“You visited them last summer,” Viv said, reluctantly turning to knit her brows at Harry.
He hooked his arms around his knees and shrugged. “I know. For a long time they didn’t have anything to do with us. Then they sent Simon and me letters and then cell phones so they could avoid calling the house. They’d invited us four years in a row. Last summer I was upset about my dad. I needed to get out of here.”
Viv’s head tilted a quarter revolution. “What did your mom do to make them so pissed?”
“Married my dad,” Harry repeated. “He didn’t go to college or know who his dad was. He wasn’t a doctor and he doesn’t golf.”
I choked on a noise of surprise.
Harry continued, “My mom met my dad while she was in college, and”—his voice became quieter—“she got pregnant. My grandparents wanted to send her away somewhere to have the baby, where none of their friends would find out. Then she’d come home and go back to school like it never happened. But you know my mom. No one makes choices like that for her. She didn’t want to have a baby yet, keep it or not. She loved my dad. She had an abortion and didn’t stop dating him. They kicked her out.” His expression was grave. “The actual secret I’m telling is that I like having grandparents, despite how they hurt my mom and pretend my dad doesn’t exist. I felt special when my grandpa took me golfing.” A cynical tick of his head. “I guess I’m more messed up than they are.”
“No, you aren’t,” I said forcefully. “You’re the kid. They’re the grown-ups.”
“I feel guilty anyway, like I’m betraying my dad and mom,” Harry added.
“You’re not,” Graham said.
“I’ll hate your grandparents for you,” Viv promised.
Harry rubbed his palms together, inhaled deeply, and exhaled, appearing less rigid and tense for it, which was strange because before, I hadn’t noticed he seemed that way. “I forgot to hold the idol,” he said with a sideways smile, hair flopping with a turn of his head.
“The Mistress of Rebellion and Secrets forgives you,” Viv said.
Graham stood springily, bottle swinging at his side. My cheeks were still burning, but it wasn’t from shame or embarrassment. Graham extended a hand for Viv and pulled her up beside him.
“Gimme,” Viv said, hand opening and closing for the bottle’s neck. Graham held it just beyond her reach and grinned.
“Come and get it, Vivy,” he said, sliding the door open and escaping into the night. She ran after him. Then I was up, light-headed, room orbiting. Harry and I turned at the same time and there was this recklessness between us, his eyes darkening, his mouth open like he was a second away from laughing. We leaped into the night and caught the white flutter of Viv’s blouse disappearing between apple trees.
Graham was calling, “Over here. Over here, come and—” The wind stole the rest away, and Viv’s breathless laughter was the far-off cry of an exotic bird.
“This way,” Harry yelled, and we swerved right. We ran doubled over, weaving in and out of a line of trees. We shifted directions again. The branches were weighted low with nearly ripe apples that shone like little silver moons. Shouts and laughter were ripping up through my chest. The orchard felt as endless as it used to when we were little.
We heard two yells, one triumphant and the other frustrated. Harry and I sprinted for a hundred yards more, following the sounds. We shot out of the trees. I stopped short, digging into the dirt, sending a spray of soil at the rock ballooning up from Earth. The breath felt knocked from my lungs.
I hadn’t been to the rock for a long time. Only for an afternoon or two since I found the girl. The trees seemed to push me closer, shouldering at my back. My knees locked. Harry’s calloused hand closed around my elbow, his thumb hot on my inner arm. “Look,” he whispered.
Two figures on top of the rock: one with his arms raised toward the immensity of the night sky and the other, hair whipping, hips swaying in figure eights, dancing with the wooden doll as an extension of her arms. Harry went soundlessly up, and after a beat, I followed. Tugged by that invisible string between us all.
The meteorite was glowing in the moonlight, a stage set ablaze like the shooting star it once was. It didn’t look like a dangerous place. Not the sort I needed to avoid; Harry, Viv, and Graham exchanging knowing looks when I refused their suggestions to bonfire, sunbathe, or stargaze there. Perhaps it could be ours again.
Graham and Viv turned as we joined them. Viv floated to my side, her arm wrapping around my waist, the idol trapped between our torsos. We spun as a tornado of loose hair, fabric, and the honeyed scent of nearly ripe apples. The world turned to streaks of dark and light. Viv’s laughter gave way to humming a moody little snippet from a song she’d learned for a musical about witches.
When we were too dizzy to keep on our feet, we joined the boys, lying on our backs, the four of our heads touching. There were no cracks between us then. We outshone the star-choked sky. We stared into space and didn’t wonder what was there because we were the universe. All wormholes led to us.
Retrieved from the cellular phone of Isadora Anne Pendleton
Transcript and notes prepared by Badge #821891
Shared Media Folder Titled: IV, Mon., Sept. 16, 12:35 a.m.
Video start.
A quarter segment of I. Pendleton’s face takes up the screen. She laughs nervously and moves the phone farther back to reveal lavender walls behind her. White bookshelves with white-framed photographs to her left. Purple quartz bookends and rows of books organized by color—red, orange, yellow, white, blue, and green spines.
“How should I begin?” Her eyes go around the room until they land on the cell she holds unsteadily. “Graham said it was fair play that we go before Viv and Harry. The Order was my brainchild.” Rolls her eyes. “And Graham thinks that all my good ideas are his. So here goes. Hi. Hey.” She waves at the lens. “I’m Isadora Anne Pendleton—Izzie. I think that our secrets were the most important part of last night.” She pauses. “I have a real whopper of a history with secrets. Dad keeps secrets from Mom.” Her voice is low and she looks sharply to the right (likely to the door). “I’ve heard Mom tell Dad that she senses the gaps. She knows he isn’t honest. But last night, we told secrets and wore them like those badges Viv and I used to collect when we were Brownies in the third grade. I earned almost every single one our troop could. And the secrets didn’t only make us closer. They made us better, too. Does that make sense?”
Her mouth screws up as she thinks. “Graham looked older and more serious. He wasn’t trying to impress us with bullshit or stories. Viv was more alive like how she gets when she has a lead part and is about to go on stage and every little movement is on purpose and graceful and her eyes spark. And Harry, he got carefree after he shared and I never even noticed that he wasn’t to begin with. So anyway, secrets did that.” Her eyes are downcast. She looks up after several seconds and smiles. “The end.”
Video stop.
Retrieved from the cellular phone of Graham H. Averbach III
Transcript and notes prepared by Badge #82827
Shared Media Folder Titled: IV, Mon., Sept. 16, 1:02 a.m.