In third period, Trent, bushy eyebrows dancing suggestively, said, “So Rocha and Schultz. Fucking random, huh?” For a moment of blankness I had no idea who he meant.
“Harry and Amanda,” I said like I was sounding their names out.
“Yeah. Hit it hard behind the barn,” he said, and gave his hips a pop.
My head swayed slowly. “Wait. What?”
“Saturday. At Viv’s house. Hey.” He leaned over in a confidential manner. “Is your girl, like, with the other dude? Graham.”
“No,” I said.
“Not that I like her or anything.” He swung away. “I might need a date for the next dance is all, and Viv’s scary intense but hot.”
I put Trent out of my mind. Amanda too. I knew Harry. He wouldn’t do what Trent said. Not ever. Especially not now. By lunchtime I’d heard four more times how random the pairing of Amanda and Harry was. No one questioned the rumor’s authenticity, only parroted it to me.
The four of us ate on the highest ledge of the amphitheater. Walking to join them, I’d experienced appetite-erasing dread. Then I arrived and Harry was Harry. Earphones around his neck, sweet smile my way after he tossed me his last chocolate cookie, and dreamy, heavy lids as he settled back to listen to music. I didn’t care if the rumor reached me five hundred times, I’d never believe it.
Amanda picked a lousy day to join us. Short dress showed off her goose-pimpled legs. A fuzzy beanie the colors of funfetti frosting with flecks of silver thread reminded me of the holographic tape in the orchard. Made me miss summer, when there was fruit on the trees. She squatted on her backpack, knees kissing, a perfect triangle of crotch in the gap below for anyone who looked.
She talked to Viv, who responded periodically as she glanced up from scrolling on her phone. Amanda was really trying with an eager smile, the patient silences where she picked at her nail polish until Viv’s focus landed back on her. I wondered why she didn’t huff off. Viv was done playing with her. Keeping her enemy close hadn’t paid off.
At last Amanda slung her backpack over one shoulder and gave an awkward wave.
“Maybe I’ll see you after school?” she said, staring expectantly at Harry.
Harry, headphones on, looked around our circle of blank stares, and shrugged.
I spent that afternoon driving an hour to a craft store to buy black feathers. With Viv in my room, door locked, we used wire and glue guns to make wings. An old sketch of Goldilocks and her T-shirt wings stayed propped up against the bedframe until we finished.
I texted Harry sometime before dinner.
He showed up a little after. Texted that he was in front, asked me to come out.
He was at the sidewalk, sitting on the waist-high brick wall near our mailbox. His back was to me, the curve of spine showed through his hoodie
“Do you want to come inside?” I called, pulling my sweater closer, walking to meet him. It was dark already, a little past seven.
“Is your dad home?” he said without turning.
“In his office.”
“Can we stay here?”
I perched on the wall next to him. We were side by side, basically facing each other but his eyes didn’t go to mine.
“Everything okay?” I asked. He was chewing the side of his thumbnail so ferociously that it was bleeding. “What’s wrong?”
His hand dropped into his lap. “Are you testing me with Amanda or something?”
“Or something,” I repeated in the strange tone he’d used. “Huh?”
“I’ve been racking my brain to figure out what’s going on.” He was speaking softly. “Have you been giving her secret rites and telling her to hit on me? Seeing if I’d go for her even though you and I are going out?”
“Because that sounds exactly like something I’d do,” I said, more confused than furious.
“It doesn’t.” He gave his head a shake. “That’s what’s thrown me. You’re usually honest. No filter. I love that. I thought you were—uh—not like this. Not sneaky.”
I stood. “And I thought you didn’t have your head up your ass.”
“Wait. Don’t walk away.” His voice shifted behind me, as though he’d started to follow. “I know you wouldn’t ordinarily do this. It’s your dad and mom, right? You’re freaked out and thinking that all guys do . . . you know.”
I stopped, rigid and facing the house. “No. I am not testing you, Harry.”
“Izzie. Amanda told people that she and I—that we had sex Saturday behind the barn.” I turned slowly. His eyes bugged out. “Sunday she texted me inviting me over. It was ten at night. After school, after the debate, she asked me. She was all, ‘When are we going to hook up?’ It was an accident that I even talked to her at the debate. I went to cover it for the blog. She called me over. She’d never really spoken to me before all this—ever. And I realized, you gave that secret rite to Conner for the goat. You could be delivering secret rites to her, telling her to come on to me. What am I supposed to think?”
“You’re not supposed to think that I’m testing you to see if you’ll cheat or flirt.”
“Isadora—”
I pointed savagely up the street. “Go home, Harry.”
“Wait—”
“No!” I shouted over my shoulder.
“I don’t know what’s going on.”
I crossed the threshold and turned to slam the door. It was too dark to make out his expression, but I hoped he could see how heartbroken I was.
32
I’d felt trapped in a poisonous fog since Harry’s accusation against me the afternoon before. I had stared listlessly out the window at pumpkins, hay bales, and police patrols as Viv drove us to school.
There was a dense crowd gathered around the flagpole when we arrived. My attention went to Harry’s feathery brown hair in the crowd, drawn to him by a magnetic and annoying force. He was standing next to Graham, their shoulders touching. Trent and Conner were beside them, Campbell and Jess a yard behind them.
Viv made a small gasp.
A rabbit was hanging from the flagpole.
“The biology bunny,” Jess said darkly, when she noticed us standing beside her and Campbell. I remembered the white-and-black rabbit from freshman year; Ms. Stevenson kept its cage in the classroom.
Now there was a noose around its furry neck. The bunny was limp, hind legs extended, ears lank. An empty-of-life sack of fur. There wasn’t a lot of chatter, just a stunned sense of horror keeping everyone trapped, watching.
“I don’t understand,” Viv said. I braced a hand against someone’s shoulder, realized it was Campbell. The biology bunny was swinging like a kite tail in the wind.
“What happened?” I whispered. His grim eyes flicked to Conner and Trent.
He shook his head and muttered, “I think.”
I was seized by a conviction that the bunny was my fault. If Conner and Trent had stolen the rabbit, killed it, and strung it up, I’d inspired them with the goat. I’d led them to believe that the Order of IV demanded bloody sacrifices. We had sown the seeds as soon as we’d asked them to drive pins through a dove’s heart.
Graham’s angry but restrained voice rumbled from in front of us. Conner held his eye, a defiant tilt to his jaw; Trent was staring at his trembling open hands.