Ride and Die (Ridgemore #1)

24 Taking the Pep out of Pep Rally

24

Taking the Pep out of Pep Rally

O ur first day back culminated in a pep rally to bolster school spirit before the first football game of the year. I didn’t much care whether Ridgemore High beat its longtime rival from across the river, Mountain Laurel High School, but I did appreciate that our final class was canceled for the event.

I’d rapidly grown tired of the stares and whispers that trailed us wherever we went. There was no doubt about it—nobody at school had missed how Brady and Griffin had both survived “accidents” no one else would have. Even idiot jocks like Pike Bills and staff who didn’t ordinarily involve themselves in student affairs watched our crew. Their attention crawled along my skin, making me want to whirl on every one of them and bark at them to mind their own fucking business. Had Ms. Tott not been stationed in the student parking lot to make sure none of us skipped out of the pep rally, that’s precisely what we would have done.

After stashing my bookbag, I slammed my locker unnecessarily hard before sagging into my crutches and the row of dented, faded-blue metal. I scowled at Griffin, who was already studying me, the hazel of his eyes brighter than usual with their storminess.

He chuckled darkly, the roll of it making me shudder. “I want to get out of here just as much as you do.”

I breathed a few times, feeling my nostrils flare, trying to calm myself. “Not sure that’s possible, Griff. I don’t know what it is, but every part of me’s urging me to get the fuck out of here right the hell now.”

“No kidding,” Brady called ahead before closing the distance that separated us. Hunt and Layla were right behind him. Then Priscilla Elsop, Nina Waits, and a couple of other girls, all Rich Connely’s exes, sauntered past us, ogling our group. We gave them such seething glares that Nina actually squeaked as the lot of them hurried to point their attention forward.

“That’s right,” Layla growled under her breath, loudly enough that they might still hear. “You don’t get to stare at us.”

I considered my friends. Even Hunt, who was ordinarily slower to get riled up, was tense. His jaw was clenched so hard that when he waggled it, his dad’s dangling turquoise earring swung. Brady was clenching and unclenching his fists, and Layla was scouring the hallway between the rows of lockers for any lingering students who might dare to glance our way.

Intensity rolling off him in waves, Griffin’s stare was only on me. I met his eyes, wondering what he was thinking when he looked at me that way.

“What?” I eventually asked when he didn’t look away.

But before he could answer, if he even would have, Mrs. Moody walked up, clicking her tongue at us as if we were horses.

“Come on, kids. You’re late. Pep rally’s already starting.”

When none of us moved to obey, she extended her arms to either side and herded us toward the gymnasium—again, as if we were fucking horses.

When the gym’s double doors loomed ahead, open and ominous, and we still hadn’t shaken our history teacher, I halted.

“Go on ahead, Mrs. Moody. I’m really slow on these crutches. We’ll be right behind you.”

In truth, I was thinking there had to be some way to evade Ms. Tott. The student parking lot was big, and she probably couldn’t watch all of it at once. Considering how jumpy I was, it was worth the risk of being caught.

But Mrs. Moody only narrowed unamused eyes on us, silently expressing a phrase she was overly fond of using in her classes: I wasn’t born yesterday .

The skin around her eyes creased as she smiled tightly at me. “If your friends want to go ahead, I’ll be happy to help you along, Joss.”

I frowned. “Thanks, but that won’t be necessary.”

She waved her hands, herding us some more. I sighed loudly and hobbled through the entrance.

At once, the attention of hundreds of students and teachers landed on us. It didn’t matter that music was already thumping through the loudspeakers, or that cheerleaders were dancing along, kicking their legs in skirts so short they may as well have been wearing bikini bottoms. Trained smiles plastered across their faces, they were the only ones not to look our way.

“Assholes,” Brady groused.

Mrs. Moody frowned. “Language, Brady.” But now that her job was done, and we were well and truly stuck at the pep rally, she walked ahead, leaving us behind.

My friends glared at the myriad sets of eyes on us, but I no longer bothered, focused on maneuvering my crutches and getting it all over with.

From beside me, Griffin said, “Let’s sit in the front row so Joss doesn’t have to climb up.”

Across the entire length of the gymnasium, the front row was packed. Even so, people would move for us. They always did, presumably to gain our favor, and that was when we didn’t look like we were ready to dismember each and every one of them.

I shook my head, my hair loose along my back for once. “No. They’ll just ogle us more. The very back row, that’s where I wanna go.”

They didn’t bother trying to talk me out of it.

Uncaring that the cheerleaders were gyrating, high-kicking, and flipping behind us, I took the slow lead up to the very back. I slumped onto the hard bench seat with a groan of relief, sliding over to make room for the rest of them. I was lifting my cast onto the empty seat in front of me when Zoe Wills spun around in her seat midway up the bleachers, her face eager, looking like she was considering joining us. Our hard expressions had her smile freezing in place; she turned around.

“Good,” Layla grunted from the other side of Hunt. He sat next to Griffin, who was beside me. Brady was on the outside end. “She’s nice enough and all, but if she’d come up here, a girl woulda had to murder a bitch. They need to find someone else’s business to stick their noses all up in.”

It didn’t take long for my mind to glaze over. The football team’s captain spoke, followed by the captain of the cheerleading squad. Next came Mr. Lauderbeck, who was both the PE teacher and the football coach. Finally, the school principal, Mr. Thompson, took his place at the podium at the front of the open floor and cheered into the microphone, “Goooooooo, Panthers!” while holding up the trophy the team won last year.

I rolled my eyes and rested my head on Griffin’s shoulder. My leg was itching inside my cast, and I wouldn’t be able to scratch it for another four weeks at least.

Griffin moved his hand to my thigh and suddenly I forgot all about my itchy skin. His fingers felt as if they were branding me down to my bones.

Despite my intentions, I’d fallen head over heels for him.

It sucked. If I could have chosen otherwise, I would have. The friendship between the five of us was the foundation of my existence, and the thought of doing anything that might endanger it squeezed the breath from my lungs, sent anxiety snaking into my bloodstream.

But my feelings were what they were, and there was no point denying them any further. I knew what I felt.

I was in love with Griffin Conway .

I’d never allowed myself to be chickenshit about anything in my entire life. If doing something scared me, I did it all the faster to make sure I’d do it regardless.

But admitting my feelings to Griffin sent nervous tingles sweeping across my body. There was always the chance that when he’d told me he loved me, he’d meant that he loved me as a friend.

If I told him I loved him as more than a friend, it might mess up everything great between us.

Sucking in a fueling breath and calling on my courage, I placed my hand atop his. I pretended the move was casual, but the whole time, my heart was thundering.

When he didn’t hesitate to interlace his fingers with mine, I froze, unable to move lest I betray my elation.

I was only vaguely aware of what was happening beyond where his flesh met mine. My heartbeat settled into my fingers and palm.

The cheerleaders were waving their pompoms and chanting, “Be aggressive, be-e aggressive,” when Hunt leaned his head in our direction to whisper, “The cameras are down.”

His sharp gaze skirted across our linked hands before he leaned to the other side to share the same message with Layla and Brady.

Griffin and I looked at the cameras in each corner of the large space, but they appeared no different than usual.

“What do you mean?” Griffin asked Hunt without concern for our handholding.

“They usually have little glowing green lights beneath them that indicate they’re on.”

“They do?” I asked, sitting up straighter.

“Yup,” Hunt said. “The lights’ve been on every other time I’ve been in here.”

“I never paid attention,” Layla said.

“Well,” Hunt said. “They haven’t been on once since we got here.”

Ordinarily I might have been relieved we got a break from the constant monitoring. But after everything we’d experienced the last several weeks, I didn’t like it.

“Who knows?” Layla said. “It’s probably nothing. Maybe they’re updating them or someone fell asleep at the controls.” But she remained alert, sitting tall.

A minute later the fire alarm blared, cutting off yet another chorus of “be-e aggressive.” The five of us exchanged wary looks.

Students below us groaned, and even the teachers didn’t make a move to evacuate.

“Can we just keep going?” asked the captain of the cheerleaders, a senior by the name of Gwyneth Stradbrook.

Mr. Lauderbeck sighed, running a hand through his short hair. “No. We have to evacuate. It’s the rule.” But he appeared to be searching the stands for our principal.

I hadn’t seen him leave, but I didn’t spot him either.

“It’s just another fire drill,” Gwyneth whined. Her blue and silver pompoms drooped at her sides. “Come on, Mr. Lauderbeck, we worked so hard to prepare, and we’re almost finished with our routine.”

A dozen girls and two guys in matching blue and silver lined up behind her, identical pleading looks on their faces as if those, too, were part of their uniforms.

Mr. Lauderbeck glanced at the other teachers peppered throughout the first row while muttering, “I dunno.”

But then a student screamed, and another yelled, “Smoke!” and the matter was settled.

With Queen’s “We Are the Champions” playing in the background in premature celebration, half the people scrambled to get out, pushing toward one of two exits that led outside. The other half rose from their seats but didn’t particularly hurry. We waited as our peers grew noisier, more boisterous.

When another person yelled out, “Fire!” over the soundtrack, even those who’d been moving slowly started hurrying.

“I don’t like this,” Layla said. “Seems like a bit too much to be coincidence. On your first day back?” She glanced down the row at Griffin and me. When her gaze skirted across our joined hands, I moved to pull away, but Griffin held on.

“I don’t like it,” she added, and I couldn’t decide if she meant the fire alarm or our touch. She looked at Brady, who was frowning.

“Yeah, shit’s sus.” He stood. “Let’s get out of here. At least we can leave a few minutes early now. Ms. Tott won’t be paying attention anymore.”

Brady led the way, and when it became obvious I had to be really cautious descending the bleachers on my crutches, he looked back up at me and offered, “I’ll give you a piggyback ride.”

“Thanks, but I’m good.”

“Then Hunt or Griff will.”

“I’ve got it, Brade,” I assured. “Besides, it’s just a little bit of smoke.”

It was barely a trickle, escaping from the stairwell that led to the second-floor classrooms lining one side of the high-ceilinged gym. The fire must be up there.

Brady grunted at me but nodded and waited. The music finally faded and ended, though the alarm continued wailing obnoxiously.

When I made it down, most of the students had already evacuated. Teachers stood at either exit, ushering out stragglers. Mrs. Moody whistled at us, apparently still under the impression we were livestock. “Come on, kids! Let’s go, let’s go! Pick up the pace. Don’t you hear the alarm?”

“Joss is on crutches,” Layla said with a duh inflection.

Mrs. Moody smirked. “I can see that, Layla. I’m not blind. But when there’s an emergency, excuses won’t work on me.”

An incredulous “Excuses?” slipped out of me without forethought, and I had to fight the urge to slow down to a crawl just to spite the woman. It’s not like I was dawdling. I was fucking spritely on my crutches. I was looking freaking lively , dammit. I would have liked to see her go even half my speed with the same bulky cast.

“Why don’t you go ahead, Mrs. Moody?” I suggested with a smile that was half wheedling, half shut the hell up .

“I can’t go till the space is clear.”

“All good here,” Mr. Lauderbeck shouted from the other door, loudly enough to be heard over the alarm. “I’m heading out myself.”

“Yep,” Mrs. Moody called to him before yelling at us again. “Move it, Joss, or—”

“We’ll make sure she gets out,” Brady said, cutting her off. “Just go ahead.”

Mrs. Moody examined the mere forty feet that still separated us, the trail of smoke that had gotten no thicker and no more alarming, and nodded. She stepped most of her body out the door before popping back in to jab at us with an accusing finger.

“Make sure you do what you’re told.”

Then she was gone. As one, my crew and I tensed. We were passing the end of the bleachers, the door just ten feet away, when it closed, clicking shut.

“For fuck’s sake,” Brady muttered. “Woman could’ve shut the hell up or waited thirty more seconds for us. It’s not like we’re all the way out in Timbuktu. Jeez.”

“Damn, what is wrong with people?” Layla huffed.

Without pause, Brady pressed the bar on the inside of the door and slammed his shoulder and knee into it. It didn’t budge. His chin jerked back in surprise as he pushed harder on the bar that was supposed to open the door. He pushed, rattled the lever, and even slammed his shoulder into the door—this time on purpose—but it remained closed.

Still fiddling with the door, he looked at us over his shoulder. “I think it’s locked.”

“Let me try,” Hunt said.

Brady moved out of the way for him, grumbling, “You think I don’t know how to open a door now, dude? For real?”

Hunt did everything Brady had—with the same results. “It was worth checking, just in case.” Eyes wide, Hunt looked around the space that was sizable enough to accommodate two basketball or volleyball courts at the same time, plus additional space for wrestling and gymnastics mats.

Already in motion, Hunt called over his shoulder, “I’ll check Mr. Lauderbeck’s door. Lay, you get the one that leads to the cafeteria. Brade, you try the one going up the stairs.”

“Not sure we’re gonna wanna go up that way,” Brady said, but he jogged toward it nonetheless. Though slim, a steady trail of smoke continued to slip into the gym from beneath it.

While we waited, Griffin repeated everything Brady and Hunt had already tried with this door. He even took a running start before slamming into the door so hard it shook in its frame. It still didn’t open. He was kicking at it as the banging of the others using similar techniques at the other doorways reached us. Too close to the smoke, Brady coughed repeatedly.

“Griff, the ball bin,” I said.

Immediately, he ran over to it, sliding it on its wheels and lining it up with the door. Though the cage for sports equipment had openings reminiscent of chicken wire on the top part, it was made of steel, and its bottom and frame were solid.

“Good idea,” Hunt commented, jogging up. “My door’s locked shut.”

“Mine too,” Brady said as he and Layla returned to my side.

“It’s like they’re braced from the outside or something,” she said. “With what we did, we should’ve been able to get at least one of them open.”

Hunt and Griffin lined up on either corner of the ball cage and ran, achieving speed before ramming it into the door, which shuddered but held, as if it were indeed braced from the outside.

“What the fuck?” Brady growled viciously.

“I’m gonna murder someone,” Layla snarled. “No way this shit’s not on purpose.”

Eyes big, the five of us looked at each other.

I said, “If it’s on purpose, which I agree it looks like it is, then there’s only one reason for it I can think of.”

A rumble that sounded as much beast as man ripped from Griffin’s throat. Startled, I jerked my stare to him.

He was already looking at me, his eyes nearly glowing with their fury. “Someone’s trying to kill us to see if we come back to life. I will not let that happen.”

“No fucking way,” Brady rumbled with an uncommonly panicked look that dragged first across his twin before settling on Hunt and me. Next, it traveled toward the smoke. All of a sudden, the slim trickle multiplied, becoming a billowing torrent. A real threat. With the size of the gym, we still had time, but not much.

“Our parents,” Hunt said, scrambling to get his phone out of his pocket.

“Oh my God, yes,” Layla said on a relieved laugh. “They’ll race right over here and do their crazy spy shit all over the sick sonofabitch trying to kill us.”

Having to coordinate around my crutches, I was last to study my phone. Brady was cursing up a storm before I realized why.

“What the hell?” I said. “Even when there’s no signal, you can still call emergency services. Why won’t it let us?” Uselessly, I jabbed at my phone’s screen.

Layla’s eyes blazed. “Because someone with connections is trying to kill us.”

I breathed heavily through my nostrils, a heat building inside me I recognized as righteous anger. “Magnum Chase,” I gritted out between clenched teeth.

Layla nodded grimly, her bangs bouncing as her determination grew. “We gotta get the fuck outta here ’cause I have a gazillionaire to string up by his balls.”

“Nope,” Brady said. “I’m gonna lop them off first. Then, I’m gonna feed ’em to him.”

I hopped around in place on my good leg, studying our surroundings. The gym was constructed of cinder blocks and had no windows. Sturdy, but not the Great Wall of China by any means.

“We break through a wall,” I said. “Or through a door.”

None of them laughed at my suggestion. Instead, they began scanning the gym for tools.

Griffin scrambled to a squat beside the bleachers. “These bars here look strong enough. We just need to figure out how to pry a few of them off.”

I let them do that while I inspected every little part of that gymnasium. We had to be missing something. There had to be a way out.

And I was going to motherfucking find it.