Spring Break (ONC 2023)

1: The Toss of a Coin

"Let's flip a coin," Cece said, her dark eyes locked with mine. "Heads, you come with me; tails, you're off the hook. Deal?"

I sighed. Familiar objections rose like specters in my mind, but Cece's unrelenting campaign had worn me down. "I can't just drop everything, C. I've got a job, and homework, and—"

"Jesus, Ray. Would you live a little?" Cece huffed. "You work freelance, and it's spring break. Besides, what are you studying, anyway? Literature?" She laughed. "Come on. Pleeeese?"

She bounced on the cheap sofa, making the springs creak, and I winced. It was just IKEA furniture, sure; but I'd paid for it.

Defeated, I rolled my eyes. "Fine. But you have to promise: if I win, you drop it for good. Okay?"

"Okay." Cece grinned and dug a coin from her purse.

I sighed. At least I had a 50-50 chance of getting out of this, and worst-case-scenario, I had to spend a week in a huge, fancy house with a bunch of Cece's friends.

"You wanna flip?" she asked.

The offer surprised me. Usually, Cece was the sort who liked to control everything down to who wore what shoes to senior prom. We'd been best friends since junior high, despite having increasingly little in common.

Cece chased boys, and I didn't. Cece was a cheerleader, and I wasn't. Cece lost her virginity at 16, and at 24...

You get the picture.

Regardless, she was the closest thing to a soul-sister I'd ever known, and when she invited me to her crazy spring break 'bachelorette' getaway, I'd been flattered, despite my initial (and persistent) gut reaction of 'no way in hell.'

In true Cece style, though, she hadn't given up, and had continued to pester me relentlessly over the following two weeks, gradually wearing down my resolve, which brought us to today.

In a last-ditch effort to win me over, she'd shown up at my apartment, a bag of my favorite bagels in hand, and pitched her wild idea one last time: 8 people, 5 days, 4 random couples, and 1 chance at love—or, more realistically, at getting laid.

I still couldn't understand why she even wanted me to be a part of it. Cece and her friends were hot, while I was... not.

I was painfully awkward around new people, nerdy, trending towards gender neutrality, and only shaved when I absolutely had to.

I was the sort of person Cece's friends laughed at, in other words.

"Sure, I'll flip," I said, holding out my hand.

She dropped the coin onto my outstretched palm and grinned, her dark eyes sparkling in her gorgeous face. Black, 'bootylicious,' and beautiful, Cece was a goddess compared to my pale, flat-chested little troll. I'd never figured out if I wanted to be her, or kiss her, but I kept hanging on for the chance to find out—which was pathetic in a whole spectrum of ways.

"Okay," I said, dropping my gaze to the coin. It wasn't standard currency. Some sort of game piece, I thought—the size of a silver dollar but probably made of pewter or lead, with a pentagram on one side and a goat's head on the other. "Here goes."

I tossed the coin, following it with my eyes as it rose in the air and fell back, drawn by gravity's pull. It landed in my hand and I flipped it onto the back of the other before releasing it to reveal my fate.

The horned goat stared up at me.

"What side is that?" I asked.

Cece squealed. "Heads, obviously! So it's final—no backing out now, Ray-Ray!"

I laughed, even as anxiety spawned a ball of worms in my gut, and handed the coin back to her. It was probably a trick piece, anyway.

"Yeah," I said. "Fair's fair. Count me in."

***

A week later, I cursed my fate as the early-model Prius I'd inherited from my father struggled up the curving mountain road towards my destination. A heavy rain had started in the late afternoon, just as the weather apps predicted. If it were up to me, I would have avoided driving in it, but Cece's instructions were extremely specific—as usual. All the 'invitees' had to arrive at around the same time, just after dusk.

The house she'd arranged for us—courtesy of some connection or other—was enormous, remote, and notoriously hard to find. As the dashboard clock turned from 6:59 to 7:00 PM, and the headlights illuminated an ominously narrow stretch of road, I wondered if I'd made a wrong turn somewhere. The car's outdated GPS, which my dad had paid a premium for a decade ago, had stopped working when I left the main highway.

Swearing under my breath and doing my best to ignore the light sheen of sweat breaking out over my skin, I put on my emergency lights, pulled off at the next turnout, and fished my phone from the front pocket of the backpack riding in the passenger seat.

Thankfully, 5G was a thing, and I had coverage. Studying my maps app, I saw I was still on the right track, and my destination wasn't far off. After memorizing the next stretch of road, and with my nerves restored, I continued on my way.

"Who the fuck lives out here?" I griped to myself. It was like the opening sequence of The Shining, but with a more Pacific Northwest feel. Finally, with equal measures of relief and dread, I rounded a sharp bend and saw the lights of a house on the opposite ridge.

Being the only lights, and the only house I'd come across in some time, I knew it was my destination.

A sudden beep, unmistakably of the warning variety, startled me, and my eyes flicked over the dash.

I swore. I was accustomed to needing gas twice a month, and I'd refilled a week ago. Idiot that I was, I hadn't thought to refuel before embarking on this voyage, and now—apparently—I was close to running on fumes and a swiftly dying battery.

The nearest gas station was forty-five minutes away. No turning back now.

Swallowing the dryness at the back of my throat, I continued on my way, winding down into a bramble-choked ravine and up the other side, into ominously shadowed forest of redwood and fir. We were only about twenty miles from town, as the crow flies, but we might as well have been ten-thousand years in the past, for all the sign of civilization I could see.

Finally, I spotted the turnoff—a narrow gravel lane, though thankfully level and well-cared-for, and inched along it slowly, mindful of my balding tires.

Up ahead, the house came into view through the mix of redwood and fir, like something straight from a horror film: a miniature-mansion built of dark wood and stones, three stories, steep-roofed, with a wide portico out front, flanked by ostentatious pillars made from the trunks of  trees. If Doctor Frank N. Furter himself greeted me at the door, I'd hardly be surprised.

I laughed and shook my head, experiencing relief and scorn in equal measure as I pulled alongside Cece's shiny BMW. There were four other vehicles of equal value parked in the drive: if there was no  gas to be had, at least someone could give me a ride.

Shutting off my car, I sat for a moment in the dark, contemplating what awaited me.

It's supposed to be fun, I told myself. Just try not to be such a freak, and you'll be okay.

Sighing, I grabbed my pack and opened my door, letting in a gust of cold, rain-spattered, late-winter air.

Gravel crunched beneath my doc martins as I got out, and I took a last deep breath before locking my car and marching up the wide, flagstone-paved path towards the house and whatever awaited me there, head bent against the downpour.

Reaching the door, I searched for the button to ring the bell. Not seeing one, I raised my hand to knock, when the door opened inward without warning. I gasped as a bright light blinded me, and then Cece's laugh rang in my ears.

"Ray-ray! You're here! Welcome to the party, girl!"