Prank Wars Read online

  His amusement won over. “You want me for yourself then?”

  I matched his sarcasm. “If that’s what it takes. Just be warned. I’ll take you for everything your worth.”

  “I would expect nothing less.”

  “Maybe from a man.”

  “From a boy,” he smoothly corrected me. “Let’s get one thing straight, cuz. I’m a man, and men are different from boys. Boys will hurt you, not men.”

  I stared at him, confused.

  “Hey!” To my relief, Kali shoved her way into the middle of our conversation. The girl was on a mission. She outshone us in all her make-up and jewelry, and she wouldn’t stop laughing. She pushed a note into my hands. I opened it. Tory is ready to strangle you. Move it! I took a deep breath. With a careful look at Byron, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. “Give her this,” I said in an overly dramatic voice. “It’s classified. Make sure no one gets it. No one, Kali.”

  Kali tried to keep a straight face, but then she broke into another gurgle of laughter. I gave her a warning look and passed her the crumpled paper. She choked on another laugh. The paper fluttered onto the chipped wooden floor, resting next to Byron’s flip-flops. Kali’s laughter ended abruptly and we met each other’s eyes. Mine were accusing. Byron read the girl communication perfectly. We dove for the paper at the same time, but Byron pushed me easily out of the way. He picked the note up, dangling the thing between two fingers. I’m sure he thought it was that threatening letter he wanted so badly. “What’s this?” he asked in hushed tones. “A love note?”

  Actually it was, and I would love to see his reaction when he read it because I made sure it was filled with all sorts of mushy sentiments about him from a supposed secret admirer. But now I had a job to do. I slid away to meet Tory and Lizzie at our designated meeting place in this stormy night. All I needed was five minutes ahead of these boys, and luckily Kali had them well in hand. Flirting was her not-so-secret weapon.

  Chapter Nine

  Day 106

  1952 hours

  “The cold breeze after the storm contrasted sharply with the danger. I knelt on the porch, the sky still deeply overcast. We had claimed the guys’ porch light from operations past, which now forced us to work by the light of our cell phones. No matter. We knew this place well. We knelt, our black stocking caps and gloves blending into the shadows. War. It destroyed everything in its path, claiming everything that it touched. And yet, we found this heady danger addicting like nothing else.”

  —Madeleine’s War Journal Entry (Tuesday, May 29th).

  I held my cell phone to my lips. “Tory, are you in position?”

  “It’s safe to proceed.”

  I lifted my binoculars, watching Tory to get my bearings. Everyone was in position. Kali was on patrol at the doghouse at ward prayer. Lizzie was with me. She held the old lady perfume in her hand as our only defense. Tory had the most difficult assignment of all—knocking and running—but let’s be honest; she was better trained than the rest of us.

  With a dignified plop, we threw the dead love tree in place. It was wilted and dying like our love lives. But just dropping off the putrid thing wasn’t enough of a message. No, these noncommittal boys needed some wedding invitations, and with a little help from digital wizardry, Byron found himself married to Kim Kardashian, and the twins had found love with the Olson sisters. We tied the invitations to the love tree.

  My eyes didn’t leave the door. According to Kali, there was one roommate unaccounted for at ward prayer. Rock. He was the crazy drummer of the group. If he got caught in the crossfire, he’d go absolutely ballistic. The thing about Rock was that he took everything we did as a personal attack, so if he found us, we’d find ourselves talking to his landlord. It was deadly serious business. After much discussion, we decided Rock must be engaged to Lindsey Lohan. It had to be done, but my hand shook on this last invitation, and it clattered to the ground. Lizzie snorted, trying to keep back her laugh.

  My lips twisted in response, and I gave her my best mock impression of an angry sergeant. “Get a hold of yourself, soldier,” I whispered. We slowly backed away from the scene and hid behind a bush. I picked up my cell. “Fire,” I told Tory, and she was off, her red hair flowing behind her. She knocked loudly on the door and turned, finding another bush to hide behind. We waited for an interminably long time, but there was no sound. “We got a green light,” I told Lizzie. “Go!” She nodded and we both pulled forward, heading for the door. We tried the doorknob and found it locked. I headed for the window to the side. The pane slid easily under my fingertips. It was unlocked and I opened it all the way.

  “Watch for traps,” Lizzie warned in a small voice.

  My hands were on the sill and I pulled myself up and over, almost kicking Lizzie in the face. She ducked easily. Weeks of experience taught her the usual procedure. I swung my leg over and stared into the room. It was blessedly empty, even the walls were empty. Guys never decorated enough—we were going to change that tonight. Poor things. The swinging bachelor pad needed to be transformed into a cozy suite for newlyweds—as their wedding invitations suggested. I landed on the brown carpet on all fours. The floor creaked under my weight. There was no way to be a proper spy and sneak up on anybody here. I tiptoed to the front door, the floor protesting every step of the way.

  I let Tory in, and Lizzie brushed past her, carrying a huge laundry bag over her shoulder. She set it down at our feet and it clunked heavily. She silently pulled out the ammunition: a pink afghan, some hideously framed macaroni artwork, surprisingly hardy flowers dried in a forgotten vase, air freshener. Lizzie was our stealth bomber, but at her careful rate, we’d be caught and tortured before she got everything out of the bag. I nudged her aside and dumped the rest of it onto the ground. Lizzie gave a dismayed gasp at the mess.

  “Tory,” I ordered. “Find the cushions.”

  Tory went to work, practically sniffing them out like a greyhound. I dragged the lavender and white checkered sheets across the floor and arranged them over the living room window, tying them up with pretty bows. I laid a doily over Rock’s elaborate drum set. Lizzie had already fixed the lampshades and arranged cute fluffy throw pillows. She placed dolls and stuffed animals in strategic places until the room resembled something fit for Malibu Barbie. Yup, consider it officially trashed.

  “Any luck?” I asked Tory. She shook her head. I sighed. “We’ll just have to take their cushions until we can work out a deal for ours then,” I said.

  “What about the back rooms?” she asked. It was forbidden to go back there, Chastity Line and all. I met Lizzie’s worried gaze and shook my head at Tory. No time for a fight. There was no telling what or who was back there anyway.

  My phone buzzed and I glanced down at the text. The targets are attempting to exit the doghouse, it read. The impossible was happening. Kali was losing them.

  I threw my phone at Tory, knowing my texting skills were too slow. “Quick. Tell Kali to offer them food, good company, anything, just buy us a few more minutes.” Tory’s fingers flew over the keypad. I ran into the kitchen, throwing ridiculously cute little hand towels over the handles. Tory followed me, texting one-handed.

  Lizzie hesitated at the cupboards, staring at the sign hanging over it. “Do unto others as you would have others…” I hastily opened the cupboard to distract her, but it was even worse inside. A little heart shaped post-it-note read. “Be ye Kind,” (Ephesians 4: 32).

  “Maybe we shouldn’t…” Lizzie began.

  “What are you talking about? This is what they want…or else they wouldn’t have started this war. Just remember, they stole our couch cushions first.”

  Lizzie stared at the happy face stickers stuck all over the inside cupboard. “I’m beginning to feel…”

  “Don’t feel!” This was a set-up, as if the guys couldn’t be bothered to physically stop us. “This is completely lazy! They thought these little do-good notes would crush our spirits without them having
to lift a finger.”

  Lizzie tugged at another sign. She read it aloud: “Please don’t! Don’t take the cookies (if you’re feeling guilty, please flip on the back—there is a nice note).” She flipped the sign over. “Help yourself to our cookies, fatty.” She dropped the note as if stung. “What is this—a trap?” she asked.

  “They’re toying with us.”

  “Or,” Lizzie worked out, “they have a problem with roommates stealing food?”

  Tory pushed past her, easily ignoring the messages…either that or she couldn’t read. Balancing on the toes of her long black converses, she reached through the cupboards and began ripping the labels off the tuna fish cans. “Tory, no!” I pulled the cans from her hand. “Don’t mess with the food. It’s the number one rule.” Before I could get into it further, my pink camo phone vibrated on the counter where Tory had left it. It was Kali. I answered it. “What’s happening?”

  “Byron’s looking really bored,” she whispered anxiously into the phone. “I think he’s gonna make a run for it.”

  “Block the door. Anything. We’re not finished here.” I pried another can from Tory’s hands and set it down on the guys’ ancient microwave. Without warning, the microwave went off. I screamed and pulled the can off the top. The microwave stopped running, almost like I was a conductor between it and the cell phone. “Whoa! What kind of microwave is this? They’re not supposed to just start like that!”

  “What?” It was Kali on the other line. I tried to stay focused. The microwave had gone off for no reason at all…unless it had something to do with my cell phone…except, I tried to remember what we had just talked about in my PHYS 121 class. The microwaves in cell phones worked on completely different frequencies, right? There was no way my phone should’ve affected a microwave oven. Yet, another student in the class claimed their remote control car moved when their mom turned the blender on. The teacher had said it was frequency interference problems, but this was crazy. I must be holding some brain frying device made by terrorists. It didn’t stop me from putting the phone back to my ear. I threw the can back on top of the microwave to see if it would set it off again. Nothing happened. The microwave stayed put. I was crazy, wasn’t I? “Mad?” It was Kali. I had forgotten she was on the other line.

  I licked my dry lips. “Uh, Kali? Is it working? Have you stopped him? Confirm.”

  “No, he’s going through the door.”

  Immediately I forgot the microwave incident. “Through you? Because that’s the only way he should’ve gotten through the door!” She was silent. “Never mind. Grab his foot or something. Catch him.”

  “Are you serious?” I recognized that rebellious tone.

  “Do it!”

  I listened to the subsequent screaming in the background—most of it came from Kali. Her phone clunked to the doghouse floor. After a few tense moments, Kali got back on. She was breathless. “He knows something’s up. Abort mission. Abort. He’s on his way.”

  “We’ve got 3.24 minutes until collision,” I shouted to the others, hanging up my cell phone. Approximately. We had timed how long it took our fastest soldier to get from the doghouse to the bunkhouse. “Where’s our message?”

  Tory glanced up at us. “What message?”

  “Really?” I cried. “We really forgot the message?” That was the whole point, to deliver a message that was just as confusing as the useless drivel they fed us in a constant basis. I found Byron’s laptop and sat down, pulling it to my lap. “What’s the password?” I tried to think of the most likely ones. “Tory! Call the boys who live downstairs. Tell them to stand outside their back doors. We’ll give them a fresh-baked batch of brownies if they do what we say.”

  “What?” Lizzie shouted out, but Tory did it without hesitation. She had them on speed dial. No one cared if the boys downstairs were tired of us by now. The bribes should be enough to keep them working for us. Lizzie looked from the battle worn Tory to me sitting calmly on the couch with Byron’s laptop. Lizzie freaked out. “What are you doing? We’ve got to get out of h—”

  “Just a sec.” I started typing in words. First I tried Lord Byron. When that failed, I used his ex-girlfriend’s: Sandra. Nope. Apparently he wasn’t that sentimental. I was desperate: I don’t know, I wrote. The usual tricks weren’t working. “This is ridiculous,” I shouted.

  “Yeah!” Lizzie was trying to pull me from my seat. “Write the stupid note on a napkin or something!”

  Tory carried her cell phone like a walkie talkie, barking out orders to the boys downstairs. She dropped the lilac-spring air freshener and it rolled across the ground. She sneezed and readjusted her phone on her chin, still working out negotiations. Lizzie was more of a wreck. “Hurry! Hurry! How are we supposed to get out of here without them seeing us?”

  “What’s the magic word?” I asked Byron’s computer. “Please?” I typed it in with a couple of random numbers and waited. To my surprise, a bunch of numbers popped up on the screen like some sort of weird code. My head tilted at it.

  “What’s his major—computers?” Tory asked over my shoulder. She plugged the air freshener into the wall like she was casually finishing up morning chores.

  “No, it’s…it’s…uh, something to do with geology…I think.” I quickly changed his screensaver to cute little bunnies.

  Lizzie glanced out the window at the parking lot. “They’re here. Now what are we supposed to do?”

  Thirty seconds until collision. “Lock the door,” I told Tory. She ran while I wrote a completely stupid and meaningless message into Byron’s computer. She locked the door just as the guys landed against it. It crashed loudly. They fumbled with the doorknob. Tory jerked back, throwing down a welcome mat covered in rainbows. She stepped on it to look through the peephole. “They’re looking for their keys,” she reported.

  Lizzie froze next to me. She had never cut things this close before. I was almost done with my message: “What do you and bunnies have in common?” I typed. “Nothing, you’re not cute. You’re not fluffy and no one wants you around at Easter—not you or your peeps. Good, nice and confusing.

  “What’s taking them so long to get in?” Lizzie asked.

  “Kali picked their pockets,” I muttered. “They don’t have their keys.” She was the queen of flirtation after all.

  I heard fingers running down the same window pane we had used to break inside. Lizzie let out a little shriek. She tugged at my shoulder. “They’ve got us!”

  “As if I’d let us get caught.” I grabbed a cushion on my way out of the living room. “Get the other one. Retreat.”

  Lizzie’s eyes bugged out. “What? How?”

  “Through the back window in the kitchen,” Tory said, cushion in hand. We ran past the fridge and Lizzie followed helplessly. Tory wrestled open the window, still talking through her cell phone to the boys downstairs. “Hands up.” She shoved the cushion through. Lizzie gasped just as I stuffed the other one through. I poked my head after it, seeing that the guys and cushions were nowhere in sight. Perfect. The boys downstairs had nestled comfortably back inside with their video games with the added bonus of a few extra couch cushions to rest under their feet. I made a mental note to bribe them with something more than brownies this time. Lizzie’s cinnamon rolls maybe?

  “Okay, it’s our turn,” I told Lizzie. “Through the window.”

  She planted her feet, watching me like I was absolutely crazy. “No way. I’m not doing this!”

  “There’s another roof to the side. It’s safe. We always get out this way.”

  “Sometimes we get in.” Tory informed her with flushed cheeks.

  Lizzie shook her head, her long black hair swinging. “I’m sorry. I don’t like heights. Just go without me. I’ll just get caught, okay?” I met Tory’s eyes and our brows furrowed. There was no telling what they would do to her, especially once they saw how beautiful their place looked.

  “Go Tory,” I instructed. Tory was already out the window. She landed safely on the ne
ighbor’s roof to the side of us. Lizzie and I listened to the sound of a window scraping open in the guys’ back rooms. They had found their way inside. I tugged Lizzie back into the living room. Her gladiator sandals spanked the back of her heels. The doorknob on the front door turned. I froze. Kali hadn’t stolen all of their keys? Of course not. She had other conquests to make—real ones. Byron pulled through the door just moments before we ducked behind Rock’s drum set. Byron folded a credit card under his fingers, staring at the transformed living room. He knew how to pick a lock? It wasn’t one of those simple ones either. Impressive…but at the same time, disturbing.

  One of the twins rushed behind Byron into the kitchen. It was the sweet one, Blake. The other twin came from the back rooms, shaking his head. “What did they do in here?” He didn’t sound pleased. It meant we got the better of them this time. It wasn’t the fact that we trashed the place; it was the fact that we got in and out, undetected.

  “They got our cushions!” the other twin shouted, staring out the window. “Hey, there’s that evil redhead!” Tory never allowed herself to be seen. She was using herself as bait to give us a chance to escape. The twins charged outside after her, their arms pumping simultaneously.

  Byron was looking at his laptop. It was on the bunny screensaver. “How did she…?” he whispered so softly that I had to strain to hear. But instead of reading the message, he tugged out his iPhone. I saw a bright screensaver over the front. It was a Ski Utah one. “Hey, Holly.”

  Holly must have picked it up mid-ring. Wait a second, Holly? I didn’t recognize that name. Byron leaned against the door frame next to his newly furnished kitchen, inches from where we hid. I met Lizzie’s eyes, willing her not to make any fast moves. “No, nothing’s wrong.” He chuckled low in his throat. It sounded ominous, well, okay, if I were being objective, it actually sounded mildly attractive…in an ominous way. “Sorry for checking in so late,” he said. Why was he checking in with Holly anyway? Unless? Did Byron have a girlfriend? Before I could digest this, he snickered. “Yeah, the usual. It gets pretty hazardous around here.” He ran a shaky hand through his already disheveled dark hair. “No, that’s the problem. I didn’t see her tonight. Something’s wrong.” There was that accent again. I was having trouble identifying it. He listened to whoever was on his line. “You got my message then? Yeah, well, it got into the wrong hands.” He pulled a paper from a pocket and studied it; I recognized it immediately. The threatening note—the s one Kali was supposed to have hidden away. How did he get it?