“Gifts?”
“I guess they decided to do two years since technically we had it for that long.”
Eastbrooke Academy - Connecticut
RILEY
I grab her hand and lead her up the hill. When we get to the soccer pitch, I say, “Remember when we won our playoff game?”
“I remember the whole team taking their shirts off. I remember thinking you looked so cute. I always loved your shoulders. They seemed so strong. Like nothing bad could happen if I was with you.”
“I remember you running down the bleachers, jumping into my arms, and kissing me.”
“I remember that too. You were sweaty.”
“What about after?”
“We partied at Stockton’s, of course, but then we snuck off. I brought you down here on the field.”
“And had your way with me,” I laugh.
“Yes, I did. You seemed to like it,” she says.
“I always liked it with you, Ariela.” I drag her away from the soccer field and toward the field house.
“Do you remember sneaking me into the cheerleading locker room?”
She swats me. “I still can’t believe you talked me into it. We could have gotten expelled.”
“The things we did surrounded by pompoms,” I joke.
“This trip down memory lane seems to be us remembering all the sex we had.”
I squeeze her hand. “You and I both know it was more than just sex. We had fun, Ariela. I remember you laying all the pompoms on the floor giggling at the thought of us doing it there. I remember the way your bangs would hang over your right eye and you’d always be pushing it back behind your ear. I remember how soft your skin was. The way your laughter was like music. That shy smile you’d give me when we were about to do something risky.”
“Speaking of risky,” she says, pointing toward Hawthorne House. “Thank goodness you got a first floor room your senior year and I could just sneak in the window. I used to be so nervous sneaking in there at night. Of course, that just added to the excitement. Being with you always felt a little dangerous.”
“I will forever be the boy who ruined Ariela Ross’ reputation for perfection.”
“You did make me get a B on a test once. You were a bad study partner.”
“Me?” I ask, holding my hand to my chest. “I kissed you for every right answer.”
“Which meant we only got through about a quarter of the flashcards before those kisses turned into more.”
“I loved your cheerleading skirt.”
“What’s that got to do with studying?” she asks.
“I was supposed to be studying with Dallas one night in the library, but I knew you were in the gym working on posters for the pep rally. So we skipped studying and came to help you. You had on your practice skirt and kept bending over to pick stuff up. It was the perfect tease.”
“Do you remember when I came and helped you and Keatyn make signs, before we were dating? You wrote your name on my arm in glue then covered it in glitter. I didn’t wash my arm for days.”
Our phones buzz at the same time.
“Text from Keatyn,” I say, pulling it out of my pocket and looking at it.
“Me too,” she says. “Maggie must have told her I was here.”
“It says we’re supposed to go to Stockton’s now.”
“But it’s still early,” she says.
“Probably pre-partying.”
“Do you still have a key?”
Our phones buzz again.
I look at mine. “Another text from Keatyn. It says they will meet us there, but if we get there first to just use our thumbs.”
“Thumbs?”
I shrug. “No idea.”
We head to the chapel. “I used to come to church all hungover on Sunday mornings just to hear you sing.”
“You were sweet,” she says, taking my hand and pulling me down the back hall, down the stone steps, then down a narrow hall filled with meeting rooms and crypts of those long since passed.
When we get to the familiar one of Mary Jane Stockton, we pass it, continuing toward what appears to be a dead end in front of us. We slip behind an unseen narrow gap between the dead end and the stone wall, take twenty steps around a corner, then I shine my phone toward what appears to be the side of a crypt. I flip open the seventh fleur-de-lis.
“The keyhole is gone,” Ariela says.
I examine it closer, moving my flashlight across it. “Look, it’s been replaced with glass and underneath the glass is a small etching that says Class of 2004.”
“Keatyn said to use our thumb. Put your thumb on the glass.”
“Biometrics? Wow. That was a cool class gift.”
“Beats using a key. Especially when you’re trying to hurry.”
I open the door and look at Eastbrooke’s elite’s party place, Stockton’s. Each year, one student is given a key and a great responsibility. The key is passed down to those who are deemed worthy. My older brother, Camden, gave it to me in our junior year.
“Look!” Ariela says. “There’s a furry rug!”
Our phones buzz again.
Keatyn: You have a half hour alone. Use it wisely.