We gathered together on Saturday night. The barn was removed enough from the street that we didn’t worry about any of the patrols hearing us. We wouldn’t dance on the rock or light a fire. I’ve never felt so thirsty for a party. I was giddy with restless mischief; guilty and wonderstruck at our nerve.
I stood on a chair in the middle of the barn. Nine faces turned up to me. I raised both Polaroids for everyone to see. “These are going to be buried in a chest where the idol was found. Even though we can’t take credit for being IV, we’ll all know there’s proof of it, of what we’ve done, somewhere secret.” I felt a foreign and threatening smile spread my lips. Let the proof of their guilt stick in our initiates’ heads. Let its threat linger. Let them remember that only the four of us would know where the damning evidence was buried. I raised the bottle. “To doing wicked things for just ends. To the Order of IV.”
Bottles clinked.
Harry offered me his hand. Linked together I felt more grounded, less like the barn was topsy-turvy with bodies. I ached for our next rebellion. The momentum had us, as if we were bolting downhill. My bones, blood, and heart wanted to wield the Order again. Again, again, again.
Harry and I drifted to where Graham was opening a cider—he’d had a few already.
“Want one?” he asked, turning from the fridge. Behind his glasses there was a wet, shimmery glaze to his stare.
“No, thanks,” I said. Harry shook his head.
“My mom got home tonight. Asked me why we’d received a letter in the mail about the city outlawing any use of a Roman numeral four. She was baffled.” He popped the cap of the cider and let it ping on the floor.
“What’d you tell her?” Harry asked.
“About Driftwood Street, the knoll, the blood rebellion, the goat, the train car—all of it.”
“She couldn’t tell it was you though, right?” I said. “You didn’t give it away by acting proud or smug?”
His thumb traced the rim of his cider bottle. “If she suspects, she didn’t say.”
I struggled to read his expression, not used to working so hard to understand him. “Do you think she might?”
He blinked at me. “You know my mother wouldn’t get involved. Too much of a scientist. She sees things in context. Nothing we could do would surprise her because in context, our actions seem insignificant. A drop of mischief in a broken world.”
I narrowed my eyes. Graham didn’t usually sound jaded. Where was his victor’s bluster? “Is that the nihilism or fatalism talking?”
Viv’s voice rose above the chatter before he could respond. “Don’t be loud outside—my parents might be home.” She was chasing Jess and Amanda, who’d escaped out the door. “Iz—Harry? Can you help me?”
Harry pressed his lips to my temple and went after her.
Graham took down half the bottle in his next sip, eyes stuck to me. Heat crept up my neck. He knew that I knew he’d seen. First person to see Harry kiss me.
“Maybe you shouldn’t get wasted. If your mom’s home, I mean.”
He tapped me on the nose. I swatted his hand. “Izzie. My mother wouldn’t mind if I started selling hallucinogens out of her bedroom as long as I kept getting good grades.” He spoke with a bitter swagger. I wanted him to turn it off. To act like himself.
“It’s hot in here. Let’s race to the rock,” I said.
He smiled like he thought I was joking. “We’re in the middle of a party.”
I jabbed a finger into his shoulder. “Two weeks ago you’d have paid me to give you an excuse to leave.”
Graham set the cider on the top of the fridge and rubbed his hands together. “If you think I’m letting you win, you’re going to be disappointed.” He vaulted over dislodged throw pillows and sent Rachel’s cider flying as he dashed between her and Conner. A shouted “Watch it!” came after he was already through the door.
All the initiates disappeared for me. I sprinted after him. His path through the trees was marked only by nearly bare branches shuddering. When had all the leaves fallen?
I don’t remember who won, only that we arrived at the rock seconds apart. We lay on top of it and talked about nothing important. On our way back, our pace synchronized from so many years of marching off to find adventure. And I realized what an idiot I’d been to have ever worried about Graham moving on from his friend Izzie. We’d been permanent before the Order. How hadn’t I seen that?
Viv was leaving the barn as we rounded its corner up the path. She sighed—a long, suffering sound. “I’m tired,” she said, brushing past us. “Make them keep it down.”
I watched her vanish from the party. I almost went after her—twirled her under my arm, swore to her we’d find a way together to take down Amanda.
But Graham said “Look,” pointing to the sky. “Those are nimbus clouds. I can’t remember if they predict rain or not.” He pulled his cell out and was looking it up as I spotted Harry and Amanda under the trellis halfway to the barn.
“Uh-oh,” Graham murmured. “They produce precipitation. I guess it could rain with the skeleton. It wouldn’t necessarily ruin it. But not ideal conditions. See?”
He followed my gaze.
Amanda had her hand on Harry’s shoulder. I wondered, what could they be talking about? Had I ever seen them have a conversation? I remembered Harry’s phone buzzing and Amanda’s name flashing.
The party broke up early. Graham stayed in the barn. Harry walked me home. I shoved away the desire to ask Harry what Amanda wanted. I wouldn’t stoop so low as to feel threatened by her. I trusted Harry. It was six houses between Viv’s and mine. Two police cruisers passed us in the short distance. The initiates were going to provide us the subterfuge that drew them away for the final rebellion.
Seven Hills was besieged by an invisible threat. It wasn’t real. We weren’t going to hurt anyone. Not really. Fear inflicts its own special damage.
Sunday raced by, unmemorable.
On Monday morning Harry posted on the school blog a chronology of all the crimes and pranks the party known as IV was accused of. Just part of his ongoing coverage, except it was the first of his articles that alleged the Seven Hills police department had a history of choosing not to investigate certain crimes like Jane Doe’s murder and the brutal attack that left Harry’s father permanently limping. My chest constricted as I read it. Harry had been adamant that we not use the Order for his father, but perhaps now, now that he’d seen what we could do, perhaps our next business would be to avenge Harry’s father?
Harry’s title and not the article’s content incited controversy on campus. “One Man’s Freedom Fighter . . .” The rest of the quote, “Is Another Man’s Terrorist,” was common enough that the dot-dot-dot was lost on few. A schoolwide argument ensued. One side, the minority, argued that IV was a terrorist in the sense that they were terrorizing Seven Hills. The majority argued that IV was fighting for justice, given their concern over a sexist school dress code and an unavenged dead girl.
A few of the AP teachers decided to go with the fervor and organized a formal debate after classes. I didn’t attend.