Trent fake punched Graham’s shoulder. “C’mon, man. I know what you’re gonna say. It was either throw it or give up and go home. I had to go early.”
“I know. You made the smart call.” Graham swallowed like the words tasted foul. “None of us would have known that someone was about. He might have alerted the police while we were still outside, waiting, like sitting ducks.”
“Unbelievable,” Harry muttered.
“Dude, what is your problem?” Trent asked.
Harry’s usually calm veneer shattered. “Izzie got hurt because you couldn’t follow simple directions. Because you’re a dumbass who doesn’t consider anyone else but yourself.” He stepped forward, holding himself tall. “What if someone had come outside and caught one of us because you threw when we weren’t ready?”
“Step off him, man,” Conner said, arms thrown out like he might shove Harry.
“No one got caught,” I said. “This”—I waved my palm—“is nothing. It doesn’t even hurt.”
“Oh, hold up.” Conner tucked his square chin into his neck. “I know what’s going on. You’re crashing the custard truck with her.” A finger ran connecting Harry to me.
“Oh my god, you’re repulsive, Conner,” Viv announced.
Harry let out a ragged sigh of frustration. “I can’t be around him without wanting to hit him,” he said while looking at me, though everyone heard. Conner made kissing sounds and a flush crept up Harry’s neck. He hiked his backpack high and thrust himself into the sea of our classmates like he was throwing himself from a cliff.
“Jesus, Conner,” Jess said. “We’re all getting along, remember?”
Hands in his pockets and staring at his shoes, Campbell muttered, “It didn’t feel like it while I was eating cat food.”
My cheeks warmed. Viv’s rite for him had been brutal. I opened my mouth to assure Campbell there’d be nothing like that again. But I couldn’t promise anything. Not without talking to my friends first and trying to add rules where none existed. Not without forcing the issue with Viv, who I assumed wanted the secret rites to get revenge on Amanda.
Amanda had been oddly quiet, mouth twisting as her eyes ping-ponged around. She committed to a smile and damage control. “So, guys. What’s next? Because we all really, really want to do more. It’s next-level shit.”
The courtyard was increasingly crowded.
“The next get-together,” Graham’s cautious whisper came, “is Thursday night—early Friday morning, really.”
“Thursday. Thursday,” Amanda said, like the promise of a new rebellion tasted delicious.
It was easy to track our initiates in the throng of students after the bell rang. They were all wearing at least one article of white clothing. It could have been coincidence. Or compulsion, the Order worming its way into their brains.
“Jesus. Harry’s got it bad,” Viv was saying.
I asked with my eyes.
“The protective boyfriend routine. Made him way hotter,” she answered.
“I think it was more about hating Conner than sticking up for me.”
She brushed her cheek to mine. “You’re cute and naive. Later, gator.”
The aspirin wore off too fast. I wore my hoodie until third period, when being in class with Viv, Jess, Conner, and Trent emboldened me. So what if someone saw a Band-Aid on my palm? The police probably weren’t even looking for a girl as their suspect, let alone a girl who was a solid student, seemingly docile, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Harry’s coverage hit the news blog that period. Our peers weren’t usually abuzz over our student news organization, but given the strange events and the silence from the adult-run newspaper in Seven Hills, I got the impression kids had been hitting refresh on the blog’s homepage all morning.
Harry was clever. Through the guise of sharing facts, he gently directed the reader in the direction we wanted. A graphic inset in the text was made up of thirty-six smaller pictures, the driveways of every house on Driftwood painted with a red bird, wings splayed. All those pictures, little tiles in one big square, took your breath away.
Harry quoted an anonymous source who lived on the street:
“That bird symbol means something to people who live on this block. It makes us think of dark times. It’s identical to the way those bird skeletons were found, wings wide open, by the archeologists on the Marlo property years back. That poor dead girl found in the same area was also staged with her arms wide open, rocks and her T-shirt cut to look like wings. Poor thing. The authorities never even could give her a name. Doesn’t take a genius to see someone wants to dredge her murder up.”
Apparently Harry had spent the first two periods of the day collecting comments from the student body. There were those who called IV a vigilante, others a badass, and a few who wondered what they’d pull next. Harry’s finishing lines cut to the quick: This journalist, for one, sees a clear connection between the actions taken by IV and the unsolved case of Jane Doe’s death. Someone is angry and it appears to be over a cravenly negligent investigation and the unsolved death of a young woman in Seven Hills.
At lunchtime there was a current of what-the-hell running through the student body. For the first time ever, I overheard snippets of conversation, kids asking details of the unsolved murder and guessing at how IV was connected.
We met to eat in the courtyard again.
Harry said, “I’ve been assigned a follow-up piece.” He reached up from the ampitheater riser below me and touched my wrist. “Your hand still okay?”
I waved off his concern. “Tell us about the follow-up.”
Harry glanced over his shoulder at the kids eating on the riser below him. Their backs were to us, but still. Curiosity was at a fever pitch. “The perp—IV—broke Lorin Yu’s living-room window. Lorin found the brick that did it, and get this: there was a letter rubber banded to it. Lorin took a picture of it. Sent it to friends and one of those friends brought it to Ms. Hendricks. The cops took the original from the Yus and told them to keep quiet about it—ongoing investigation. Hendricks called the police for a quote. They denied the letter exists. She’s suspicious. I’m interviewing Lorin about the letter and trying find out if anyone else received them. She wants me to start with the houses that have broken windows. She says that given the content of the letter, it’s significant that some houses have worse damage than others.”
“Fascinating,” Graham said.
Viv, picture of nonchalance as she tamed the wisps of hair blown into her eyes, said, “Why would the cops want to keep the mysterious letter a secret?”
No one expected for any of the letters’ recipients to do anything but throw the letters away. Hide their crimes. But why had the cops done it?
“What did the letter say?” I asked. It was the obvious next question if the kids nearby could overhear us.