As I take my last few bites, my phone starts buzzing. I excuse myself so I can check the text in the bathroom.
HOLDEN: Please call 911. Send them to Pacific Centre.
ME: Haha. What is the nature of your emergency, sir?
SAANVI: Once they’ve saved you, send them my way. I’m at the Golden Pearl Buffet, hiding in the bathroom.
ME: I’m hiding too!
HOLDEN: I’m in the changeroom at Holt Renfrew and I can’t get out. Every time I try, my mom and the clerks bring more shirts. There are 3 of them!
SAANVI: 3 shirts?
HOLDEN: 3 clerks!
SAANVI: Whoa. Like a multiheaded hydra.
ME: Do you think a fire truck or an ambulance would be more help?
HOLDEN: Send both. Send all of them. I’m going under…
SAANVI: My aunties just joined me in the bathroom. My cover is blown.
HOLDEN: So. Many. Shirts.
When I get back to the table, Mom and George are already gathering their things. As always, George pays the bill. The host produces my jacket and helps me into it. George kisses Mom on both cheeks.
I’m about to wave at the surveillance camera above the door when I pause.
I used to imagine I was waving to a bored security guard at the other end of that camera. Now I’m not sure who’s watching. I’m no longer willing to wave.
“How did you really know about Frank’s visit on Friday?” I whisper to George when it’s my turn for a kiss.
She pats my arm. “A woman needs her secrets,” she says.
Then she’s off down the street, her rose-colored silk scarf fluttering behind her, looking like a woman who’s never had a secret in her life.
* * *
—
We’re supposed to do our math homework together after school on Monday, but Saanvi looks exhausted. She doesn’t even perk up when I tell her about the crêpe/crap scene at La Patisserie.
I’m not sure if she’s still tired from her family gathering yesterday, or if she’s upset because Miranda’s video has appeared as part of a PixSnappy mash-up. She and Miranda blocked a bunch of followers and they emailed PixSnappy, but apparently the content-review people can take days to respond.
Holden holds out his phone to show me the mash-up.
“Can you put it away?” I beg. “This whole thing makes me feel icky.”
“Complicit,” Saanvi says.
“What does that even mean?” he asks.
“Involved. On the side of the bad guys,” Saanvi says.
“We are NOT complicit,” I protest.
“Easy for you to say.” Holden scowls at me. “Max and Josh are still texting me about contest entries.”
“Ugh. I forgot about the contest,” Saanvi says.
Which makes me sit straight up in my library chair.
“I forgot something, too.”
I never told these two about Ana’s binder. Maybe the contest is meaningless. Maybe the guys had nothing to do with the forums, and it was all Ana.
When I explain, Holden and Saanvi look equally skeptical.
“I can’t imagine Ana posting embarrassing videos, especially when she knows what it feels like to be the target,” Saanvi says. “She wouldn’t do that. Would she?”
I have no idea. We’ve been in classes with Ana for almost three years now, but all I know about her is that she likes the tips of her pencils very, very sharp and she never colors outside the lines.
“What possible reason would she have?” Holden asks.
“Maybe it’s personal.”
“I need to talk to you about something else,” I tell them.
“Wow. Make her spill one secret, and she can’t stop,” Holden says.
I stick my tongue out at him.
“Tell us,” Saanvi urges.
“Well, you know how the squirrels got painted over?”
“And those chipmunk things,” Saanvi says.
It’s true. This morning, two more of the blob-rodents appeared near the custodian’s closet. They were carrying suitcases. The text above them read: Who said anything about safe?
They were covered up by lunchtime.
“I need help,” I tell them.
“That’s kind of obvious,” Holden says.
“No! I mean help with a project. I need help to paint something big, something gigantic.”
“Yes.”
This is the shortest sentence I’ve ever heard Saanvi say.
“I was thinking maybe the side of the school? Or one wall of the foyer?”
“That’s a fantastically awesome idea,” Saanvi says.
“You want to paint gigantic graffiti in the foyer,” Holden says flatly.
“Exactly.”
“What’s my middle name?” he asks.
“Alexander.”
“Just making sure you haven’t been kidnapped and replaced by an imposter.”
“Holden! I’m serious! The small pieces are failing. But I still think this kind of art could get people’s attention. We need to go bigger.”
“You know you hate getting in trouble, right? And this will get you suspended.”
Maybe.
“I was thinking about the open house,” I tell them.
Saanvi immediately gasps. “The open house! That’s SO perfect.”
“I know.”
“You’ll need to do your most enormously gigantic piece ever. It needs to have impact, so everyone will see it. Then it’ll get all the parents involved.”
“I know.”
The idea of a crowd of people looking at something I’ve created gives me heart flutters that are only slightly less intense than the palpitations I get thinking about Ms. Plante. This is definitely not something I’m doing alone.
“Will you help?”
“Would we wrap wet cloths around our faces, plunge into a fire, and pull you from the burning building?” Saanvi asks.
“Um…I think so?”
“Obviously, of course! When do we start? And exactly how humongous are we going?” Saanvi’s enthusiasm makes the table shake.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously serious,” Saanvi says.
Holden hasn’t said anything. When I turn to him, he’s staring at the carpet the same way he stared at the shrubbery on the way to school this morning.
“You totally don’t have to help. I get it.”
“It’s not that,” he says.
“Of course he has to help!” Saanvi says. “Holden, you’re in, right?”
There’s a long pause. Way too long.
“No. I’m out,” he says eventually.
Then he grabs his math books and leaves the library.
We both stare after him.
“He can’t seriously be serious,” Saanvi says.
I have no idea anymore.
We spend another half hour discussing the details of my idea. But as soon as I drop Saanvi at her house, I text Holden.
ME: Okay, spill.
HOLDEN: What?
ME: I told you about the squirrels.
HOLDEN: ??
ME: If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I will come to your house and tell your mom that you secretly love to play Monopoly. I’ll suggest she invite our entire homeroom class for an evening of board games.
HOLDEN: Not funny.
ME: On my way…
HOLDEN: She says I’m switching schools.
ME: WHAT? Who? When?
HOLDEN: My mom says I’m switching schools in September.
ME: WHY WHY WHY????????
HOLDEN: She says The Mitch is failing to inspire me.
ME:
ME: So that’s it? She’s pulling you? No warning?
HOLDEN: I kind
of had warning. My other choice was to join three extracurricular activities this term. Minimum.
ME: Whoa.
HOLDEN: I know. Do three separate extracurricular activities even exist?
ME: Um…yeah?
ME: What about the art class?
HOLDEN: That counts, but not enough.
ME: Crêpe.
HOLDEN: I know.
HOLDEN: Anyway, sorry to be a downer. I’ll figure it out.
ME:
ME: Saanvi and I won’t let you go. We’ll tie you to your desk.
HOLDEN: Perfect. That will solve everything.
A notification dings, distracting me from the texts. It’s another blog post from Miranda…sort of.
The Mitch Mash
On Hiatus
by Miranda Bowen
After three Mitch Mash articles were needlessly censored by school administrators, the editors have decided to take a publishing hiatus. We will be communicating our views on other platforms. Watch for us.
Mom’s things are in the hallway when I arrive home, and I sigh. We’ve spent a lot of time together lately, and I’m not sure I can eat another bite of takeout chow mein or watch one more romance.
But then…I think I smell something cooking. Sure enough, once I’ve hung Mom’s purse and straightened her shoes, I find her in the kitchen with a mixing bowl and a pastry blender.
“Quiche for dinner. What do you think?”
“Yum?”
“My arms are tired. Want to cut in this butter for me?”
I take over the mixing, but I keep an eye on Mom. She seems…brighter.
“Did you and Frank talk today?”
“We met for lunch.” She grins, looking a little guilty. “I might have jumped to conclusions about the photo.”
“Not an ex-girlfriend?”
“Oh, she was, but from years ago. She has a husband and two kids, and she lives in New York. She was visiting.”
Which doesn’t necessarily mean he’s innocent, but…
“He added my fingerprint to his phone. So I can check his texts if I want. Not that I’d want to, but it was a sweet gesture.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Very romantic.”
She sticks out her tongue at me. “We’re going out for drinks tonight. Do you mind?”
“Nope.”
As it happens, I have a lot to do. Though I don’t get far before Holden starts texting.
HOLDEN: I’ve been thinking about the logistics, and you’re going to need a team to pull this off. Like in Ocean’s 11.
SAANVI: I think he means Ocean’s 8.
ME: I thought you weren’t helping.
HOLDEN: I’m not. Because I am NOT going to be the guy who’s duped into holding the diamonds.
SAANVI: That’s what you think! Muahahahaha.
ME: Holden’s right, but we have a team. Or we would, with the three of us.
HOLDEN: Um…did you just say HOLDEN’S RIGHT??? I’m taking a screenshot.
ME: What kind of criminal are you? Don’t screenshot anything.
SAANVI: And about the team thing…
ME: I’ve already mapped the cameras. What else do we need?
HOLDEN: A lookout.
SAANVI: You’d make an excellent lookout.
HOLDEN: It’s my innocent eyes.
SAANVI: Is that a yes?
HOLDEN: Can’t.
SAANVI: Oh, for crêpe’s sake.
ME: You need extracurricular activities.
HOLDEN: Yeah. This is not exactly what my mom has in mind.
SAANVI: So…lookout?
HOLDEN: We’ll figure something out.
SAANVI: What about Miranda?
HOLDEN: What is it with you and Miranda, hmmmm????
ME: Why Miranda?
SAANVI: She can be the lookout, and she can handle communications. That’s where your first plan failed. She has a thousand PixSnappy followers, and her mom’s got a gazillion. You know her mom’s the VTV news anchor, right?
HOLDEN: Good point. Miranda’s in.
ME: Ugh. Fine.
HOLDEN: Ana?
ME: NO!
SAANVI: NO!
HOLDEN: Kidding.
ME: Four is enough. Come over tmrw afternoon and we’ll figure things out.
HOLDEN: Three. I can’t come.
ME: Argh.
SAANVI: Wait! One last thing.
HOLDEN:?
SAANVI: I don’t want to be a team.
ME: ???
SAANVI: I’m thinking…secret society.
ME: Seriously?
HOLDEN: Seriously?
SAANVI: So much more romantical!
ME: Fine. We’re a secret society. See you tomorrow.
HOLDEN: You should probably have a secret handshake.
ME:
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
TRESPASSING AND TREASON
WHEN SAANVI and I get to the apartment after school on Tuesday, Mom pulls a tray of triple-chocolate brownies from the freezer. Which is amazing, because the only thing better than triple-chocolate brownies is frozen triple-chocolate brownies.
“If we’d told Holden there would be brownies, he might have come,” Saanvi says.
“Is he not coming? That’s too bad,” Mom says. I try to shoo her away, but she ignores me. She’s still hovering a few minutes later, when Miranda buzzes up.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says, slipping off her high heels.
I reluctantly introduce her to Mom.
“Wow. I can see where Dom gets her bone structure. You have the most amazing cheekbones,” Miranda says.
Mom touches her cheeks, as if realizing for the first time she has bones there. “Do I?”
“I always notice, because my family works in television. You’d be great on camera.”
And that’s when Mom falls in love.
When Miranda picks up her shoes and lines them up against the wall, I soften a little, too.
“What else can I make the three of you? Spritzers?” Mom gushes.
“No, Mom, we’re good.”
She stands at the edge of the room, beaming at us.
I’d like her to leave now. Go for a walk outside, maybe. I try to say all of this telepathically and with a pointed look toward the door. She doesn’t seem to get it.
“I’ll take a spritzer,” Saanvi says.
So while I pluck my eyebrows out hair by hair (not really), my so-called secret society eats, drinks, and makes merry.
Eventually, I can’t stand it.
“Mom, we’re going out for a while,” I announce, standing and pulling Saanvi up with me.
“But…the chocolate…,” Saanvi says.
“Oh, I’ll get you a container,” Mom says.
I force myself to smile.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” Miranda says on the way out the door.
Worst. Criminals. Ever.
When we finally make it downstairs, we find Lou glowering at us.
“He made me show my student card on the way in,” Miranda whispers.
“Lou! This is Miranda. She’s my guest.”
“Dangerous world out there. Can’t be too careful. And that one looks like trouble,” he says.
Which is somewhat true. Miranda obviously changed right after school. She’s paired her heels with a denim skirt and a crop top. The outfit doesn’t exactly say “investigative journalist.”
“Don’t mind him. We’re leaving anyway. C’mon, Miranda.”
I lead the way down the block. Then, with a quick glance along the sidewalk (only one guy at the far end, checking his phone and paying no attent
ion to us), we veer toward the shrubs and the “No Trespassing” sign.
I glance back to see Saanvi nibbling on a fingernail. Miranda’s holding a notebook and pen as if something crucial could happen at any moment.
“Where are we heading, Dom?” Saanvi calls.
“You’ll see.” I lead them along the orange plastic fence that divides the empty lot from the rest of the street.
“I know I said you were the big boss, but are you completely, absolutely sure that we shouldn’t head for a coffee shop? One with double-caramel macchiatos?” Saanvi asks.
I shush her.
“Ew!” Miranda squeals. “I stepped in mud. Is this going to ruin my shoes?”
I glance at her heels, purple with tiny pompoms on them.
“You don’t have to come. We can fill you in later,” I say.
“I’ll go in front and find where it’s safe to step,” Saanvi says.
I roll my eyes at her, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
Grabbing Saanvi’s hand and leapfrogging between grass patches, Miranda manages to make it through the fence without losing what exists of her wardrobe.
And, finally, we’re in. It’s gratifying to hear their gasps.
Me and Banksy Page 14