CHAPTER 16
Emilia and I went back to World Issues. It took me less than a minute to get Vivvie on board. I texted Ivy that I was going to Vivvie’s place after school and bided my time until the bell rang. On the way to Vivvie’s, I made four phone calls.
The first was to Anna Hayden.
“How would you like to stick it to John Thomas Wilcox?” I asked her.
There was a brief pause. “I’m listening.”
“He took that picture of Emilia.” I couldn’t tell Anna more than that—not what I suspected about the circumstances in which that picture had been taken, not the devastating effect that even looking at it had on Emilia. But I could give Anna a moment to think about the fact that in another world, John Thomas might have been sending around pictures of her.
“The headmaster pressured Emilia into dropping out of the race because of that picture,” I continued. “I plan to convince him that was a very bad idea.”
I told Anna what I had in mind.
“I know you probably can’t participate yourself,” I said. Anna wasn’t in the limelight as much as she would have been if her father had been president, but she was the only one of the presidential or vice presidential children who wasn’t already of age. That attracted a certain amount of attention. “But if you could pass the word on—”
“Oh, I’ll participate,” Anna cut in, an edge in her voice. “And so will my friends. Just send me the link and tell me when.”
The next two calls went to Lindsay Li—she of the blackmailing ex-boyfriend—and Meredith Sutton.
Right as we reached Vivvie’s place, I made one final call.
The apartment Vivvie shared with her aunt had round-the-clock security downstairs.
“How are things going?” I asked Vivvie as we reached the elevator. “With your aunt?”
“Good,” Vivvie replied with a little half smile. “She got a job at a local gallery.” Vivvie paused. “We don’t talk about my dad much,” she said quietly.
Vivvie’s father had been part of the conspiracy to murder Justice Marquette. Once things had started to unravel, Major Bharani had “committed suicide.”
Vivvie and I both knew that he had been murdered.
“Sometimes . . .” Vivvie said, and then she trailed off.
“Sometimes,” I prompted.
Vivvie stared at our reflection in the elevator’s metal door. “Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night, and my aunt’s just sitting in the living room, staring at nothing and cleaning her gun.”
Given the sequence of events that had brought Priya Bharani into Vivvie’s life, I supposed a certain amount of late-night paranoia was understandable.
“On the bright side,” Vivvie commented, determined to end the conversation on a high note, “she’s got great taste, and she lets me borrow her clothes.”
The elevator came to a stop. The doors opened. Vivvie’s apartment was the only one on the floor. She unlocked the front door, and then we got to work.
“I think the picture of Emilia was taken in a bathroom?” Vivvie caught her bottom lip between her teeth and rocked from her heels to her toes. “I’ll get some pens and paper,” she declared. “My bathroom is through there.”
While Vivvie went in search of writing supplies, I went to check out the lighting in the bathroom. Setting my bag to one side, I lowered myself to the floor. I slumped back against the wall next to the bathtub, letting my head loll to one side.
“How’s this?” I asked Vivvie when she came in.
She stared at me for a second. “Go like this,” she told me, bending her head down and flipping her hair over in front of her face. I did as she instructed and watched through my hair as she went over to the sink and got a handful of water. She dripped it on me.
“Now lean back,” she said.
I did.
“Eyes mostly closed,” Vivvie said. “Head a little farther to the side. Legs a little farther apart.”
Once I’d perfected the pose, Vivvie handed me a sheet of paper and a red marker. Two minutes later, she took my picture. Then we switched places, and I took hers.
“Not bad,” Vivvie said, looking at the pictures on my phone. Each of us was slumped against the wall, our positions mimicking Emilia’s in the picture almost exactly. The sign propped up against my chest read, DOUBLE STANDARD.
I scrolled from my picture to Vivvie’s. Her sign said simply, I STAND WITH EMILIA.
“You’re sure you want to do this?” I asked Vivvie. She looked nearly unconscious in her picture—and just as wasted as Emilia.
Vivvie thrust out her chin. “I’m sure.”
So was I. Five minutes later, the pictures were uploaded. Ten minutes after that, the others started trickling in.
“Vivvie?” an accented voice called out.