up and head back to the house. I claimed the bathroom to change back into my shorts and t-shirt. While I was in there, I heard someone open and close the front door followed by a rumbling around in the tiny kitchen area.

It was there I found Chris, the cooler of drinks in his arms. He had his shirt back on and his sunglasses dangling from the collar.

“Would you mind grabbing that bag of chips and opening the door?” he asked.

“Sure.” I squeezed around him, this really was a tiny room, and headed for the door. But when I twisted the knob and pulled on it, it didn’t budge. So, I tried again. And, again, it didn’t open.

I set down the stuff I was carrying. Maybe I wasn’t pulling hard enough? With all my might, I gave it a good yank and almost fell flat on my butt when my hands slipped.

“It’s not opening?” Chris frowned. “I’ll do it.”

He said it with such confidence that relief flooded me. Surely Mr. Muscles would have no problem, but three minutes and multiple attempts later, that door was stuck tight. Chris frowned and ran his thumb over his bottom lip.

It was fine. Everything was fine. There were three other people just outside that door. They’d get us out.

“Hey,” I yelled, thumping my fist on the door. “Aggie, the door won’t open. Can you help?”

I listened hard but there was no answer.

“Betsy? Millie? Anyone? Hello?” I banged on the door.

Chris ran a hand through his mostly wet hair, leaving it standing on end in some places. “They’re gone.”

“They wouldn’t leave us here,” I said with the dawning realization they could just leave us here.

The only windows in here were small, slanted vents of sorts, up high and out of reach. I climbed on the bed and flipped open the vent. Even then I had to stretch to peek out.

“The car is still here.” I hopped off the bed. “Maybe they decided to take one more dip in the water?”

Chris leaned against the wall with a resigned look on his face. “It’s only a ten-minute walk back home, and this has all the markings of one of Millie’s plans she talks everyone else into executing. She’s a menace.”

“B-but they just left. They locked us in here and left?” I pulled my t-shirt away from my body and released it. “It’s hot in here. Isn’t it hot in here?”

Chris cocked an eyebrow. “You okay there, Sprinkles? You’re looking a little pale.”

“I’m pale all the time. I’m basically what would happen if mayonnaise and a ghost had a baby, and don’t call me Sprinkles.” I flung myself on the bed. “What do we do?”

“We wait.”

“That’s a stupid idea. We need a plan. Oh, my phone.” I scrambled to my bag and dug through it, finally dumping all the contents on the ground. “It’s not in here. It should be in here.”