Free The Julian Game by Adele Griffin

scrabbling past.
    “What’s happening?” I whispered to a guy who had the advantage of being tall enough to see over most heads.
    “Fight,” he answered nonchalantly. “My guess.”
    So maybe Julian hadn’t escaped. Cautious, I nudged forward, but the tide of bodies had thickened. I stood on tiptoe. The lights were brighter in the kitchen doorway, the core of the commotion. Bands of claustrophobia began to knot at my throat. I needed to get out.
    And then Ella bounced up, peachy cheeks and liquid eyes, catching me into the crook of her arm. “It’s four Westie boys against two Mac boys in the kitchen. As soon as I saw Henry, I knew it would happen. Brandon’s balls-out for Henry, and Jay-Kay can’t resist playing the hero—as long as everyone’s watching.” She was radiant. Loving it.
    “This is awful.”
    “It’s beautiful. They won’t do much—they’re a bunch of babies. Just a lot of big talk, that’s all it ever—”
    But now more noise. Some shouting. Kids were doubling back from the kitchen and stampeding in. Faintly, I heard Meri’s voice imploring for everyone to please stop fighting and just chill. Then there was another spillover of bodies into the living room, and kids started climbing out the windows.
    Ella bit her lip. “We’ll be busted soon. Time to bail, I think.”
    Doug. Where was he? In my last check, they had stationed themselves on a delicate Victorian love seat behind the bar. Aha, and there he was still at the far end of the room, slipping like a burglar through the farthest window, Hannah in tow.
    I pointed. Ella looked. “Bastard. Don’t let him get away. Car’s at that tree with the lightning split. Follow me.”
    We went for it, plunging over and onto the veranda and into the hedges. Ella didn’t miss a step; it was as if those pale eyes were twin flashlights. We caught up to Doug and Hannah right as he was unlocking the car.
    “Ooh! Rabbits, run!” Ella was laughing.
    We slammed in just as we heard the wail of the siren and saw the red and blue lights of the cop car. Doug started the engine, but then his hands gripped the wheel, frozen.
    “Baby, get us out of here!” Hannah snapped. “What’s your problem?”
    “But if I’m leaving the scene of a crime, isn’t that like a felony?”
    “Doug, listen to me. One cop can’t be in two places at the same time.” Ella sounded utterly calm, only one finger tapping in her lap, back and forth, knee to knee. “If you speed, they’ve got a reason. Drive slow but don’t stop. Everyone else, look straight ahead. No eye contact.”
    We all did what she said. We looked straight. Doug pressed the gas. I scrunched deep down between my shoulders and tried not to think about how my dad would kill me if we got taken in. Fulton scholarship. College transcript. Don’t think about it.
    It wasn’t until we’d turned onto the exit to Route One that I even dared a check.
    No cop car.
    “A few of the chosen morons are getting sooo busted right now,” said Ella in a throaty whisper. And then we all were in hysterics, relief pouring through us. Doug kicked up the volume and the heat, and we luxuriated in new-car smell and old Fugees music.
    We’d escaped. We were invincible. All the bad things were happening elsewhere, to the others, the few chosen morons. Not us.
    Nobody was ready to go home just yet, so we stopped at the Villanova Diner and ordered breakfasts for dinner. Short stack of pancakes for Doug and me, egg-white omelets for Hannah and Ella, a pot of hot chocolate all around.
    The diner was quiet. Some old men at the counter and a couple of flat-footed waitresses. Perfect for winding down. But now that it was over, I wanted back in. I wanted to re-experience the exhilaration, to look at Julian again. I wanted to watch him wipe his mouth with his thumb and revel in the fact that he thought I was hot.
    “Your friend Jeffey’s in Nylon this month, right?” Hannah asked me as she poured another round into our