Page 126 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

A new voice comes over the speakers, telling us we have ten minutes to practice, another ten to plan and disperse.

“That’s our reception DJ, who’s agreed to start early and use the photographer’s drones to do some sportscasting commentary.”

The guns are distributed, and Brody does the demo, explains how to pop open the “hopper,” where the storage bins are if we need more ammo, and then he aims and shoots at the floral archway, already constructed at where the wedding vows ought to have been exchanged. He hits the center top smack in the middle, clearly without really trying.

“Counter-Strike,” I mutter.

“Counter-Strike 1, 2, and also CS: Global Offensive,” Brody corrects.

Brody encourages us to take some practice shots while he heads to Vera to give her a quick lesson.

“We are so fucked,” Influencer 1 says.

“Bruh,” Influencer 2 agrees.

I tuck a strand of hair behind one ear and edge toward Lucas. We’re all flying back tomorrow, and he and I have settled . . . nothing. “So are you secretly a teetotaler and an expert paintballer?”

Lucas smiles. “I built tolerance from drinking during work meetings, and though I’m not a professional paintball player, Brody entered us into a semipro tournament a couple years ago.” He hands me one of the hair ties he’s restored under his watch. “You’re going to want to tie your hair back.”

“There are pro paintball teams?” I close my eyes, because of course.

“Semipro tournaments, pro teams. There’s a whole subculture and hierarchy. But there, the obstacles are placed in known locations, there’s mud and sliding. This will be different.”

“So you’re like, actually good.”

Lucas reaches his arms around me and gives me a private lesson in the last couple of minutes before we’re supposed to separate. He tells me, “We lost first to the Greenville Gassers and then to the Shut Up We’re Putting Ups so badly Brody gave up on the idea.”

Brody yells for his team to start gathering.

“You’ll do fine,” Lucas says, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

The quartet plays the Jeopardy theme song on loop, because they’re that top-tier.

Vi gathers us in a semicircle. “We have almost no chance.”

Khloe rolls her beautifully made-up eyes, and Vi continues. “But we don’t have to win to win. Focus on getting some good content and use your advantages.”

One of the more petite influencers asks drolly, “What advantages?”

“The DJ has a crush on me. Each time XR says the word bored or boring, it means one of them is b for stalking us from behind, so turn around.”

“Won’t that mean we get hit in the face?”

“We have masks.”

There’s a lot of muttering, and because Vi looks genuinely a little sad, and also because I hate losing, I raise my hand. “I have a couple of ideas?”

The battle is both ridiculously lopsided and also scripted levels of reality hilarity.

After our strategy session, we’re given the duration of Hamilton’s “My Shot” to hide. And it’s honestly the difference in the confidence levels that’s immediately apparent. While Vi hikes up her skirts and I see several of the influencers fast-walking in their fancy heels to hide in the foliage, Team Brody struts around, shoulders back, assessing.

We are predator and prey.

And I’m on the wrong end of that food chain.

Like the rest of the rabbits on my team, I hightail it to the densest foliage I can find, half dragging Khloe along.

It’s not a great plan, but it’s definitively better than nothing—unlike Brody’s team, which I suspect is used to being solo heroes out to kill, my first suggestion was that we pair up based on outfit color. This way, we can hide more effectively and double down on the advantage the ridiculously named DJ throws our way.