A Soul's Kiss by Debra Chapoton Page B

was ice cold and shaking. She squeezed mine like a vise.
    One of the masked girls, Brittany probably, got in the car and followed us. The beams from the headlamps bounced up and down the trees. It was more than enough to see our way toward the old Quonset huts until she parked and killed the lights.
    “What do you want?” Hannah kept crying and asking the same question. She’d gotten pretty good at sounding afraid. I squeezed Rashanda’s hand and pulled her closer to me. That’s when we reached the hut. Andrew kicked the door open and ordered us in. They already had a battery camp light glowing in the corner.
    “Not you, sweetheart,” Andrew growled. He yanked Hannah back out through the door and closed it. We could hear Hannah’s sobs and then a stifled scream. More muffled screams came then faded, but I knew it was only Hannah holding her own hand over her mouth and walking to the car to get the camera.
    For a moment I thought I blew it. I should have been battling for my girlfriend, putting up a fight, swearing at least, and not holding another girl’s hand. I was so mad at myself for forgetting my lines, but it didn’t matter. The look on my face must have been enough to fool Rashanda.
    “Are we locked in?” she said and started toward the door, dropping my hand. I lunged in front of her and faked a struggle with the door, like it was bolted and wouldn’t budge. I gave it a final kick as I leaned against it. Perfect. The first time I’d practiced that move last summer it had bounced back toward me. There’s a lot to be said for rehearsals; I ought to know, I was the lead in the school play.
    I kicked again, this time at one of the bottles that were lined up with some other empties. It knocked against two beer cans and stirred up a little dust that floated in the low beam of the camp light. Rashanda was eyeing the mattress that lay littered with newspapers, a fluorescent pink beach cover-up, and an empty bottle of Johnson’s Baby Oil. It really did look gross. I wondered if some bum had used this place to crash since the last time we pranked someone. I could see a pink bathing suit scrunched under the far edge of the mattress. That spurred another memory—a prank that went too far.
    “Sit down,” I said.
    “Not a chance,” she answered. Her lip curled. “I left my purse in your car. My phone’s in it. Do you have yours?” Man, she seemed a lot less frightened, like she had some super self-control.
    I did have my phone in my back pocket. I patted myself like I wasn’t sure and then I said, “It’s in the cup holder in the car.” I kicked at another bottle and kept my backside toward the wall. “Hey, what’s that?” I whispered. Maybe I could distract her.
    She looked where I pointed and stepped toward the hole in the side of the hut. The rippled metal had been peeled back a few inches and dirty gray insulation drooped out. I knew what she’d see next and I was ready for her panic. One of the team stuck the end of their gun through the hole and shouted, “Take off your clothes!” I almost laughed, it sounded so cheesy. I started unbuttoning my shirt.
    “You’re out of your mind,” Rashanda said. “We’re not taking off our clothes.” She didn’t speak loudly. She was speaking only to me.
    “Hey, it could be fun.” I moved toward her, held my hand out and got the shock of my life. I still don’t know how she did it, but one second I was standing there and the next second I was on the filthy mattress. She ripped the door open and ran. I was two seconds behind her.
    The memory of that escape haunted me now. I thought of the entire episode as I finished the meal my mom had brought up to me. I gulped the last of my drink and mulled over Rashanda’s escape. I never found out how Rashanda got home that night or if she figured out that Hannah and I were in on it.
    For some reason all I could see now was Jessica’s face. I could see her in the hut. I could hear my own voice telling her to