“Let’s just drop it and eat,” my mother says, picking up her napkin and putting it back in her lap. She gives me a soft, sympathetic look. “Just keep getting those good grades and staying out of trouble and give me time to save a little more for your college fund, and we’ll get you out of here, Vivvy. I promise.”
“You talk about East Rockport like it’s some terrible place,” Meemaw says, fretting. “Her family is here, after all.”
“You’ll see how much you’ll miss her when she’s gone,” my grandfather tells her. “When you took off for the West Coast, our hearts broke.” This is Grandpa’s version of a peace offering.
“We don’t have the money for her to go that far,” my mother says. “Besides, Viv won’t be running off to follow bands or go too wild. She’s just going to college.”
“Hey,” I say, setting down my fork with a frown. “Who says I can’t go wild?”
At this the entire table starts laughing, including my mother.
“You, Vivvy?” she asks, like I’ve just suggested I swim the English Channel. “Oh, sweetie, you going wild. Unlikely. And for that, I’m grateful.”
I roll my eyes at them and dig in for more meat loaf, dropping out of the conversation. When Meemaw asks me how Claudia is doing, I smile and answer, but inside, in a place no one knows about, in a place I think even I am just getting to know, the fire that reignited when I saw Lucy’s hearts and stars begins to roar. I think about Marisela’s retort this morning when Mr. Shelly came to remove her from class. I think about Sara’s crushed expression when she came to the cafeteria, humiliated. And I think about all the girls of East Rockport, living under the creepy gaze of administrators looking way too hard for something that’s not there.
Later that night, after my mother has dabbed vanilla extract behind her ears, kissed me goodbye, and headed off to the Cozy Corner to meet John, I put Bikini Kill on and turn the volume up so loud that Joan Jett goes and hides in the hallway closet. My heart racing, my cheeks burning, my fingers working against the clock, I collect my supplies: rubber cement, black Sharpies, fresh sheets of white paper.
And the anger that won’t fade away.
Camping out in the middle of my bed, I start working, reminding myself to stop and breathe every once in a while.
Maybe my mother is right. Maybe I’ll leave East Rockport one day.
But first I need to set it on fire.
CHAPTER TEN
Frank at U COPY IT looks over my work as I slide my copies across the counter. I glance outside to where I’ve parked my ten speed. In East Rockport, you never know who might run into you and when.
“Hey, Moxie girl,” he says, flipping through my finished pages. “Weren’t you in here about a month ago?”
“Maybe,” I say, and I’m surprised at my own sassiness. Frank arches an eyebrow and grins.
“Okay, I saw nothing, then,” he answers, handing me my change before putting Moxie #2 in a paper bag. “But if you see whoever made the first one, tell her these are even better.”
“Really?” I ask, unable to catch myself. Blushing, I take my bag, pocket my money, and try to recover. “Okay, I’ll tell her if I see her.”
On the ride home, my Moxie copies inside my backpack, I come up with a bunch of excuses for why I’m out so late in case my mom is already back from her date with John. Just my luck, I pull up to my house and see John’s car with his stupid DELOBE bumper sticker parked in the driveway, the engine running. The streetlights are bright enough for me to see my mom and John in the front seat. Kissing.
Oh, God. Oh gross.
I head around the house and dump my bike, then scoot in through the back door, praying my mother didn’t notice me. A few moments later, I hear her coming in through the front door.
“Viv, was that you on your bike?”
Damn.
We meet in the kitchen, my backpack still strapped to my shoulders. Her cheeks are all pinked up and, God help me, her chocolate-colored lipstick is smudged. She frowns.
“What were you doing out so late?”
I stand there, mute. Then I remember our dinner conversation from a few hours earlier. How my mom told me she would never have to worry about me going wild.
“I was at Claudia’s studying for a history test and it just, like, went late, I guess.”
My mother eyes me carefully, then puts her purse on the kitchen counter. I can tell she 95 percent believes me. Being a good, not-wild girl has its advantages.
“Okay,” she says. “But it is kind of late, you know.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” I say, walking toward my bedroom with my backpack. I need to busy myself both to hide my terrible lying face and to avoid talking about the John situation. I don’t want to talk about John.
I change into my pajamas and head to our shared bathroom to brush my teeth. My mom wanders into her own bedroom, her eyes on her phone. Still pushing my toothbrush around in my mouth, I step out into the hallway and glimpse her flopping onto her unmade bed, tapping something into her phone with her thumb. Then she smiles faintly.
Maybe she doesn’t want to talk to me either. Even though she said she did before dinner. My tooth brushing slows down, then stops entirely. I watch as my mom’s smile grows bigger and bigger while she stares into her phone. It’s probably a text from John. Maybe he’s replaying their kiss in the GOP Love Bug.
I turn back into the bathroom and spit loudly into the sink, then linger there wondering if the noise will wake my mom out of her post-date stupor. Doesn’t she want to ask me more about my day at school or if I’m still upset about the dress-code thing? Doesn’t she want to bring up John with me like she said she did?
But when I finally leave the bathroom and pause in her doorway to tell her I’m heading to bed, she only looks up and smiles.
“Good night, honey,” she says, turning her gaze back down to her phone.
“Good night, Mom,” I say. I pass on our usual good-night hug, go into my room, and close the door.
*
I follow the same plan as I did the first time. Wake up super early and race to school before the sun starts to rise on this finally-cool Texas-in-late-October morning. I slide into the first girls’ bathroom with copies of Moxie in hand. This time feels less dreamlike and more purposeful. I keep seeing Sara’s hurt face at our cafeteria table. I keep imagining the next gross T-shirt Jason Garza will get away with wearing.
And I keep picturing getting caught and probably getting suspended by Principal Wilson. I visualize the entire school knowing Moxie existed because of me. I would go from being an under-the-radar girl to a school weirdo. No, that’s not totally true. I would become a town weirdo, too. Meemaw and Grandpa would be shocked. Claudia would think Lucy has too much influence over me. And my mom would … well, before John my mom would have thought Moxie is cool, but lately I’m not 100 percent sure she would back me. After all, getting into massive trouble at school doesn’t really lead to me getting out of this town and into a good college.
I know Lucy would be cool with it. Which is something. But in the world of East Rockport High, it wouldn’t be much.