Ride or Die

by Gail-Agnes Musikavanhu

Genres: Young Adult; YA Mysteries & Thrillers

Synopsis

Complete with a unique playlist, this adrenaline-packed joyride of a debut is an ode to Gen Z and chaotic teens—perfect for fans of Grace D. Li, Ebony Ladelle, and Baby Driver.

Best friends Loli Crawford and Ryan Pope have earned their nickname, the “Bonnie and Clyde of Woolridge High.” From illegal snack swapping in kindergarten to reckless car surfing in high school, they have been causing trouble in their uptight California town forever. But everyone knows that the mischief starts with Loli; when it comes to chasing thrills, drama, and adventure, no one is on her level.

At least until Loli throws the wildest party Woolridge High has ever seen and meets X, a strange, unidentified boy in the coat closet, who challenges her to a game she can’t refuse—one that promises to put her love of danger to the ultimate test.

Loli and X begin an anonymous correspondence, exchanging increasingly risky missions. Loli’s fun has always been free and easy, but things spin out of control as she attempts to one-up X’s every move. As Loli risks losing everything—including her oldest friend—she’ll face the most dangerous thing of all: falling for someone she shouldn’t.

 

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Release date: June 6, 2023

Publisher: Soho Teen

Print pages: 384

Sample

CHAPTER 1

TRACK: SECOND DEMO

It started because I threw the biggest party Woolridge High had ever seen—just to steal a necklace.

“A party?” Cairo asked, collapsing next to me with her lunch tray.

She didn’t quite know about the second part yet.

I smiled. “You got my text.”

“Text?” Cairo furrowed a brow, crinkling the scatter of dark freckles on her forehead. Our cafeteria’s natural lighting did wonders for us all but, like all other lighting, it was especially good to her. “What text? I heard the news from Connor.”

I shot her a tired look. As much as I admired Cai’s ability to detach from social media and exist apart from her phone, it really messed with the flow of things. I opened my mouth to say this for the thousandth time but was stopped short by a brush on my side and a low voice in my ear.

“The Golden Eagle has been snagged. I repeat, The Golden Eagle has been—”

“Ryan,” I interrupted, holding a hand up in his direction without looking at him. “I swear. If you call him by that name one more time, I will force these highly processed Double Stuf Oreos down your throat.”

Ryan eased onto the bench next to me, tousling his blond hair as he did. Like any good best friend, he knew just the way to get on my nerves. “Hey, you’re the one who dated him,” he said with a smug smile.

I winced. There was nothing smart I could say about that, because it was true and I would never live it down.

Tristan Mattaliano was disgustingly wealthy, very good-looking, and the captain of the football team, but I cared for none of these things. I only really dated him because everyone at school kept saying we’d be the ultimate dream Couple of Color, and I loved that powerful image; it made sense to have the most popular guy go out with the most popular girl, right? But you see, Mattaliano was popular for normal things, like his attractiveness and his ability to play sports, whereas I was popular for slightly less conventional things, like cutting Ms. Davenport’s hair in her sleep and kidnapping all the animals on my block to stage a Pet Rapture.

We had our wires crossed from the start.

I ripped open my yogurt. “Let’s just call him Mattaliano, okay?”

I hated the way everyone at Woolridge said his name; Tristan Mattaliano, spoken slowly and with admiration, like it was something to be savored or revered. It was never just “Tristan.” It was Tristan Mattaliano, or “The Golden Eagle” if you wanted to really show off that you were close with him.

I think the simple knowledge that the latter was a thing was half the reason I broke up with him.

“There are a lot of people who just call him Mattaliano, Lo,” Cai said, when I voiced my thoughts aloud.

I scowled. “That’s beside the point.”

“Either way,” Ryan said, looking between us both. “He’s been snagged. The venue is secure.”

Cairo raised her eyebrows. “Venue? For the party?”

“Wow, Cairo didn’t get the text?” Ryan teased. “What a shocking twist of

events.”

Cai stretched a long, tan arm out to flick Ryan’s head, but he dodged out of the way just in time.

“Hey don’t hit me, I’m trying to help you!”

He whipped his phone out and spun it across the table to her. She stopped it with impressive agility and squinted at the screen.

 

Emergency Party.

Tonight. At Mattaliano's.

Let everyone know they're not 

invited.

Cairo slid the phone back to Ryan. “Well that barely clarified anything.”

“We’re throwing a party,” I explained, yet again. “And thanks to Ryan, the venue has been secured.”

“It was actually pretty easy,” Ryan said, pulling out his reusable plastic utensils and his blue lunch container. “All I did was ‘accidentally’ bump into Mattaliano in the hallway and casually bring up the big party that was happening at his house tonight, making sure to emphasize how lucky he is that you’d planned for it to be at his house before the breakup because, well, we all know you would never have let him anywhere near the party if it wasn’t.”

I nodded, impressed by his guile. Across the cafeteria, a girl with a custom Perigold lunch box handed out overly priced iced coffees to her friends and pointed in our direction. I smiled at her and waved politely. Looked like news of our party was spreading nicely.

“Mattaliano was completely dumbfounded at first,” Ryan continued, “but he played along immediately. Turns out his mother is out of town this weekend.”

“She’s out of town every weekend,” I said. “Most days of the week too.”

Cairo grimaced. “Ouch.”

Mattaliano’s parents were divorced and his mother—a successful businesswoman, NAACP board member, and high-profile motivational speaker—was almost always out of town. Sure, it was sad to know he was alone at home again, but I only allowed myself to pity him for a second. He was the reason I was in this mess in the first place.

“Wait. Hold on . . .” Cairo squinted at me. “You want to throw a last-minute party at your ex-boyfriend’s house?”

Crap.

I’d been praying the excitement of a potential party would distract them from that part. My hope was to keep them in the dark for as long as I could. Forever, if possible. Ryan especially.

I shrugged, willing myself to look relaxed. “Well. Yeah . . . he lives in a mansion. Didn’t we always say he had the best space for a party?”

Cairo scoffed and shook her head. “This is so classically Loli Crawford,” she said, dipping her fry into ketchup with more force than necessary. “You can’t just do stuff like this, you know. What’s that saying? About eating cake? You can’t have your cake and eat it too.”

I grinned sweetly. “You can if you have two cakes.”

Water sputtered out of Ryan’s mouth and Cairo smirked.

“I’m gonna ignore that,” she said, placing both elbows on the table. “So. What’s the plan?”

I relaxed. That’s what I loved about Cai. No matter how many questions she needed to ask to get there, she was always down for anything I threw at her.

“I’m gonna get all my usual contacts: my mom’s go-to catering company, that party decorator who did my sixteenth birthday, and—you know that kid we usually call for fake ID’s and fireworks? Wolf? I’m sure he has college contacts to get us drinks. Which means all you have to do is get the people. A lot of people.”

“And you plan on doing that by telling everyone that they’re not invited?” Cairo asked skeptically.

“Oh, Dahmani.” I rested my face in my palm. “Sweet, sweet, Diamond Dahmani. How do you think the news reached you so fast? I told just three girls about an exclusive super-secret pool party this morning, and the news reached you before my text message could.”

Cairo leaned back, impressed. “Touché.” Behind her, one of the Dani twins jumped up and scuttled to the other side of the cafeteria. “By that rhetoric, all we really have to do is invite Nate Wilde, Sarah Plaxton, and the theater kids, and by the end of the day the entire school will be buzzing.”

“Genius.” I smiled and clapped my hands together. “Clean and concise. Perfect.”

We had great food, a luxurious venue, pending guests, and the target all lined up. If everything went according to plan, I would have the necklace back in my rightful possession and yet another feat for the history books—all before the start of the weekend.

Ryan turned to face me. “Obviously I’m on music for tonight.”

“Obviously,” I repeated. “We wouldn’t trust anybody else.”

He stretched an arm above his head, smiling the most genuinely blissful smile at the prospect of creating a fresh playlist. Ryan lived and breathed music. It was his truest passion, right above staying in trouble and taking care of his car, affectionately named Baby. I glanced at his lunch: an apple, a bottle of water, and a beautifully made chicken salad. Eating healthy was also somewhere up there on his list.

“Gee, red onions today?” I commented. “You’ve been going absolutely crazy with these salads lately.”

Ryan rolled his eyes and ignored me, stabbing his fork into a cucumber.

Cairo grabbed my packet of Oreos off the table. “Proximity of carbs,” she explained. “I’m not trying to kill you, Ry. I know how deathly allergic you are.”

“Ha-ha-ha,” Ryan sarcastically droned. “I get it, okay? You guys make fun of my nutritious lunch—which is, by the way, much more delicious than the cardboard our school calls pizza—I shoot out a comeback, we all have a good laugh etc. But can we skip all that today? Can we talk about something else? Like for example, Lo, why the emergency party?”

I stilled.

Ryan took a bite of his salad and looked back at me, waiting for an answer, and as soon as his eyes landed on mine, I knew I couldn’t tell him the truth. There was no point in getting him upset when I was on the cusp of getting it all fixed anyway. My plan was falling perfectly into place—ideally, it included him not finding out.

“Really?” I asked, feigning indifference by licking the back of my yogurt lid. “When do I ever need a reason for anything I do?”

There was a second of silence as my friends exchanged a look.

I sighed. “I’m bored!”

“We know, we know,” Cairo cut in. “It’s the constant state of Loli Crawford; the reason for all your dangerous and impulsive actions.” She reached into my packet of Oreos and stuffed a whole one in her mouth. “At least this time we’re getting a party out of it and not a court summoning.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow and lifted his fork. “Yet.”

In retrospect, I think a court summoning would have been easier to deal with.

CHAPTER 2

TRACK: SHE’S MY COLLAR Gorillaz (feat. Kali Uchis)

The plan was simple. First, I was going to be a fantastic host. I’d pour drinks to the brim, offer finger foods, laugh at bad jokes, and dance with everyone I could—until Kathy Summers arrived.

Then, when she did, I would welcome her as if she were any other guest, get her whatever she wanted and eventually encourage her to change and get in the pool, sans necklace. I’d take the necklace—my necklace—as soon as she was distracted enough.

See? Simple.

I ran the plan over and over again in my mind as I walked around Mattaliano’s house with Cairo, topping up everyone’s drinks, sprinkling jokes into boring conversations, and stopping to pose for the occasional snap between gentle pushes toward the dance floor, all while keeping my eye out for the high ponytail I’d grown to recognize as a harbinger of Kathy Summers’s nauseating presence.

As expected, Ryan used his music magic to mix together a playlist that appealed to everyone in the diverse crowd of retro-snobs, pop junkies, and amateur rap enthusiasts. The dance floor extended all the way from the living room to the foyer—people were pushing to get to it as soon as they walked in.

“Dude.” Cai nudged me with her elbow. I turned my attention from a selfie with Deola Merck and watched as another stream of kids poured through the front door.

“That’s a loooot of people,” Cai muttered.

In the throng, I spotted Jalissa, Brianna, and the rest of what we liked to call our “second-tier” friends: a mixture of popular athletic and performing arts kids. They were all cool enough to hang with in the cafeteria and at parties, but none of them permeated our trio. None of them passed my test.

I clapped hands with a few of them as they passed by and watched as dozens of other kids I didn’t recognize trickled in between them. A giddiness bubbled in me as I took it all in, spinning round in wonder. I’d expected a ton of people, sure—some Woolridge upperclassmen and a few brave underclassmen maybe—but I hadn’t expected this.

“Bro . . .” Cairo leaned against a very expensive-looking table and held her soda out toward the crowd. “This party—”

“I know,” I replied.

Someone ran past us with a broomstick and a blond wig.

“Lo, there are college kids here.”

“I know.”

“Some people are claiming they saw Mr.—” Cairo paused, her eyes flicking above my head. “Uh oh. Your replacement is here. Kathy. Ten o’clock.”

I tore my eyes away from the newly blond chandelier. Sure enough, Kathy Summers had entered the room, her springy ponytail flicking high above the crowd.

Game time.

It took all the self-control I could muster to appear calm and composed as I approached the foyer, when all I really wanted to do was scream. It wasn’t that Kathy was Mattaliano’s new girlfriend; I couldn’t have cared less about that. It was that he knew how special that necklace was to me, and he very purposefully gave it to the most difficult person at Woolridge High.

“Kathy,” I said, as pleasantly as I could muster. “Come on in.”

She narrowed her eyes, scanning the room. “Where’s Tristan Mattaliano?”

I counted to five in my head, choosing to overlook the fact that she’d ignored my greeting.

“Uh, I’m not sure,” I said. “But can I take your coat? It’s pretty hot in here—”

“Ugh, it’s boiling,” Kathy interrupted.

She shrugged her coat off and folded it over her arm, flicking her hair over her shoulder. As she did, my eyes froze on the glimmering object at her neck. My locket, brilliant and gold and radiant against her skin, on site, just as I’d planned.

The light reflected off the L-engraved oval pendant, which was slightly misshapen from decades of wear and tear. I knew because some of those years were mine.

I gritted my teeth, willing myself to look back up at her face. “Well, it is a pool party. So . . . you’re in luck.”

“Wait, a pool party?” a nearby voice cut in. “I thought this was a costume party.”

“Someone told me it was formal.”

I cut my eyes at two inappropriately dressed kids lingering awkwardly by the door. “It really doesn’t matter,” I said. “The point is there’s a pool and a hot tub if any of you want to use it. Which you are more than free to do.”

Kathy peered beyond me to the window outside. I didn’t have to turn around to know what she was seeing: her boyfriend stretching and readying himself for yet another swimming race. She smiled, confirming my suspicion.

“I think I just might,” she said. “Where can I get dressed?”

I smiled back, the bass of an electro beat pulsing triumphantly around me. I knew I wouldn’t need to tell Ryan; my plan was coming together perfectly.

Scheming was my specialty, after all.

Five minutes later, I stood by the staircase, waiting impatiently for Kathy to get in the pool. She’d gotten dressed in Mattaliano’s bedroom and was now walking downstairs with a towel on one arm, the necklace still on her neck. I watched from across the house as she ducked into the coat closet and emerged necklace free.

Her coat. It had to be in her coat pocket.

“—will tell you it's

so hard, right, Loli?”

I snapped back to the conversation happening around me, surprised to find six girls watching me expectantly. I’d only latched on to them to look like I wasn’t spying on Kathy Summers, but now I was slowly realizing I knew a couple of them from my art class.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I said. “I got distracted by the guys outside screaming that last Nicki verse.”

“I was just talking about shading and how hard it is,” one girl said. “But you’re, like, the best in our drawing class.”

“Aw.” I smiled. Gina. Her name was Gina. “Thanks, Gina. I think you’re really good too.”

In the distance, Kathy tossed her towel over her shoulder and headed outside with a group of her friends, sliding the door to the backyard closed behind her. I watched as they drew nearer to the pool.

Time to move.

“Excuse me,” I said to the group. “I have to get a refill.”

I cut through the next room, ditching my cup on the way. When I reached the dance floor foyer, I discovered dozens more had arrived. The house was packed to the brim.

I rolled my shoulders back. I could do packed. Packed was good. It meant less chance of being spotted. All that was standing between me and victory was a busy dance floor.

Of course, it was at that exact moment that Ryan decided to play a popular Drake track.

Screams pierced the room as the opening chords announced the song, and the house went wild. People from every corner of the house ran to the dance floor, adding themselves to the expansive sea of bodies between me and the closet. I glanced back at the sliding door across the house—and sucked in my breath.

Kathy was climbing out of the pool with her arms folded, looking very upset. She yanked her towel off the ground, and I watched in horror as she reached for the glass door.

If Kathy decided to wrap up, there was no chance I was getting the necklace back tonight. And if I didn’t get it back tonight, who knew when I’d ever have another chance to get it back. My promise would be broken and the necklace gone, forever.

Panicked, I looked toward Ryan at the DJ booth and briefly considered confessing it all. If anyone could fix this mess more efficiently, he could. My missions were always accomplished faster with him. Albeit with a little less flare.

“Loooliii!”

An arm stuck out from the crowded dance floor and grabbed mine, pulling me deep into the hot and sweaty mire. Through the flashes of blue and red light, I caught a glimpse of brown braids and a nose ring.

“Bri?”

Brianna smiled and spun around. “You’re a genius! This is the best party I’ve been to in my entire life!”

“Thanks . . .” I glanced back over my shoulder, searching for Kathy. Through the scatter of raised arms, I was relieved to see her and Mattaliano holding hands, heading back toward the hot tub. Looked like Mattaliano had miraculously calmed his girlfriend.

“Come on, girl!” Bri yelled, grabbing my hand. “Dance!”

On a normal day, she wouldn’t have had to ask me twice. Usually, if I wasn’t dive-bombing from the roof to the pool or holding a blindfolded truth-or-dare competition in the kitchen, I was making my rounds on the dance floor.

I skimmed an eye over the mass of swaying bodies and realized I might have to do my rounds after all. If I wanted to make it to the other side in this chaos, I was going to have to dance through it.

Falling into step with Brianna, I tactfully grabbed hands with Kyara Vitelli, who twirled me into the middle of the dance circle. One calculated move put me right behind Nate Wilde, who grinned when he saw me and pulled me into his circle at the center of the room. I grimaced, surveying my sticky surroundings. It was just as hot, heavy, and dense as you’d expect the middle of a dance floor to be.

Nate cupped his hands to holler out that line about loving your bed and your mom. I glowered at him, suddenly jealous of his six foot five inches. Not only could he see the closet from where he was, he probably had fresher air up there too. Then I had an idea.

“Hey!” I shouted, inching closer toward him. “Lift me up!”

“What?” Nate asked.

“Up!” I repeated, raising my arms in the air.

Nate grinned. “Ahh. Like at Raycher’s?”

“Yes,” I said. “Exactly like at Raycher’s.”

Nate handed me his solo cup and lifted me onto his shoulders, giving me a full view of the closet door over the bouncing heads and waving hands. I wasn’t far at all—just a little over halfway there.

I leaned backward, counting on Nate to remember what to do. Sure enough, he shifted me on his shoulder until I felt a different pair of hands grab my back, and then another. Someone rushed to prop

my shoulder up as soon as they saw what we were doing, and I wobbled, trying to keep Nate’s cup upright as I was lifted higher in the air.

Looking up from the stabilizing cup, I caught Ryan’s eye at the DJ booth. He laughed, shaking his head at the sight of me, and I raised my cup in his direction, letting punch slosh over the sides.

I knew what he was thinking. Typical Lo, soaking in all the attention she can get, as usual. Well, good. As long as he didn’t see through it all and figure out what I was actually doing, he could think whatever he wanted to think.

When I reached the edge of the room, someone delicately lowered me to my feet, right in front of the closet door.

Perfect.

I fixed my dress and cast a sharp look around before slipping into the closet.

Like much of Mattaliano’s house, the closet was huge. And it was dark. Shades of blue and black swirled all around me, contrasting sharply with the strobe lights outside. I held an arm out to the left and stumbled forward, feeling for the texture of obnoxious fur, leather, and polyester. I pushed aside a cotton sweater and a raincoat, scrambling until my hands landed in a thick plush fluff.

Excited, I brushed my hands down to the pockets, wriggling my fingers in the empty spaces before I made my way to the inner pockets. Almost as soon as my hands slipped through the silky interior, my fingers touched a chain. I gasped, bringing it out on my palm.

The necklace.

My necklace.

I breathed a sigh of relief and held it to my chest before collapsing to the ground. Mission accomplished.

Then: another sigh.

Not mine.

I blinked into the dark. “Hello?”

A sharp exhale, the ruffle of a few coats. “Hi.”

I sat up straight, alert and searching in the dark. “What the hell?”

“What?”

“Who’s that?”

“I was here first.” The voice paused. “Who are you?”

“Who am I?” I repeated, incredulous. “What the hell are you doing sitting in a closet? At a party?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” the mysterious voice shot back. “Actually, I can do you one better: what the hell are you doing stealing

from someone’s jacket at a party?”

I gripped the necklace tighter and opened my mouth to retaliate but then I closed it. They had a point, whoever they were. I squinted, trying to make out who they could be, but all I saw was darkness.

“Sometimes,” I started, “to see is to be deceived.”

“So . . . I didn’t just see the shadow of your hand steal something from someone’s jacket?”

“You only see that which you interpret yourself to have seen.”

Silence. Then a laugh. “Touché.”

I relaxed—slightly. The person belonging to the voice leaned against some especially noisy jackets. I was considering making my escape when, in a completely disinterested tone, the voice said, “Whether you’re stealing or not doesn’t matter to me at all.”

“Oh, really?” I asked.

“Sure. I’m an amenable guy. I’m more interested in why.”

“Well,” I said, straining to pull myself to my feet in the pitch black. Who knew how much time I had left before Kathy and Mattaliano’s next argument sent her straight to the closet. “That should be something interesting for you to ponder as you continue to sit alone in this closet by yourself, like a creep.”

I would’ve left right then if he hadn’t said what he said next.

“Probably for the best,” he said. “I’m guessing the story I’ve made up in my head is far more entertaining than the truth.”

I stopped and turned around to face the deep end of the closet. “You think?”

“I know,” he replied. “Almost all fictional stories are better than real ones.”

“Well that’s just not true at all,” I retaliated. “It’s the real-life stories that are the most interesting. They’re the only ones that give you any reason to be shocked or entertained, because they happened. And that’s a weight no made-up thing could ever achieve.”

Silence.

“We’ll agree to disagree,” he said.

I shifted on my feet and glanced at the door, squeezing the necklace in my palm. I could leave now, victorious, with plenty of time left to enjoy the party . . .

But a few seconds couldn’t hurt, right?

I sat myself back down

 on the ground.

“Okay then,” I began. “Let’s hear your hypothesis.”

The mystery voice cleared its throat. “I would guess that you’re stealing someone’s car keys?”

“Really . . .” I said.

“Either that,” he continued quickly, “or a flash drive with top secret government information that you know your best friend has been harboring because you recently discovered she’s not really a teenager but a spy, and you caught her slipping a drive labeled Top Secret: Woolridge UFO Landing Investigation in her coat before you arrived at this party.”

I laughed. “That one’s interesting, I’ll give you that.”

And then, maybe because he was intriguing—a rarity for someone in Woolridge Grove—or maybe because I wanted somebody to know about the feat I’d managed to pull, I decided to tell him the truth.

I pushed a pair of Valentino boots out of the way (patent leather gloss with a VLogo is easy to spot, even in the dark) and stretched my legs out in front of me.

“Getting comfortable?” he asked. “You sure you want to sit in a closet at a party?”

I leaned back. “If there’s anything you need to know about me, Mysterious Voice, it’s that I stay wherever the fun is. And I’ve found that people—especially the ones out there—are often more boring than not.”

“Huh,” he said, his voicing piquing with interest. “Well. I’m glad you seem to think I’m fun.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I replied, flatly. “I’m only staying because of the mystery. Who are you anyway?” I shifted uncomfortably. “And why were you sitting alone in this stuffy closet?”

“If the answers to those two questions are the only things keeping me interesting, I’m not telling you.”

I smiled. “Good point, Mysterious Voice in the Closet. Is it okay if I call you MV for short?”

“Yes, please. Mysterious Voice in the Closet was my father.”

I chuckled and then stopped. Gross. We were just one flirtation short of turning into an overplayed cliché (teens hooking up in a closet? Shocking), and there’s absolutely nothing I hate more than a cliché.

“Okay,” I started, changing the tone of the conversation. “Do you want to know the real story behind why I’m stealing this necklace?”

Mysterious Voice was silent as he considered my question. Contemplation.

Yet another rarity in Woolridge.

“No,” he decided. “I’m happy with my story. Don’t want you ruining it with the boring details.”

“I guarantee the truth is at least on the same level of excitement as your story,” I said.

“That’s a hard thing to guarantee,” he replied. “Especially considering the fact that as soon as you disclosed that the stolen object was a necklace, about half of my interest fell away. The magic of the mystery is gone.”

I brushed off the insult. “I’ll tell you the story and then you can be the judge.”

“Okay,” he said, breathing out. “I’m all ears.”

I paused, soaking in the feeling you get the moment before you tell a good story. My favorite feeling in the world. Then, I took a deep breath and said the truth out loud for the first time.

“I made this party up this morning so I could attend it and steal back my stolen necklace.”

There was a rustle of coats. “Wait . . . what? You threw this party? To steal a piece of jewelry?”

“Not to steal it,” I clarified, “to take it back. I made the mistake of leaving it at my ex’s house the day I broke up with him.”

“And what, you couldn’t just ask for it back?”

“Ask for it back?” I laughed. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Somewhere in the dark there was a puff of air. Amused? Disgusted? I couldn’t tell.

“It was revenge,” I continued. “My ex knows I love this necklace more than anything in the entire world. He also knows that the person he gave it to wouldn’t let go of it without a fight. ...