“Want to, Teddy Graham?” Viv asked. Still, his eyes were glued to mine. I nodded infinitesimally. No wasn’t an option. Not when a no meant humiliation for Viv.
“Fun,” Graham said flatly. Harry groaned, though he’d been pretending not to listen.
“Text you,” Jess said, and Viv gave a blasé shrug.
I wrapped up the rest of my chicken sandwich. I’d lost my appetite. What had just happened? First Conner’s texts. Second Amanda and Jess being civil, friendly, to Viv. Third Viv acting distant but civil in return.
Viv’s fingernails combed through the waves of her hair. Their bases were painted black. Gold Roman numeral fours stood out as the topcoat.
My attention cut to Graham, the light shadow of IV on the inside of his wrist, so light it appeared to be a projection.
We’d decorated ourselves with clues. I hadn’t been paying close enough attention.
Others had. They suspected something was up.
I wanted to blurt it out to Viv. Those girls only invited you because they suspect we’re responsible for the flyers and Slumber Fest. Because they’re curious if you’ll let the truth slip. My hands twitched to shake her shoulders. Don’t you see? She had to.
They were manipulative. Amanda was cold. Cruel. Calculating.
“You’ve got that under control?” Graham asked. “I’m not going to a school dance unless it’s for a damn good reason.”
Viv slid her poppy sunglasses on. “There’s a reason.”
He gave a nod, satisfied.
I wasn’t. “What’s the reason?”
She ignored me, picking flecks of grass from her bare legs.
I rephrased. “We’re talking about Amanda, empress of high school torture and her I’m-so-chill best friend, Jess, a girl who’s allergic to acting like she cares about anything. Why would you want to share a limo with them?”
Her black lenses landed on me. “We took down Bedford. We’re about to take down Carver and Denton. Amanda’s only in drama to snake roles from me. She erased my name from the yearbook. She shouted that I had a chronic yeast infection in front all the eighth-grade boys.” Her voice shook with rage. “I need to get close enough to hurt her back. I want us to take her down.”
I crawled over, wrapped my arm around her, pressed my cheek to her wet cheek.
“I vote Viv can use the Order to get revenge on Amanda,” Graham said. “I’m even willing to subject myself to a school dance for the cause.”
The headphones had migrated to Harry’s neck and he watched shadows play on the grass between his feet. “Viv has a right to stand up for herself,” he said.
“Amanda suspects us. She has to.” I tried to appeal to Viv. “Playing with her could get us caught.”
“Any of our rebellions could,” Graham said to me. To Viv he asked, “Will you get caught?”
Viv swiped at the tears I couldn’t see under her glasses. “No,” she whispered.
Mutiny. This was our Order—my Order. If we were discovered, how would we get revenge for Goldilocks? Pulling something with Amanda could ruin our chances. I stopped that train of thought. I was not in charge of the Order. We had agreed to be democratic, and even if I didn’t like the outcome, I had to accept it. Nothing mattered more than Viv’s feelings. I’d taken risks before to stop Amanda.
Viv had started to leaf through the Antigone script propped on her knees. By her soft, insistent sighs, I knew she felt as unresolved by our disagreement as I did.
My arm touched hers. “Hey,” I said. “Obviously I’m in. I want to help.”
She looked sideways at me. “Mean it?”
I offered my pinkie finger. Hers hooked mine. “Pinkie swear.”
Viv could handle herself. Her name was erased from the yearbook, yet Viv never went crying to the school counselor. Viv might have ended the ridicule. But in Viv’s experience, tides turned.
The adorned and stuttering Viv was ridiculed by Amanda starting in the first grade. As Graham and I were playing our game of chicken, Viv was engaged in a similar, though less friendly, battle. It began like all great wars do. One side had something the other wanted. Viv’s life was flush with dazzling things. Ballerina pins made out of rubies, horseback riding lessons, exotic trips to visit family abroad, and a mother who was the kind of beautiful that made little kids murmur Princess. I have always believed that from the beginning, Amanda was jealous of Viv.
Amanda teased other kids too, for offenses like wearing rainbow shoelaces she judged to be babyish. Those kids probably burned the offending items. Not stubborn Viv. She continued to dress as she pleased—loudly. Sending a message to Amanda: You can’t control me.
So the war raged throughout grade school and Viv began striking back.
Amanda hijacked Viv’s binder and scrawled retard on the front. Viv snuck into the classroom coat closet with a handful of live earthworms for Amanda’s pockets.
Amanda disappeared Viv’s book report as it traveled to the front of class. Viv set free the class guinea pig the week before Amanda’s long-awaited homestay with Old Smoky.
Amanda egged Viv’s house. Viv brought our class peanut butter cupcakes, knowing Amanda was allergic to peanuts.
Amanda made a meme of Viv, illustrated pee trickling down her leg. Instead of retaliating, Viv bided her time.
Then, middle school. Amanda wasn’t herself when we started the sixth grade. She appeared sallow and wore bandages on her thumbs. And hats. She was never without a beanie. That year, when Graham and I faked the chicken pox, Viv got her mom to write a note excusing her from PE. Amanda was permanently excused. Viv and Amanda sat idly on the sidelines.
They bonded over snap-in highlights, French manicures, and musicals. Viv opened up about her mom’s cancer. Amanda confided in Viv about her anxiety disorder. Amanda peeled the cuticles back from her thumbnails. She gnawed at them until the pink skin bled. Then she began to lose her hair. Under all those hats, Amanda’s scalp was patchy. Viv had played the role of friendly confidant perfectly. No more biding her time. Viv ripped Amanda’s beanie from her head in the bustling school quad.
Kids aren’t reliably cruel, though. There were those who snapped pictures. Who leaped away shrieking to suggest Amanda was contagious. There were more who wore beanies in solidarity. Who brought Amanda candy or said hey or smiled because inside they were nervous wrecks too.
Amanda’s hair regrew. The friendly feelings Amanda had for Viv that lone week in the sixth grade never did.
No one tattled on any of Amanda’s offenses because we’d seen Viv hunker down, take it, her threshold elastic, until the perfect moment to strike. It was the game Viv wanted to play.
I should have known her offensive was coming; that it was only a matter of time until she saw the Order of IV as the weapon to end their war.
15
After school I dropped my bag in the farthest row of seats from the stage. Mr. Lancaster the drama teacher was making a few final remarks. I kicked my sneakers on the seat back in front of me and dove into the reading for Post-Colonial History as I waited for Viv.
I didn’t notice Graham slump beside me until a rush of air hit my ear from him blowing in it.
“Ah, tickles,” I said.