Page 131 of Double Puck

Beside the equipment shed, someone has constructed a fucking chain-link cage with a hand-painted sign that reads:

THE PENALTY BOX — $10 LOCKS UP A BEAR FOR 2 MINUTES. ALL PROCEEDS TO THE COMMUNITY SKATE PROGRAM.

"For TEN dollars," Beck bellows like a carnival roadie, "you can sentence any Beachside Bear to hard time! Two full minutes behind bars! They can't escape! They can't argue! They can only sit there and think about what they've done!"

The crowd goes absolutely feral.

Kids are already dragging parents toward the donation bucket by their sleeves, and one small child has climbed the fence to get a better look at the cage. A dog is barking at the sign, and three teenagers are already filming.

Naturally, Declan gets locked up first.

Forty dollars is pooled together in no time by four kids who then stand outside the cage making faces at him while he sits on the bench inside, arms crossed, radiating the energy of a man doing time for a crime he'd commit again.

Josie takes a million photos and immediately admits she'll use them for blackmail later.

Mason goes in next and simply reads the graffiti on the shed wall like he's at a gallery opening.

And then Beck, megaphone still in hand, scans the crowd, and finds me.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announces, pointing directly at my face, "I've just spotted a member of Bears management. And you know what management loves? Accountability!"

The crowd boos.

"I know, I know." Beck nods, enjoying the spotlight as always. "But look. They're not all bad people. Especially one particularly attractive staff member."

"Do not," I whisper under my breath. "Do not even think about it, Beck Morrison."

Josie cups her mouth beside me. "Oh my God. He's not going to put you—"

Beck's gaze locks onto mine from across the lawn, and he winks.

My stomach does something completely unauthorized.

What is he up to?

I narrow my eyes at him. He grins wider.

This is never a good sign.

"What do we say, everyone?" Beck asks the crowd, eyes never leaving mine. "I think it takes a little more than ten dollars to put me in the box. But maybe for… shall we say… fifty? A hundred?"

The crowd takes this as a personal challenge.

Bills appear from pockets, wallets, the bottoms of bags. A woman in a Bears jersey fishes a crumpled twenty from her sports bra. Two teenagers pool their lunch money.

The bucket fills up in under ninety seconds while Beck stands there with the megaphone and the expression of a man who has never once in his life doubted that a crowd would show up for him.

"I genuinely thought you were going in the cage," Josie breathes beside me.

"So did I."

"Were you scared?"

I turn to look at her. "I was ready to be furious."

"I'd have gone in with you, babe." She tips her head. "He's good, though. Like, annoyingly good at this."

I look back at Beck, who has now recruited two kids from the crowd to do a celebratory dance beside him. The kids are screaming with laughter. Their parents are recording it. Someone's absolutely already posting it to their socials.