The Boy I Hate

Six.

"What do you think they're talking about?"

The question was posed by Elizabeth Eaton, a friend of mine. However, none of us had the answer.

"I'm sure one of us could coax it out of our escort," Margie replied. I knew she was offhandedly referring to me. I doubted it were true, though. My girlfriend charms worked for plenty of things, but I could never get Richard to reveal a secret. He just didn't have loose lips.

"Yeah," I pat my best friend's shoulder. "You an Allen seem to be hitting it off pretty well."

She laughed and swatted my hand away, "oh shush."

We were lounging in the dance studio lobby, with a clear view of the boys huddled up outside the glass doors. We, as in - the girl's who's escorts were part of the baseball team. There were about six of us. When the chaos over the smoke bombs settled down, Richard gathered the team for a meeting. That left us waiting. Some of the girls had their parents coming to pick them up but most of them car pooled with their escorts, including me.

A girl I didn't know chimed in, "why do they take this prank war so seriously?"

This made Elizabeth shrug and reply, "I heard there's some dark family history between the Turners and Whites. You know, like grandfathers killing grandfathers or some shit."

"From who?" This time the questioning voice was mine. It was silly of me to assume that the people of Sugar Port were above mindless rumors. The rivalry hardly went deeper than a falling out of friends, but of course it was turned into a horror story by the lips of the east side.

"A little birdie told me," she kept it vague.

I didn't have time to pester her further because Richard himself interrupted, peaking his head through the entrance. "Mabel we need you."

This was new - being needed for guy talk. I couldn't imagine why my input would change anything, but I was excited to be included nonetheless. I had always wanted to stop sitting on the sidelines, and this was my chance. Perhaps the girls wouldn't have to wait in the lobby anymore; maybe we could get our hands dirty too.

I scampered out of my seat and towards Rich. When I got close enough he locked his arm around my shoulders protectively, almost possessively. We approached the rest of the gang together.  On arrival all the boys looked to Rich as if he were the one meant to be explaining what was going on. So he did - "Mabel, babe, you recall being kidnapped the other day?"

"Can't say I do, must've slipped my mind."

The look he gave me made it clear this was no time for sarcasm. "Well," he scratched the back of his neck with his free hand - a clear sign of nerves. I was beginning to get concerned. "You didn't happen to... I don't know how to say this... get chipped? Did you?"

I furrowed my brows, backing out of his hold slightly, "what does that even mean?"

"Like... you don't think it's a possibility that they're tracking you with something? Do you?"

"Wait!" I took Richard's hand to forcibly remove his arm from my shoulders, backing up so I could face him and the rest of the guys. "You actually think they're tracking me? This isn't a spy movie, guys! God, you think the boys on the west could afford that sort of thing? And get it attached to me without my knowledge?"

They all looked to each other a bit comically, as if they really hadn't thought about how implausible that would be. Richard answered, "calm down. It's just one theory. We wanted to ask you before we decided it was definitively the other theory we have."

"Well, I can tell you definitively right now that I am not chipped. So perhaps it's the other thing; which is?"

Richard looked hesitant to answer, which scared me. He had that scrunched up face he always got when he knew he was about to disappoint me. He wasn't the one to do it though, because Jack spoke up instead, "we think we have a mole."