A trace of a smile warmed Viv’s eyes.
“Or maybe she’s a witch and they begin as real animals she captures and kills to stuff and turn into hats,” I said.
Viv’s heart-shaped face exuded light. “She’s a rabid stuffed animal.”
“With a PhD in psychological torture,” Graham said, the interest thinning in his voice.
“Ironic that she used to give me tons of grief over how I dressed and now she wears decapitated toys on her head to cover up how pure evil she is,” Viv said. I pulled her closer.
“We should pretend she doesn’t exist. Just ignore her,” Harry said.
Viv’s smile soured and she whispered, “Except she’s already erased me.”
“No one can erase you,” I said.
Graham shrugged. “She did literally erase Viv’s name in last year’s yearbook.” She’d substituted “Nobody” for “Vivian Marlo” under Viv’s picture. Viv either wanted to end Amanda or be her. I wasn’t sure then which she’d choose.
Word reached us soon that the fire department was inside, checking that the building wasn’t going to cave in on us. Graham shook his head, feigning disgust. “How pedestrian.”
“This is supposed to be death-defying,” I said, stomping a foot.
“I’m going home if I’m not risking life and limb,” Graham complained, garnering us dirty looks. Our classmates did not usually appreciate our brand of humor.
The bodies coiled tighter. My arm pressed into Harry’s, but I angled away from the contact. I never took Harry’s hand or jumped on his back like I did with Graham. You had to ground Graham like you would a live wire. Grab him before his stories got out of control. Except then you’d catch a little of his electricity and be that much more alive for it.
Harry wore a fixed and intent expression. Next to Amanda was Conner Welsh and his two closest friends, Trent and Campbell. Amanda, Conner, and their friends made up a little flock of despicable sheep. Our togetherness made us outcasts; their togetherness made them nasty tyrants. Most kids paid homage in order to be ignored by them. Viv and Harry weren’t so lucky. Just then, Conner snatched a bottle from a paper bag in one of the Brass Bandits’ hands. The trumpet player, Henry, whirled around and started to protest, saw it was Conner, and instead raised his hands in surrender.
Conner swigged, his boys jeering at Henry until he disappeared into the crowd to get away. Laughing, Conner mimed slapping the butt of cheerleader standing in front of him, Trent thrusted his hips in her direction, and Campbell, usually the least offensive of them, belted out a burp that scaled a full octave.
“Science is wrong about Neanderthals going extinct,” I said to Harry, jerking my chin at the boy band—Graham’s name for them.
Harry’s features shifted to neutral as he looked down his shoulder at me. “Cockroaches always find a way.”
Just then, a graying, paunchy man—the fire chief—climbed on top of a car hood, raised a bullhorn, and shouted, “Everybody home! The building is not structurally sound.” He continued yelling for us to disperse, until the objections drowned the bullhorn out. Putting up a fight didn’t work because firefighters emptied out of the slaughterhouse and herded us to our cars.
“We’ve just witnessed the end of an empire, friends,” Graham spoke from the corner of his mouth. There was a volley of shouts about moving the party to the beach or to Amanda’s house. None of those invitations were extended to us.
We were in the car bumper-to-bumper with our classmates for several minutes before Viv spoke. “I’ve been looking forward to Slumber Fest my whole life,” she said, the back of her hand placed morosely on her forehead.
Graham pushed his glasses up his nose. “You won’t even eat beef. Sleeping in a slaughterhouse would have been hypocritical.”
Her hair whipped back and forth and her glowing polish made comet tails in the dark. “Seniors bragged about it every fall. A couple years ago everyone played spin the bottle.”
“Then we probably would have caught mono,” Harry deadpanned. “Sleeping in a slaughterhouse doesn’t beat eating pizza from Lunardi’s and swimming.”
Viv emitted a high-pitched noise of disbelief.
“I only wanted to do it because it reminded me of the adventures we used to have,” I admitted. I gazed out the window.
My thought process went like this: sleeping in the slaughterhouse would have been a coup; it was unoriginal, though. This was the last year we’d spend in Seven Hills; we couldn’t waste it on stale adventures; the fire chief saved us from a brief and stupid exploit.
I was struggling to make the final leap. I hugged my knees and relaxed while listening to the others talk. Their voices braided and became one long, golden note that felt comforting in my ears. It reminded me of Viv’s fingertips, like butterfly wings on my skin as she did my eye makeup, and Graham jumping off the end of the diving board with me on his back, and Harry smuggling king-size candy bars into the movie theater.
The end of our lives together was racing toward us. Graduation stood on my chest. If I didn’t do something, we would blow into one another’s pasts, and these three brilliant, dazzling friends would be lost to me.
5
Is she happy?” Viv asked. We shared the barn’s blush-colored sofa, her legs on my lap. The tart, fermented cider had its fangs in my tongue. It washed away the taste of the deep-dish pizza we had devoured after the slaughterhouse.
The barn was as hot as the car had been, the baby hairs framing Viv’s face curling with humidity. Graham paced, sending eddies through the air, his steps resonating up into the eaves of the loft where we stored our sleeping bags and camping tent. We almost always thought we didn’t need the tent until the mornings we woke bitten by bugs. Viv, her forehead misshapen with lumps, would cross her heart with a manicured nail and swear never to go again. But she’d braved the mosquitoes for me four times that past summer.
“Who cares if she’s happy?” Graham said with an abrupt turn. “She’s my mother. This is my fifth stepfather. She leaves for two months and this is what she brings me?” He beat the air with a wooden figurine. “It’s a doll.”
Viv smothered a giggle in her palm.
“C’mon, man. Maybe the guy’s decent?” Harry said.
Graham threw himself into a chair, its legs shrieking against the distressed white floorboards. Harry settled with his back against the sofa. He smelled metallic with sweat. Everything smelled of sweating skin. My limbs were noodles. I wanted to swim.
Graham drew my attention with a dragged-out sigh. “Actually,” he said, knocking a fist on the souvenir, “it’s not a doll.” Thoughtfulness crept onto his face “It’s an idol, one of worship. She used to send such interesting stuff, though. Unusual, exotic, grisly artifacts. Oh.” His eyebrows leaped up. “Remember the flesh-eating beetle colony from East Borneo? Used to pick skeletons clean?”
Viv shuddered and combed her fingers through the tangles in her hair. “I remember that dead mouse you and Harry tried to use them on.” She gave him a reproachful look. “Grotesque. Anyway, you’re just pissy your mom didn’t bring you along to China or Japan or wherever. Poor Teddy Graham, didn’t get another stamp in his passport.”