Save the Date

“Like what?” Linnie asked, leaning back against the counter. My thoughts were racing as I tried to think of something that would fit the criteria I had given. Playing a board game or watching a movie just wasn’t going to cut it. It needed to be something more than that, something epic.

“Something we can all do together,” I said, stalling for time in the hopes that something would come to mind.

“And Brooke, too,” J.J. added.

“It’s fine,” Brooke said, glancing at Danny. “I don’t have to . . . I mean, whatever it is, you guys can just . . .”

“Aw, come on,” Danny said, taking her hand across the table and giving it a squeeze. “Don’t be a spoilsport.”

“I’m not,” Brooke said sharply, and we all simultaneously felt the need to look at either the ceiling or the floor.

“I’ve got it,” I said. We hadn’t done it in forever, but it had once been a Grant family tradition, something we did every Fourth of July, and even Christmas, if it wasn’t snowing, and sometimes even if it was. “Anyone fancy a game of CTF?”

“What is that?” Brooke asked.

“Really?” J.J. tilted his head to the side. “We haven’t played CTF in years.”

“I know!” I was bouncing on the balls of my feet now. “That’s what makes it perfect. We can bring back an old tradition before we have to say good-bye to the house.”

“Only if J.J. finally admits I am the master,” Danny said, starting to smile.

“Um, I believe I beat you the last time we played.”

“Wasn’t that, like, five years ago?” Rodney asked.

“So?” J.J. and Danny said simultaneously.

“Linnie?” I asked. She was the bride, after all—and if she wanted to go to bed, I had a feeling the game wouldn’t be happening.

“I think a midnight game of CTF the night before my wedding actually sounds like a great idea.” She grinned at me. “Let’s do it.”

* * *

Wait,” Brooke said, hurrying behind Danny as we all trooped out to the backyard, a furrow between her eyebrows. “What are we doing?”

“Capture the flag,” J.J. said with a grin. “Grant-style.” He looked at her and shook his head. “Don’t you want to change? Charlie, lend her my gnome sweatshirt.”

“Why?” Brooke asked, her voice going higher. “What is this?”

“You’ve never played capture the flag?” Danny asked, his eyebrows flying up. “Didn’t you ever go to camp?”

“No,” Brooke said, looking around at all of us. “I . . . didn’t.”

“You’re definitely going to want to change,” J.J. said as we arrived in the center of the backyard—in the spot the tent would be tomorrow. “I have extra clothes upstairs if you need them.”

“Thanks,” Brooke said, “but—”

“Hey!” J.J. yelled toward the house. “What’s the holdup?”

“Shh,” Danny and I said immediately. There were still nine people and a dog inside the house—and Uncle Stu in my mother’s studio—all of whom were presumably asleep. When we’d agreed in the kitchen to play, Rodney had put on the condition that it happen quietly enough not to wake up anyone inside. The center of the backyard was far enough away from the bedrooms so that we should be okay, but there was no need to push our luck.

Capture the flag had been a Grant tradition ever since Danny spent a summer at sleepaway camp when he was eight. He’d brought the game home to us, and though we’d had others throughout the years—we’d gotten very into Manhunt for a while, despite the fact that we never seemed to have enough flashlights—CTF was the game we’d always come back to when we could play outside. Over the years, we’d devised a set of rules that had made the game uniquely ours. But a few years ago, we’d just stopped playing it, and I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it until I ran out into the backyard in the moonlight, feeling the cold night air on my face and my hair streaming behind me as I ran to catch up with my favorite people.

Once we’d agreed to play, J.J. had yelled “Break!” and we’d dashed upstairs to change out of our rehearsal-dinner clothes. I knew from past experiences that when we played CTF, things could get very messy—J.J. especially was not above pushing you into the dirt if the flag was in his reach—and the last thing I wanted to do was wreck my dress.

Since I’d left Brooke and Danny in the kitchen, I figured I had at least a few seconds to duck into my room and grab some clothes before they made it up there, since none of the clothes I’d taken out of my room in preparation for this weekend were CTF-appropriate.

I opened the door and stepped inside, taken a little aback by how, after only a few hours, it felt like I was in a room I needed permission to be in, that somehow being here without asking was like trespassing. Danny’s suit for tomorrow was hanging in my closet, and there were three dresses next to it—just how many times was Brooke planning on changing during the wedding, anyway? The top of my dresser was now covered with a huge, professional-looking makeup case, a curling iron, a hair straightener, and three separate brushes. I just stared at it all for a second, a little amazed that Brooke had brought all this with her from California. When I heard footsteps coming up to the third floor, I realized I needed to get a move on. I grabbed my clothes, then hurried out the door, closing it quickly behind me.

Danny had turned on the outside lights, and then we’d all stood perfectly still in the kitchen, waiting to hear if it sounded like people were waking up, if the light coming in through windows was bothering anyone. When we didn’t hear anything after a solid minute of listening, we decided it was probably okay and had headed out to the backyard to wait for Linnie and Rodney, who were getting the flags. I’d put on sneakers, sweatpants, and a T-shirt with a sweatshirt over it, and while J.J. and Danny had also both changed into jeans and long-sleeved T-shirts, Brooke was still in her rehearsal-dinner dress, though she had taken off her heels and was standing barefoot on the lawn, a look of apprehension on her face as she glanced around, her arms crossed over her chest.

“It’ll be fun,” Danny said, smiling at her. “It’s always a good time.”

“I just don’t understand how this works,” Brooke snapped, sounding annoyed and tired. “And if someone’s not going to explain it—”

“It’s easy,” J.J. assured her. He pointed to one side of the lawn, then the other. “So, there are two bases. We divide into teams and the goal is to steal the other team’s flag and bring it back to your base without getting tagged.”

“When you get tagged,” I said, looking at my middle brother in the moonlight, “someone is supposed to lightly tap you. They are not supposed to shove you over, or push you into a pile of dirt, or pick you up—”

“Anyway,” J.J. said loudly, talking over me, “if you do get tagged, then you have to go to the other team’s jail.”

“Jail?” Brooke asked, looking from J.J. to Danny, her brow still furrowed—it didn’t seem like this was clearing anything up for her.

I nodded. “Yeah. We use the trampoline”—I pointed to it—“and the doorway of the greenhouse. If you get tagged you have to go to jail, and you can only get out if one of your teammates tags you for a jailbreak.”

“Or if they get the flag,” Danny said, snapping his fingers. “Didn’t we decide that was a get-out-of-jail-free card?”

“Yes,” J.J. said, nodding. “But if they don’t manage to get back to their base with the flag, then you have to go back to jail.”

“But don’t forget about the sixth amendment!” This was Rodney; I turned to see he was jogging toward us, wearing jeans and an ancient green Dartmouth sweatshirt.

“Rodney added this,” Danny said. “It’s how we should have known he would end up a lawyer.”

“It’s a good addition!” Rodney said, smiling wide. “So, if you’re in jail, you can yell ‘sixth amendment!’ and then you’re allowed to present your case for why you should be let out of jail. If even one person on the other team agrees, you get to go free.”