The Rules by Nancy Holder Page B

then tell us the person you’ve most recently cheated out of something, and how.”
    Beth paled.
“August.”
Her voice was strangled.
    Heather shrugged. That wasn’t so mean. It was vintage scavenger hunt. And she herself had stripped down to less than that on dares.
    “That’s not a dare,” Robin said. “That’s a truth.”
    “Excuse me?” August cocked his head.
    Robin crossed her arms. “You’re asking them to tell you something, not do something.” She gestured dismissively with her hand. “Taking off their clothes isn’t the main point. Confessing is.”
    “It’s my hunt,” he said.
    “You’re breaking your own rules,” she shot back. “
You’re
cheating.”
    Heather snorted as August flushed. Look at that—Albino Man was
pink.
And
pissed.
    “Fine,” he snapped. “Then strip down to your underwear and run a lap around the warehouse.” His look included Robin, and she shook her head.
    “I’m just along for the ride,” she said firmly.
    Heather almost whooped.
Robin, you have got a pair on you!
    She wished she could stand up to her mother like Robin was standing up to August but that was unthinkable.
    August locked gazes with Robin. Neither blinked. In spite of everything, Heather giggled. Robin turned her head in Heather’s direction and Heather backed a few steps down the hall. At this point she was feeling a little stalkerish; she did not need to watch other girls strip to their undies. She spared a couple drops of pity for Thea because it was so cold and wet outside, but none for Beth. If there was any justice, Beth would fall off the cliffs, hit every rock with her face on the way down, and drown in the ocean, where sharks would devour her conniving flesh.
    With Kyle gone, she didn’t see much point in letting August know she had started to weaken in her resolve not to play. She defiantly carried her wine bottle back down the hall and flicked her lantern back on. Maybe there were objects hidden back here that she could snag and hide to screw up the other players. Maybe that would help Kyle out. He was a nice guy. He’d do better in the hunt on his own. And if he won, maybe she’d still win, too.
    There were rooms upon rooms of junk—piles of old ledger books, chains, hooks, and serrated knives. A rectangular room was crammed with bed frames on wheels, metal cabinets, and mirrors covered with jade-green mold. Why did they need a hospital at a cannery? Gross.
    She heard Hiro Yamamoto drumming, and she smiled faintly. Maximum Volume was a great band. They were going all the way to the top. Just like her.
    At least, just like she should be.
    Her stomach shifted uneasily and she pressed a hand over it. She was four weeks pregnant and desperately trying to figure out what to do about it. The simplest thing would be to have an abortion, but she knew there were risks involved with those, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to do that to her body. The thought of it made her queasy. Then again, giving the baby up for adoption meant actually having to carry it nearly a whole year and getting fat in the process. She couldn’t afford the time or the pounds. Plus, she could get stretch marks.
    And could she really do either of those things? Get rid of it with an operation? Give it to someone else? Wouldn’t Mr. Riker have to know if she did that?
    She sniffled a little, scared, and as mad at herself as she was with Mr. Riker. They’d flirted for
years.
The looks, the sighs, the occasional brush of his hand against hers.
    All his promises to help her make it in Hollywood. The people he claimed to know. The auditions he’d set up for her. For three years, he had kept telling her it was only a matter of time. Freshman year, he’d said she was at an awkward age, too old for the little-kid parts, a little too young for the ingénue roles. She’d reminded him that Miley Cyrus had been fourteen when she’d booked
Hannah Montana,
but he had countered that Miley Cyrus’s dad was famous. Then