The Rivals

by Daisy Whitney

“Would you laugh too?” I ask.

  “Oh sure. What’s not to like about talking animals? Especially raccoons.”

  “Raccoons are the best kind of talking animals,” I say softly. “Martin?”

  “Yes?”

  “Nothing happened. Nothing ever happened with Jones. It’s his—” I get the first letter out of dad before Martin places a finger on my lips.

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.”

  “But…”

  “But your blue streak is totally hot. And I’d be touching your hair the whole way on the midnight train back,” he says, returning to our fantasy as he traces my cheek with his finger.

  I wriggle closer to him. “Would it be empty?”

  “Of course,” he whispers.

  “What would we do?”

  “Whatever you wanted to do,” he says.

  “What would you want to do?” I ask.

  He brushes a strand of blue hair from my face and leans in to my ear, then says something that’s so ridiculously sexy, so incredibly hot, that I feel like I’m melting from the inside out.

  “Please kiss me,” I say.

  He props himself up on an elbow, bending his face to mine, his lips brushing me softly, starting with my eyelids, then down to my cheeks, then finally my lips. He kisses me tenderly, and it’s the sweetest kiss in the world, the softest kiss any girl has ever gotten. I close my eyes, drifting into the kiss, into his touch. He runs his hand gently down my left arm, then moves his lips to my bruises, to the black-and-blue marks Natalie left on my hand. I imagine him taking the pain away with his kisses, the opposite of what the Watchdogs did to my hands.

  This is how I fall asleep, damaged, bruised, broken, but completely peaceful and wholly content in my own way.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  TAKING SIDES

  I don’t wake up for a long time. I sleep through breakfast, then brunch, then lunch. When I wake up, Martin is there with Jamie.

  “We’ve been busy,” he says. He’s holding an ivory envelope in his hand, the kind society women send thank-you letters in.

  I sit up in bed, self-consciously patting my messy hair.

  Jamie shows me her right arm. There’s a black twisty ponytail holder on it. “Want it?”

  “Yes, please,” I say, and hold out my left hand. She drops the black rubber band into my palm and I try to pull my brown and blue hair back, but it’s awfully hard to do one-handed.

  “Let me help,” Jamie says. She scooches next to me and twists my hair neatly into a ponytail.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “Theo stood up in the cafeteria at dinner last night,” Jamie says. Her smooth black hair is long and sleek against her shoulders, and her brown eyes are as innocent as they have always been, but somehow savvier too. She’s aged a few years overnight.

  “He did?” I ask cautiously, eagerly, waiting to hear.

  Jamie nods. “He said it was him after all, not Maia.”

  “Holy crap,” I say. “He really did it?”

  “He said that the wrong person was accused, the wrong person took the fall, and that it should have been him.”

  I try to say something, but I am speechless. If I could form words, if I could give voice to the swirl of thoughts racing in my head, I’d say something about bravery, something about hope. Because Theo may have been point zero in all of this, but maybe he can change. Maybe, in some way, justice has been served after all. A new kind of justice. The kind that matters, the kind that helps you become the person you can truly be, the kind that helps you overcome the person you’re leaving behind.

  “Was Maia there?” I ask.

  Jamie shakes her head. “No. But I suspect she’s heard the news by now. News travels fast at Themis.”

  “But that’s not all. We have a double agent,” Martin adds proudly, nodding to Jamie.

  “Really?” I ask.

  Jamie nods. “I was going to tell McK today that I was done with her side, but Martin found me first and told me what she did to you.”

  “Your sister didn’t do this,” I correct her. “Natalie did.”

  “And we need to get back at her,” Jamie says firmly.

  I snort. “What are we going to do? Try Natalie? For us to be the good side, others have to believe in what we do,” I say.

  “There are other ways,” Martin points out. His eyes are sparkling, though, and he’s clearly been working on those other ways.

  “And what are those other ways?” I ask.

  “We paid a visit to your dorm this morning. Well, to the first floor, to be precise,” he says.

  “To the scene of the crime,” Jamie adds.

  “And we asked around. Knocked on doors. Went up and down the whole hallway. Turns out there were a couple of sophomore girls on the first floor who saw what happened,” Martin explains. “Maxanne Braff walked by when Natalie broke your fingers. She texted Rory Bell and told her what she saw. Rory showed us the text, and Maxanne told us what she saw.”

  “So now what? Like I said, Natalie would never consent to be tried by us.”

  “I know, Alex,” Martin says heavily. “We’re not talking about going to us on this matter.”

  I shake my head in disbelief. He can’t possibly be suggesting I go to Ms. Merritt. Besides, I didn’t go to her last year.

  Last year.

  I feel like I’ve been plunged back in time, the victim again.

  But then just as quickly, I return to the here and now, because this is different. Not the crime but the environment. Last year, there were no Watchdogs to give Carter other options. Last year, the Mockingbirds were the only option for any of us.

  Now there is a new threat.

  And because of them we are not the same. We have to change. But I don’t know how exactly we should change, so I shift gears.

  “Can we go back to this whole double agent thing first?” I say, and turn to Jamie.

  “I don’t want to be like them anymore. I want to be on the good side,” she says, and I want to say I’m not even sure we’re the good side anymore. I’m not sure if we did any good this semester. It seems that all we did was weaken. The termites got into the foundation and ate it away little by little.

  But then again, here’s Jamie. Here’s the girl who chose another path. Here’s Jamie actively choosing the Mockingbirds. “I don’t want to be on the same side as someone who’d break your hand,” Jamie continues.

  I glance down at my splint, at my fingers that may be normal soon, but may not ever be good enough. A fresh surge of anger courses through me, and I am ready to jump up and find Maxanne and Rory and then tell everyone—every single last student and teacher here—what happened in the common room.

  But I need a plan. I need to be methodical. I need to be smart and strategic every step of the way, because that trio of girls is dangerous.

  “They had their spy. Let me be yours,” Jamie pleads. “I can help you even more this way.”

  I want to ask how I will know she’s not playing me. But there’s no test to show loyalty. I can’t prick her finger with a needle and then run her blood through a machine that’ll tell me it’s okay to trust her.

  I have to rely on instinct, and instinct can be wrong.

  “Alex, you know how I said I was going to prove myself to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know that redheaded girl who’s been seeing Carter?”

  “Yes,” I say tentatively.

  “I know who she is. She’s a freshman. She didn’t know what he did to you last year. Now she does,” Jamie says.

  “You told her,” I say, and I can’t resist—the corners of my lips curl up.

  Jamie nods proudly. “I didn’t rub her face in it. I just took her to the library and showed her his name in the book.”

  “What did she do?”

  Jamie shrugs. “Let’s just say they’re not together anymore.”

  “Jamie Foster. You little vigilante. You Mockingbird.”
/>
  “So, you’re not going to kick me out?”

  “Jamie, I already told you I wasn’t going to kick you out. I meant it. You’re in. You’re a Mockingbird.”

  “And?”

  “Fine. Take advantage of me while I’m down,” I tease. “If you want to be a double agent, Jamie, it’s your choice. It’s going to be risky, very risky. You’re going to have to be amazingly careful. And you’re going to have to watch your back every step you make.”

  “Sounds like just your average day at Themis Academy,” she says wryly.

  “Yeah, it does,” I say.

  “There’s something else,” Martin says.

  “Oh, joy,” I say.

  “You’ll like this one,” he adds, and hands me the ivory envelope.

  My name is written on the front in sharp black letters. I slide a finger under the flap and open it. It’s a letter from Parker Hume.

  Dear Alex,

  Please accept this as my official letter of resignation from the board of the Mockingbirds effective immediately. It was a pleasure serving with you, and I wish you all the best in your future endeavors.

  Sincerely,

  Parker

  I laugh out loud. “This is brilliant. Did you see it?” I ask.

  Martin shakes his head, so I hand it to him. He grins as he reads it, then narrows his eyes in a faux serious gesture. “Very professional.”

  “I’m sure he learned it from Daddy.”

  “Speaking of, that’s why he quit. He told me this morning. He said what happened to your hand freaked him out too much. He’s too worried about Daddy finding out about the Mockingbirds.”

  Because of my hands, he quit. I look over at Jamie. Because of my hands, she stayed.

  Sometimes instinct can be wrong. But sometimes it can be right too. And sometimes you just have to take it on faith.

  I reach up and run an unbroken finger through my blue streak. Then it hits me. “Jamie, I have your first official assignment.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  HER GOOD NAME

  I have another assignment too, and this one’s for T.S. and me to handle, because I need to pay my debts to others first.

  “I bet you learned a lot from having three brothers,” I whisper to T.S. when I find her in the library studying.

  She gives me a look and raises an eyebrow. “What sort of things do you think I learned from having three brothers?”

  “Like how to cause trouble,” I say.

  “What sort of trouble?”

  “Fun trouble.”

  “Like giving someone a wedgie?” she asks eagerly.

  “I’m thinking wedgie times one hundred,” I say.

  “Dude, I’m in,” T.S. says.

  And it’s that simple with T.S.

  Even with my broken hand, we manage the assignment in under an hour because T.S., as she always does, comes through. She knows how to take what we need, flit by unseen, and do the dirty work without making a sound.

  “My brothers would be so proud,” T.S. says when we’re done. “I’m so going to have to take pictures. This is exactly the kind of stuff they trained me to do.”

  “Let’s show Maia,” I say, and we return to our room to fetch our other roommate. She is resistant at first and this—this spark in her, this tiny little fire—is how I know she is coming back.

  “Now? You want me to go outside now? It’s practically freezing,” she protests.

  “Here’s a coat,” I say, handing her my fleece as we walk down the steps and into the November night.

  We reach the theater, and the doors have a new look. Like a string of lights at Christmastime, a line of black boxer briefs has been draped over the curved archway. Maia steps closer to get a better look. There are maybe twenty or so pairs of boys’ underwear hung up. She leans in, not wanting to touch the undergarments, but close enough to see that each one has a label sewn on the inside: Property of Beat Bosworth.

  I wait for Maia to say something.

  “His mom sews his name into his underwear? Like who’d take them? Who’d want them?” she says.

  “I know, right? But thank God for Mrs. Bosworth.”

  “And who wears black boxer briefs only?” she adds. “And where did you two loons come up with this idea?”

  “Look,” I begin, “it’s not the Elite. I know it’s not even remotely close to a replacement for the Elite, but it was all we could do at this point. It was all I could think of to do.”

  “No, it’s not the Elite. And, don’t get me wrong, I wanted to feel that bloody trophy in my hands like I’ve never wanted anything before in my life. But you know what? There was something I wanted more. Or less, really. Because when I heard what Theo did last night in the cafeteria—and incidentally I still think he’s a total wanker—I realized it was actually more important to me that the rest of this school know I’m not a cheater. And he let them know that. That was the worst part of all this, even worse than not debating, even worse than losing the Elite. That’s why I was so miserable, because I didn’t want people thinking that about me. I didn’t want the whole school thinking I’m someone I’m not.”

  “We’re not done clearing your name, Maia. There’s more we will do,” I add, though I know it’ll take a lot of work to undo the damage I’ve done. I’m up for the task, though.

  “But there’s something I have to do too,” Maia says to me. “And that’s to say I’m terribly sorry for not seeing what you were going through as head of the Mockingbirds and the risks.” She looks down at my hands.

  T.S. jumps in quickly. “I’m sorry I gave you a hard time too. I know you were just trying to do the right thing.”

  I wave my good hand in the air as if all of this is just no big deal, but mostly so I don’t choke up. Because it is a big deal, all of it. But whether I’m a public person or a private person or some cocktail of the two, the goal is the same: to do the right thing. I don’t always hit the mark, but I plan to keep it in the crosshairs.

  “Let’s just enjoy the view for now,” I say, and we take a few steps back to get a better look at our handiwork. The three of us stand on the quad gazing upon a doorway decorated with black boxer briefs.

  “I’ve always thought we’ve never had quite enough pranks at Themis Academy,” Maia says.

  “And let us never forget that pranks should always be allowed. In fact, they should be encouraged,” I say.

  We head to the cafeteria for dinner, where I take my usual spot. Jamie’s across the cafeteria with a group of girls I presume are her freshmen friends. She laughs at something funny someone must have said. Then she makes a goofy face at the person.

  I turn back to my friends and take a bite of my salad. The lettuce falls off the fork, which is surprisingly tough to use with three immobile fingers.

  Maia laughs at me. “Maybe next time you’ll get a sandwich.”

  “Maybe next time you’ll get it for me.”

  When Martin finishes eating, he stands up and taps his fork against his glass, quieting the room. “Just a brief update to the recent announcements. Wanted to let you know that Maia Tan has, if she wishes, been fully reinstated to the debate team.”

  We didn’t plan this, but this is part of the restoration. This is part of how we can make good again. He turns to Maia. “I’m assuming you’d like to return.”

  She nods, the epitome of class and grace.

  “Good. Then let’s move forward and look ahead to Nationals next semester, where I’m sure you’ll lead the team as only you can.”

  Then there’s clapping. Not everyone. Not even most students. But enough. And even though my fingers are too broken to hold a fork properly, I’m pretty sure I’m the loudest of all.

  As the clapping subsides and Martin sits back down, I spot a mane of flaming red hair a few tables away. Carter’s former girlfriend. She’s looking at me, watching me, and when she knows I see her, she nods and mouths, Thank you.

  *

  On my way back to my dorm after d
inner I see Delaney and Theo across the quad. They’re walking and holding hands on their last night together before he leaves for good. As I watch them I remember holding hands with Martin the night after I played Boléro for him. I feel a pang, knowing I won’t be able to play again for a while. But then the emptiness subsides, because that night wasn’t just about music. It was about something more. I still have that something more, and that’s another thing they can’t take away from me.

  As they walk past the music hall and the dance studio, I flash on my conversation with Theo earlier this year when he mentioned Ms. Merritt e-mailing him.

  She was saddened—that was her word—to learn that my dreams might not materialize. And she had some suggestions for what I might be able to do with my creative energy.

  Suggestions. I bet she had suggestions. I bet she suggested the debate team. She was needling him, poking him, pushing him. She was stirring up all our competitive spirits, stoking the flames so we could do her bidding—perform, perform, perform and help bring the J. Sullivan James trophy home.

  So she could win. So she could beat her biggest rival. So she could bolster her record in every way.

  Then I laugh. Because I doubt there’s any trophy coming for her this year. I bet Matthew Winters will claim it after all. God, I hope they beat us. I hope they take the trophy home and gloat over it, lord it over Ms. Merritt’s head.

  I rush over to Delaney and Theo, needing to confirm my suspicions.

  “Hey,” I say, knowing I am interrupting but knowing this is vital. “Ms. Merritt suggested you go out for debate, didn’t she? That’s what was in the e-mail she sent you over the summer, wasn’t it?”

  Theo nods. “Yeah. She said she knew I was good with politics and thought debate would be a good outlet for me.”

  I look at my hand again, and my resolve to do something about it deepens.

  “Hey, guys,” Delaney says, and points to the time on her phone. “I have to go. It’s time for me to meet Jamie for our assignment.”

  Then she winks at me. “I guess I’m an honorary Mockingbird,” she adds.