“Yeah. Mostly. It seems a little ramped up this year, though.” I noticed she avoided eye contact when she said this, and I wondered if she meant the dressing-up part, the drunk Kat part, or the part where she’d dressed me in a pointy bra.

I couldn’t ask, though, because she was thrust out of the way by a pile of people sliding out of booths and chairs and gathering their belongings.

“Fresh meat! Follow me! Everyone to the rink!” Lena called out.

The rink?

Chapter Twenty-One

In the ensuing mayhem, the four rookies were herded toward Kat’s van, which thankfully was piloted by Charlotte, who was sober. Kat was riding shotgun, though, and on the ride to wherever it was we were going—I assumed the same rink the tryouts had been held—she wouldn’t answer any of our questions. She just blasted Guns N’ Roses and sang sloppily along with the music the entire ride until we got to our destination.

Which wasn’t the rink I’d assumed.

This was an arena all right. But the main entrance of this arena was enhanced with wandering neon lights and had a long line of people snaking away from it. People who looked like they’d time-warped here from 1972. People who reminded me of the photos I’d seen in Joe and Alma’s garage.

We parked, and when we all toppled from the van, I noticed a few other cars emptying of Honeys as well. As a swarm, we joined the end of the curving line of people dressed in bell-bottoms and bodysuits and beads.

Potts started to ask what the hell was going on but only got to “hell” before they staggered over to some bushes and dumped out their gut. They returned a minute later shouting, “Shots, shots, shots, shots, shots!” much to everyone’s amusement.

On the ride over, I’d tried to steer my focus toward the goal. I’d listened to the music, to Kat singing off-key, to Sage giggling uncontrollably, and just taken it all in stride. No way was I gonna sit on the bench. I was made for this sport and determined to prove it tonight. If that meant playing along with all this ridiculousness, then so be it.

Once outside the arena, though, I found my focus drawn to Shanti and saw her standing with Grace, who seemed to be close-talking her about something especially intense. The alcohol in my system convinced me she needed rescuing, and I strode over.