“I just got into a…” I search for a better word, but there isn’t one. “I got into a fight with Seth. He was saying he wonders if the girl who made the flyer is even telling the truth.”
Just then the bell rings, but our teacher, Mrs. Robbins, isn’t there. Everyone around us is talking about the flyers, but Claudia leans in toward me, her face concerned. “I’m sorry, Vivvy. What happened?” But I don’t get a chance to answer because suddenly Mrs. Robbins walks in with more purpose than she’s exhibited all year. Clapping her hands together, she barks at us to pay attention.
“I’ve just come from an emergency faculty meeting,” she says, acting as if an emergency faculty meeting is the equivalent of high-level nuclear disarmament talks. “Principal Wilson is about to make an announcement. All of you need to listen very carefully.” She stares at all of us, but it feels like her icy gaze lingers longer on the girls.
A few moments later, the intercom makes a tinny beep. Then Principal Wilson’s gruff voice begins talking, his twang thick with anger.
“Students of East Rockport, it has come to my attention that a flyer is making its way around the school calling for a walkout tomorrow afternoon,” he says. I imagine him standing in his office, talking into a microphone like he’s the dictator of a small country.
“Any student who walks out of this school will be suspended immediately, and I will begin the process of expulsion immediately,” he says. At this heads turn and whispers start, but Mrs. Robbins claps her hands agains and shouts, “Listen up, people!”
“Regarding the situation in the flyer itself,” continues Principal Wilson, “please know the administration is looking into the allegations. Safety for our students is a top concern, of course.” The words are so perfunctory and laughable I can’t help but turn in my seat and roll my eyes at Claudia and Sara. I don’t care if Mrs. Robbins sees.
“Now let’s get back to learning,” he says. “Our custodial staff is in the process of removing the flyers. Any flyer found will be confiscated.”
I sit at my desk, burning with rage. He’s looking into the allegations involving his own asshole son. A visit from Martians during lunchtime is more likely.
Mrs. Robbins tries to run class, but all of us are distracted, and my mind keeps spinning in circles, thinking about both Seth and the walkout. When the bell rings, Claudia asks Sara and me if we’re going to participate on Friday.
“I think I want to do it,” I say as we maneuver through the hallway. It surprises me as soon as it’s out of my mouth. But it’s the only possible answer. The only one that makes sense.
“You’re not afraid of getting expelled?” Claudia asks, twisting up her mouth in concern.
A girl I don’t know all that well—she’s only a freshman, I think—overhears us.
“Look, Wilson can’t expel us if we all walk out,” she insists. “Moxie girls fight back, right?” I remember her from the VFW hall, and in this moment I know for sure that Moxie is out of my hands. It’s thrilling and terrifying at the same time.
Just then Claudia’s phone buzzes. She looks down and gasps.
“What?” Sara asks, alarmed.
“Check your phones,” she says. “Meg texted us.”
Wilson pulled Lucy out of first period … she never came back. He was PISSED
“Shit,” I say. “Why did she have to be so by the book and fill out that form for the bake sale?”
“But she didn’t make the flyers, right?” Sara asks.
“No, but Wilson only wants someone he can pin this on,” I say. I remember Lucy crying in her bedroom, worrying about college scholarships. My stomach knots up. “God, I hope he only brought her in to question her.”
But by English no one has spotted Lucy, and she doesn’t show up for class. Neither does Mitchell Wilson, for that matter, which causes another round of whispers. When Seth walks in, he doesn’t look at me and I don’t look at him. I swallow hard and try to ignore the ache in my throat. I bite the inside of my cheeks to keep from crying. Everything feels so fucked up.
Before Mr. Davies starts class, I text Lucy for the tenth time.
Where are you????? Please tell me you’re okay
Nothing.
Finally, at the end of the day, Lucy texts back.
I got suspended. I’m a mess.… can you please come over? But just you, ok? I can’t take a hundred million questions from everyone.
I text back right away.
I’ll get there somehow I promise
I dart through the halls looking for Claudia, hoping she borrowed her mom’s car to drive to school like she sometimes does. When I see her, I tell her what’s happened and ask if she can take me to Lucy’s. She says yes without hesitating.
As we drive to Lucy’s house, I tell Claudia that Lucy only wants me to come in.
“I hope you understand,” I say. I think back to earlier in the year. To the times when Claudia acted a little bit irritated by Lucy.
Claudia nods. “It’s okay. I get it.” She pulls up to Lucy’s grandmother’s house. “Tell her I’m sorry, though, okay?”
I smile at my best friend since forever and start to open the car door.
“Hey,” Claudia says, stopping me. I turn back to find her looking at me intently. She bites her bottom lip.
“What is it? Are you okay?”
“It’s just…,” she starts, her voice a little shaky, “I kind of feel like I want to do the walkout. I know it’s crazy, maybe. But part of me really wants to do it. Because screw Mitchell Wilson and his dad.”
My smile grows bigger, and I reach out to hug Claudia. “I think you’re a badass,” I whisper into her ear. “And a really good friend.” Her hug feels like everything good and warm and familiar.
“I love you, Viv,” she whispers back.
“I love you, too.”
When I knock on Lucy’s front door, Lucy’s grandmother greets me, her mouth turned down in a tight frown.
“I’m not sure if I should let you in,” she says. “Lucy never got in trouble at the school before. Suspended? Qué barbaridad!”
“Abuelita, please let her in!” comes Lucy’s voice from the top of the stairs, strained and tight.
Lucy’s grandmother rolls her eyes slightly and then steps back, and soon I’m in Lucy’s cluttered room. My friend is curled up on her bed, her eyes red from crying.
“I’m so fucked,” she says, reaching for a relatively clean Kleenex from the mountain of crumpled tissues spread out before her and dabs her eyes.
“Oh, Lucy, I’m so sorry,” I say, sinking onto the bed. All the guilt I felt when Lucy was sent home after the assembly about the stickers starts to build again, making me sick to my stomach. “What happened?”
In long, rushed phrases punctuated by half sobs and sniffles, Lucy tells me how she was hauled out of first period and taken directly to Principal Wilson’s office (“It’s like a shrine to the football team in there, in cases you’re wondering”) and how Principal Wilson accused her of making the flyer since the Moxie name was on it. When Lucy denied it and refused to provide any information, Principal Wilson told her he didn’t believe her.