Page 97 of Pick Me Up On Tuesdays

Before I could reassert my moral high ground, I was stepping towards the window after him—half regretting it, fully exhilarated, and mentally composing my alibi in MLA format.

Sneaking out was usually easy, but today, jumping from the window was out of the question—unless we had a death wish. Ethan, in all his reckless glory, actually checked, peering over the edge before whistling low. “Yeah, that’s a no. Unless you wanna add ‘fractured spine’ to our list of problems.”

“Not particularly,” I muttered.

So, the hallway it was.

We moved quietly, keeping our footsteps light as we stepped out of our room. The motel wasn’t fancy—cheap carpeting, dim lighting, and walls so thin you could hearsomeone snoring two rooms down. But ironically, it was eerily silent.

Ethan frowned, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets as we walked. “Why’s it so quiet?”

I already knew the answer. Of course, the others were setting up his surprise. But he didn’t know that. And if I played this wrong, he’d start asking questions.

I shrugged, keeping my voice casual. “Maybe they sneaked out.”

Ethan snorted. “Without me? No way. I’m the bad influence of this trip.”

I fought back a smirk. He had a point.

We turned a corner, and that’s when things went from bad to worse.

Standing right in the middle of the hallway, arms crossed, was Mr. Dax.

Speaking of why we couldn't hear the snoring of four elephants in one from down the hall.

I nearly cursed out loud. This dwarf was impossible to slip past. And worse? Now that he caught us sneaking out, he’d have no hesitation in marching us straight to Principal Catherine.

Ethan, completely unfazed, shot me a glance. “Welp.”

Fantastic. That's all he could say.”

I kept my expression neutral as we walked up to Mr. Dax, already thinking through possible escape routes. Lying outright was too risky. But telling the truth—especially the birthday part—was off the table.

So, I had to be clever.

Mr. Dax squinted at us. “And where exactly do you two think you’re going?”

“Ah,” I started, faking a smile like it could somehow make me sound more convincing. “Funny story.”

Ethan casually leaned against the wall, watching me like I was a contestant in some kind of survival game.

Mr. Dax’s frown deepened. “It better be very funny.”

Alright. Nerd mode: activated.

“Well,” I began, “we were just on our way to conduct an observational field study. You see, according to recent meteorological reports, the coastal region experiences significant atmospheric changes at night. And it glows. As dedicated students of academia, we couldn’t pass up the opportunity to collect real-time data on oceanic wind patterns, why it glows, how it glows, and its correlation with—”

“Clark,” Ethan interrupted, “just say we’re going to the beach.”

I shot him a look. Unhelpful.

Mr. Dax stared at me, unimpressed. “Let me get this straight. You expect me to believe that you two—one who runspurely on chaos and other who is literal bad luck—are going to ‘study’ the beach?”

“Yes, it's part of the documentary,” I said without hesitation.

Ethan nodded sagely. “Big wind and glowing sea fans, us.”

I resisted the urge to groan.

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