Page 83 of Until Next Summer

“Hill, over here!” Jessie shouts. Our team is huddled by the flagpole, watching tug-of-war. If the Red Team wins and we lose, they’ll move into first place.

“Shit!” Jessie mutters as the Orange Team tumbles and the Red Team celebrates. Then she remembers herself and gets back into team captain mode. “It’s okay, we’ve got this. Who has the most upper body strength?”

“Not me,” I say, stepping back.

Jessie scans the rest of our group, identifying a woman and two men who look like they work out.

“One of you should go in the front, another in the back,and the third right in the middle,” she says. “Everyone, make sure you stand with your feet a little wider than shoulder-width apart. We are not going down!”

“Hell yeah!” the man who volunteered to be the caboose yells.

“Places, everyone!” Cooper calls out. He’s the judge for this station, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to impress him. I take a deep breath, rubbing my sweaty palms against my shorts.

“Everyone, pick up your rope!” Cooper shouts.

The twined material feels heavier than I expected, and it’s so thick I can barely wrap my hands around it.

“At the sound of my whistle,” Cooper says, “tug! First team to pull the other over the halfway mark wins.”

He pauses, standing right beside me, close enough to touch. Then he brings the whistle to his beautiful lips, lips that have explored every inch of my body, and my mind drifts to last night around midnight, behind the hay bales at the archery range; the way he pressed me against the…

The rope is yanked out of my hands as our entire team stumbles forward.

“Ooh!” I cry as I fall, scraping my knee, the rope burning my hands.

Cooper officially declares the Green Team victorious, then calls the Red Team to take our place for the final round. I walk toward Jessie, who’s wiping dirt from her knees.

“It’s okay,” she says. “If Green takes the Red Team down, we still have a shot.”

The match begins, and we turn to watch as the Red Team suffers the same fate, toppling over in less than thirtyseconds, thanks to the former NFL player on the Green Team.

“Yes!” Jessie roars, pumping her fist in the air.

It’s fun seeing this competitive side of her again. I just hope history doesn’t repeat itself in the final event: the dreaded three-legged race.

—

Jessie and I are in the last of sixteen heats. If we win our race, it’ll give our team enough points to win the whole Color Wars. If someone from the Red Team wins and we get second place, we’ll go to a tie. Third place, it’s over.

“You got this, boss,” Dot says, tying a blue bandana around our ankles, binding me and Jessie together.

There are six other pairs in our heat—two from each team—including identical twins Avi and Olive on the Red Team. I wonder if they have an advantage; sharing DNA probably makes sharing a leg easier.

But Jessie and I have an advantage, too: this isn’t the first time we’ve run this race. The last time, though, I tripped, taking Jessie down with me. It knocked us out of the lead, and we ended the Color Wars in second place. “First losers,” as Jessie called it.

As if reading my mind, she wraps her arm around my waist, holding me tight.

“Just stay in sync with me,” she says. “The only way we win is if we work together.”

Dot blows the whistle and we’re off. It takes a few steps for us to get our rhythm down, but soon, we’re walk-running in tandem, as if we’re one.

Inside, outside. Inside, outside. Inside, outside.

Before I know it, we cross the finish line—neck and neck with the twins. I turn to see if we won and upset the balance, almost falling. But Jessie catches me, holding me steady in her arms. I stay there, hugging my best friend, as Dot declares a victory for the Red Team.

Our teams are tied for gold.

“What happens now?” I ask, rubbing my ankle.

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