Song of a Sophomore

CHAPTER 7 - This is How We Do It

I awake from my nap with sweat beading on my forehead and my heart beating louder than the mixtape playing in my room. I glance at the clock: 8:11 PM. It's time to get my necklace back.

I race into Ryan's room. "Let's go."

"Are you nuts?" Ryan doesn't even look up from his Nintendo Game Boy. "You saw that psycho with a chainsaw. He was about to chop us up!"

I roll my eyes. "He just tried to scare us away. We were trespassing."

"Listen to yourself. You want to go back out there? At night?"

"Because it'll be safer." I sit on the edge of Ryan's bed. "No one will see us."

"He might not see us, but what if he's got attack dogs or something? And what if we can't find the backpack? What if it's gone? Did you think about that?"

I did not consider the backpack (and Grandma's necklace) may not be where Ryan left it. After I fell off my bike and we spotted the rotting mansion through the trees, Ryan set down his backpack on the edge of the clearing and led the way through the tall grass. With a full moon lighting up the sky, we should be able to spot it.

"It's worth a try."

Ryan taps a button on his Game Boy and the black and white figures freeze on the screen and his face twists into a frown. "If we get caught by the hacking, toothless, old guy, it's your fault."

"He was toothless? Really?" Maybe I was too distracted by the chainsaw to notice. I guess I was "Don't worry. No one will be out there at night."

Fifteen minutes later, Ryan and I coast down the cart path on the ninth hole of the River View Golf Course in the hazy twilight. I spot the bend in the path up ahead. We are close to the opening in the trees, and the gravel road beyond, which leads into the shadowy woods. I slow to a stop and climb off my bike, impressed with my moves until the sole of my rubber-soled boot scraped against the metal chain as I search for the kickstand.

"Shh!" Ryan jumps off his bike in one silent, athletic movement. "Am I ready for the SWAT team, or what?"

He flips his Dallas Cowboys baseball cap backwards and spins around to show off his outfit–-a blue t-shirt turned inside out to hide the screen-printed logo and black Adidas soccer shorts that shimmer in the evening light. I pull my braided hair over my shoulder and retie the rolled, red bandana holding back my bangs. Dad's old, heather gray sweatshirt I trimmed into a tank top last summer with a pair of scissors hands off my shoulders. Black Lycra stretch pants hide the lily white flesh of my legs and chunky Doc Marten boots lace up past my ankles. Around my waist I wear a fanny pack stuffed with a miniature flashlight and Swiss army knife.

"I'm a cross between a female Rambo and Mr. T. The only things I'm missing are gold chains, a bandolier and machine gun," I joke.

"My sister, on a mission."

"'I pity the fool.'" I do my best impersonation of our childhood hero Mr. T.

"'Quit your jibber jabber.'" Ryan whispers in a raspy voice. "Let's go get that backpack."

"Remember, we stay together."

"As soon as we have the backpack, we run back to our bikes and go straight home." Ryan nods.

"Go straight home, yeah."

Ryan stops walking and grabs my arm. "You know, we don't have to do this. I'll just tell Mom the backpack wasn't in the lost-and-found at the pool."