The Perfect Escape (The Perfect Escape #1) - Suzanne Park Page 0,20
her back through the door and scanned the room for a pretend ship. The closest thing I found was old baseball mitt. Eh, it would have to do. It was boatlike enough.
“Gotta go, Kate, I have to save some soon-to-be endangered species. Oh, wait! Want me to sign us up for the competition, or do you want to?”
Worry flashed across her face. “Could…could you do it? I’ll pay you back. I promise.”
“Uh, sure.” Whatever spooked her, it wasn’t too big of a deal because she grinned and clapped. “Want to come by sometime after school?” I asked. “We can discuss zombie survival strategy. I’ll text you my address.”
“That’d be great! I can pay you back then.”
I couldn’t help but mirror the beaming smile on her face. “Cool!”
I closed the laptop to assure she couldn’t see me dance. Best day of my life. Ever.
My sister cried out from somewhere down the hallway. “Nate? NATE? Uh-oh!”
“Uh-oh, what?” I flung open my bedroom door.
No Lucy.
No ark.
Shrieks came from the bathroom. “Nate! The animals can’t swim! Uh-oh, Noah’s stuck sideways in the toilet! I made a flood.”
I missed being an only child.
Chapter Seven
Nate
The next Friday, Kate stopped by my house to pay her share of the Zombiegeddon team entry fee. Due to a plumbing emergency, the escape room was closed for the night. I had let Mom know a friend from work was coming over, but she was out shopping at Target when Kate arrived.
We headed straight to my room and hopped on my computer. “Okay, we’re officially registered.” I forwarded her the email confirmation. “Damn, that fee was so expensive!” A hundred dollars! Goodbye, Xbox Live game pass fund. You’ll be sorely missed.
Kate beamed as she handed me a crisp fifty-dollar bill. “I deposited my first paycheck.”
The competition was the same weekend as my regional cross-country qualifiers, but the potential upside of this competition (cash money!) outweighed the benefit of medaling in the regional meet (no cash money!). Truthfully, I hadn’t gotten any faster over the last year, and I already had plenty of sports fodder in my early-action college applications.
My Visine-soaked eyes twitched from pulling an all-nighter. I’d spent hours combing through most of the competition’s excessively long terms and conditions, studying the campgrounds and the nearby vacant properties on Google Maps, running offensive and defensive strategies (kill versus hide) through my head. The competition had one simple objective: to be the first team to make it to the other side of the campground alive.
I could do that.
We could do that.
She flipped through my printouts. “Hey, did they ask for a team name?”
I clicked on the registration email. “Um. Don’t be mad. In the blank space for team name, I wrote ‘TBD.’” I shot her a grin-wince. “I should have read the instructions more closely. I thought I could go back to that later. Sorry.”
To my relief, she laughed. “Team TBD? Nice alliteration.”
“I also forged my dad’s signature on the parent consent for—”
I stopped talking when door creaked open. My mom came in with a tray of snacks and juice. “Nuts, apple slice, Cheez-It, and Oreo.” Her eyes widened when she saw Kate, but then her mouth curved into a smile, which wasn’t a good thing for me. “Nate say you like cheesy crunchy food. He remind me several time to buy at Target this afternoon.”
Oh no.
“I always tell him he play video game with same friend. I see he make new friend.”
Oh no.
Kate said, “Thank you for having me over. And for the food and drinks, Mrs. Kim.”
Mom continued smiling.
Shit.
“Nate never bring home a girl before.”
I coughed some juice out of my nose. “Thanks, Mom, you can go now.”
“You have two cookie each,” she said. “No fighting.”
She wouldn’t leave. Instead, she puttered around, straightening my bookshelf and picking up some dirty clothes I’d stuffed under my bed. She pulled out the pajamas I’d worn that week and some