Page 7 of No Way Home
Instruction Guy rolled his eyes. “You’llknow. If you wanted an easy hookup, you wouldn’t be here. You’d be at some trashy frat party. You came here because you wanted something different. A challenge. Am I wrong?”
“We came because we’re hoping to win the thousand dollars cash,” another person yelled.
The man nodded to his friend. “Leroy will give you two index cards with the same number.” Leroy lifted the stack with a dramatic flourish, like he was dealing poker. “That number matches your spot behind the curtain. Once you're there, take off your shoes and socks and step up so the ladies can get a good look. At yourfeet only!” He paced a few steps, scanning the group like a drill sergeant searching for people who weren’t standing at attention. “If one of them likes what she sees, she’ll call your number. Slide one card through the slot, then head into the hall to meet up with her. Show your other card to prove you're the right guy. She’ll have the scavenger hunt instructions.” He clapped his hands once. “Questions? No? Move along!”
We inched forward in a single-file line, trying to get through another door.
“Bro, do you happen to have nail clippers in your pocket?” Fletch asked behind me.
“Fletch, why would I have nail clippers?”
He swore.
I took my cards from Leroy. Number 167.
Leroy grinned. “Good luck, boys.”
“168,” Fletch read his card to himself.
We entered a long hallway split in half by a curtain spanning its entire length. We went to the right, behind the divider. Fletch and I found our numbers side by side, three-quarters of the way down.
I quickly took off my shoes and socks, only stopping when Fletch yelped.
I snorted. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” It looked like he was ripping all the hair off the top of his feet. “I’m getting myself a date.” He tossed a tuft onto the floor and went back for more.
“Dude.” I shoved my socks into my shoes, feeling weird standing on a tile floor that might not have been mopped in a year.
When I turned around, Fletch’s feet were mostly bald, with the exception of a couple of hairs that had broken off. He sat criss-cross, lifted his left foot, and chewed his toenails.
“Oh my gosh.” I burst out laughing.
“Shhh,” he snapped and went right back to it.
“Eeewww,” the guy on his other side said.
Fletch spat out a nail clipping. “Mind your own business. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
Fletch was no quitter. But maybe he should’ve been. The tops of his feet looked red and raw and two toenails were bleeding from being chewed to the quick. But he finished just in time.
A buzzer blared. The door opened and my stomach dropped. High-pitched laughter erupted on the other side of the curtain. My gut fizzed like I’d dropped an Alka-Seltzer straight into my bloodstream. What had I gotten myself into?
Squeals broke out.
“This one! No, that one! Wait, I can’t choose!”
“122, you’re mine!” a girl yelled within 10 seconds.
“111!”
“166!”
The guy on my other side grinned. “That’s me.”
“You don’t say,” Fletch deadpanned.
“Good luck, boys.” 166 jogged away.
