Page 32 of Until Next Summer

And since I’m trying to make sure Dot and Mr. Billy are financially taken care of, I ought to stop being defensive and start listening to Hillary’s ideas.

Before I can think more about that, Moira invites Hillary, who jumps up like she was just waiting to be asked. A dozen memories flood my mind, past games of Capture the Flag: sneaking with Hillary through the trees, working together to corner our opponents. My chest aches with the specific pain that only memories of Hillary seem to trigger.

Shaking it off, I shift to the side of the group opposite her as our team congregates. The captains—Moira and a guy named Lance, who’s built like a linebacker—discuss the rules. We’ll each plant our flag in our team’s territory; the other team will try to capture it. If someone gets tagged, they go to “jail.” They’ll be out of play unless someone from their team tags them back in.

Moira then pulls our team into a huddle to talk positionsand strategy; she played professional women’s soccer, and it shows.

Across from us, the men’s team finishes their huddle. One of them calls, “Don’t worry, girls, we’ll go easy on you.”

Zoey straightens up, eyes flashing. “Don’t worry, boys, wewon’tgo easy on you!”

“I’m rooting for you, baby,” Zac calls to his wife, and his teammates groan and tell him to stop being such a simp.

Zoey and I are tasked with guarding the flag. Three other women, including Hillary, play the midfield, watching for approaching members from the other team and chasing them down. Moira, Dot, and another group of women start sneaking toward the other team’s territory.

The sun is setting, casting lengthening shadows through the trees. Soon I spot the first member of the men’s team creeping through the bushes on Zoey’s side. I catch her eye and point, and she slinks off, sneaky as a cat. When she tags him out, he howls in shock.

“Sorry, buddy,” she says, flashing a grin.

He heads to jail—an area behind me that I’ll guard.

Zoey and I continue to keep watch. I hold my breath as I peer into the shadows.

“There!” Zoey yells, pointing at a dark blur racing past me. I take off sprinting, coming at him from the side so he’s forced to veer northward, where Zoey is hiding.

She pops out and tags him.

“Aw, shit!” he yells, kicking at a rock.

Zoey curtsies, and the guy heads off to jail.

The game progresses, the night getting darker, the moon coming out. An hour in, we have eighteen of the twenty menin our jail—including Zac, who kissed Zoey after she tagged him out and told his teammates to shut their mouths when they razzed him.

Then I see Hillary running toward us, breathing hard. “We’re the only ones left,” she says, motioning to the three of us.

Zoey trots over. “There are only two men left, so we have the advantage.”

My competitive spirit instantly activates. “Cooper’s still out there, plus that big guy Lance,” I say.

“You two go for the flag,” Zoey says to me and Hillary. “I’ll keep guarding here.”

“Keep watch on the jail, too,” I tell Zoey, and she nods.

“Ready?” Hillary asks. In the moonlight, with her face sweaty and her hair frizzing into curls, she looks identical to her teenage self. My chest aches, and I force myself to stay focused.

“Let’s do this,” I say.

Side by side, we creep through the woods. Every snap of a branch makes me jump as we get deeper into enemy territory.

“The flag’s in there,” Hillary whispers, pointing toward a thicket of trees about thirty yards away.

“Let’s come at it from different sides,” I whisper. “The guard can only chase one of us.”

We separate and head toward the trees as quietly as possible. My eyes catch movement and I turn; somehow, Cooper has gotten past us. He’s going toward Zoey—and our flag.

“Zoey! Cooper’s on his way!” I yell.

Hillary and I both start sprinting toward the thicket that conceals the enemy’s flag. Instinctively working together, like we always did.

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