First We Were IV

by Alexandra Sirowy

  “I don’t know how to dance,” he admitted out of the blue. “I love music. I can’t move to it, though.” He shook his head, frustrated. “I can move to it, I have legs and arms, but I do this dying fish thing. Ugly. Humiliation for all.” Harry didn’t usually ramble. I became more aware of his expression rather than his body below the water. “Remember when you and Viv had dance parties? Even the way you walk is dance-y.” He gave me a sideways look. “Not in a bad way. It’s good. I’m a hundred percent sure that you are a much better dancer than I am, is what I’m trying to get out.” He laughed quick and nervous. “Do you want to go to homecoming with me?”

  Yes, I thought. The answer caught in my throat. How long had I fought thinking of Harry differently? And what would happen if I admitted to myself, beyond this drunken night, that I wanted us to be more than friends? What would happen to the four of us? Then again, I had watched Viv and Graham kiss not too long before and nothing had changed. I hoped.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Yeah?” His smile shone. “Even though my dance moves will do your rep unrepairable damage?”

  “Even if the whole school laughs and points,” I said. He ducked under the water, sending up a surge of bubbles. I glided away from the wall, floating on my back, grinning up at the night sky.

  I had my first ever homecoming date and I was glad the moon had witnessed Harry asking me.

  Retrieved from the cellular phone of Harrison Rocha

  Transcript and notes prepared by Badge #821891

  Shared Media Folder Titled: IV, Sun., Sept. 29, 11:06 a.m.

  Video start.

  H. Rocha sits at his desk, one hand bracing his forehead.

  “I’m breaking the rules—the implied rules, since no one said outright we couldn’t vent about other stuff on here. If I don’t talk about it, I’m going to explode.

  “Yesterday, before the moon ceremony, I was with Simon. My mom has a patch of wildflowers in the front yard. She was as excited as Simon is over ice cream when she planted the seeds. She drinks her coffee standing over them. She refuses to pick them. What’s the point of flowers you don’t pick? She loves them, I guess. Simon loves the butterflies that come. Used to come.” He sniffs and exhales.

  “I have to watch Simon out front with his net. Once he trailed a beetle and didn’t look up until he was six houses down. Yesterday Simon was catching butterflies and then all of a sudden he sprints to the porch and says, ‘I wanna go inside.’ I told him to go back for the net he dropped by the flowers. He wouldn’t. When I did, Conner’s car rolled up at our house.” A bitter laugh. “His house.

  “He gets out, and you know the way he acts like the whole world belongs under his shoes? He stomps into my mom’s flowers. The asshat is just trudging on the flowers she loves. I said, ‘What the hell are you doing?’ He goes, ‘Reminding you whose house this is.’ I said, ‘It belongs to your parents, not you.’ Then he’s all, ‘You know someone fucked up the red beast last Sunday night?’ But I can see over his shoulder that the car’s already been repainted. And then he goes, ‘If I find out it was you, Rags, I’m gonna do more than fuck up your mom’s garden.’ Then he kicks the flowers a couple times—if I hadn’t been so pissed, I would have laughed at how dumb he looked. He got back in the car and drove away. My mom’s wildflowers were all broken and bent.” He rubs at the creases on his forehead.

  “I made Simon promise not to tell it was Conner. Last time he egged the house and Dad called Mr. Welsh, they got into a shouting match. I listened from the kitchen phone. Mr. Welsh said that maybe he didn’t need renters anymore, if they were going to give him headaches.”

  His drags his hands over his face.

  “My mom loves this house.”

  Video stop.

  Retrieved from the cellular phone of Vivian Marlo

  Transcript and notes prepared by Badge #821891

  Shared Media Folder Titled: IV, Sun., Sept. 29, 1:45 p.m.

  Video start.

  V. Marlo tucks her hair neatly behind her ears. Her face takes up the picture. “This morning Izzie and Har said they wanted us to help the dead girl.” A long pause. “I couldn’t sleep after we found her. I imagined stuff about her. I named her.” She begins to whisper. “Abigail—Abby for short. And I’d play games, like what’s Abby’s favorite fro-yo flavor? What nail polish does Abby like? What does Abby want to be when she’s older?”

  Her eyes water. “I’m glad we’re going to try to help Abby. But it’ll be impossible to convince the police to figure out who hurt her. My parents think I was too young to understand why no one acted like Abby dying was a big deal.”

  She moodily shakes her head. “On the drive to the Lessing Summer Theater Academy, we go to a big rest stop for truckers with all these fast food counters and a weird gift shop that sells shot glasses and cleaning supplies. Depressing. It’s mostly fat old men and a few families. Except there’s usually a group of girls hanging around the bathrooms. Their clothes are faded and small. They look grimy, like they don’t have parents at home to take care of them. My dad pretends he doesn’t see them, but Mom looks sad. Once I saw her give them cash. Abby was like them.” She brushes a fallen tear from her cheek. “No parents. Alone. Dropout. Runaway. Not from here. They figured that meant she was into drugs or she did stuff for money. That’s why the police didn’t have to find out what happened to her. That’s why none of the grown-ups cared much. She was alone and that cop Denton thought she was garbage.” She grimaces. “It’s going to be a bitch to convince a man like that he was wrong.”

  Video stop.

  13

  Are you high?” Viv asked. The car air was complicated with gym sneakers, a swimsuit stale with saltwater, and Viv’s perfume. The sounds of the packed school parking lot jumped in through the open moonroof of Viv’s car. It was Monday, two days after the blood moon. Her expression was curious. “You have the same look that Jack Robertson has in first period from eating edibles for breakfast.”

  I made a face. “He eats them every morning?”

  “Probably thinks it makes him so badass. What’s up with you?”

  I picked at the silver polish on my nails. “I slept crappy.”

  I’d been an idiot. Harry and me in the pool. Under the lowering moon. Alcohol in our bloodstreams. Everything asleep around us. I’d been swept away. In the morning, worry snagged me like a splinter on a sweater. Our secret society had three rules: Never lie, never tell, and always love each other. It was the final rule that Viv amended when she recited it the first night the Order gathered in the barn. She said, always love each other, as friends forever. Was it my imagination that she emphasized friends as though to say love each other as only friends; that her eyes skittered from me to Harry; that it was on her mind when she accused me of wanting to see Harry naked? Was Viv worried that Harry and I would ruin what the four of us had? Would Graham? I wasn’t worried. The four of us were unbreakable. Mysteries, a meteorite, bullies, a murder, and an attack had only made us stronger.

  Viv unzipped her makeup bag. “Look up,” she said, smoothing concealer under my eyes. “Close them.” She brushed shadow on my lids. A blunt pencil ran steadily from the inner corner to its outer. “Now this.” She handed me mascara. “Presto. You look like you got ten hours.”

  We zigzagged between parked cars. Viv’s cinnamon hair was in a braid, slung over her shoulder, threaded with a long white feather. Crystals dotted the ends of her wing-tipped eyeliner. She was a work of art. I linked my arm with hers.

  I resolved to tell her by lunchtime about Harry and me. She did not deserve to be lied to. Neither did Graham, but I was counting on Harry to tell him.

  We approached the campus’s front courtyard and flagpole. Viv shielded her mouth, saying, “Amanda’s dressed like a stuffed animal again.” Amanda’s crew—Jess Clarkson, Rachel Fogarty, Conner’s boy band—was sprawled in a bohemian circle on the cement around the flagpole. Their legs, backpacks, water bottles, and lunches all in identical red-and-black shop
ping bags from a fancy yoga apparel shop were landmines in the middle of the busy courtyard. Conner and Trent stripped the backpack from a passing freshman, launched it back and forth, knocking kids out of the way to clear their path. Campbell was watching them with a sort of surprised confusion, which made me think he was dismayed in his choice of friends.

  Usually when the four of us drove to school separately, we met up in our lunch spot before the bell. That morning Graham had texted from the line at Cup of Jo. My chai latte would be waiting for me. We approached our turn. Viv changed her mind. Most people would avoid their sworn enemy. Viv refused to hide from Amanda.

  “I look too good today not to rub it in her face,” Viv said. I tightened my arm around hers. Viv held her head high, a steely concentration hardening her eyes as she guided me in the direction of the flagpole.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Amanda and Jess sitting back to back. When we were five or so feet from Amanda, Viv stopped. She stretched her arms above her head, arched her back, and gave a loud yawn. She smiled impishly at me and flipped the braid off her shoulder. She was a bull’s-eye tempting an arrow. Amanda’s eyes were glued to Viv’s profile.

  I braced myself for the insult she’d toss at Viv. Sometimes I was collateral damage.

  Unexpectedly it was Rachel who spoke. “Rags and Bitches,” Rachel called with a condescending wave.

  “Rags isn’t there, dumbass,” Amanda snipped.

  “I know, just the bit— ”

  There was a threat in Amanda’s eyes. Rachel became absorbed in the rings stacked on her fingers. Amanda shook her head and continued talking to Jess. “Like I was saying, he was definitely at least nineteen and . . .”

  Viv had started off again, her hand tugging me with her. It didn’t make sense, Amanda shutting her own friend up, sacrificing the opportunity to cut Viv down. Amanda’s eyes were locked onto us as she continued her story about the at least nineteen-year-old. Jess hazarded a heavy-lidded glance our way.

  Conner stepped up on the bench to openly stare over the heads of our classmates. I couldn’t classify their expressions. Not sour or cruel. Bored. Hungry, maybe. I faced front. Viv hummed the theme song to the Twilight Zone.

  I chalked it up to a case of the Mondays or a new, insidious method of torture courtesy of Amanda. Subtler than sticking lipsticked sanitary pads to Viv’s backpack freshman year.

  The day continued down an unusual spiral.

  My phone vibrated from my backpack during first period. I checked its screen when Mrs. Ives wasn’t paying attention.

  Sup, Iz. It was from a number not saved in my contacts.

  Who is this? I texted back.

  I watched those three little dots appear and disappear and reappear as I waited.

  Finally, one name. Conner.

  I flicked the volume button from vibrate to silent and stowed the phone. I stared at the blank page of my notebook, felt a stitch between my eyebrows form, felt it turn into a headache. The period ended and I checked to see if Viv had texted for a summit at our lockers.

  A new message from Conner lit up my screen.

  Heard your friends had blowout Saturday. My invite get lost?

  I left the classroom, shoving my cell deep into my backpack and jamming the books on top. The pink bandage that I’d worn on my palm since Saturday night flashed up at me. The Order of IV was private. Us dancing around in our underwear, drunk, cutting our hands with a dagger, smearing blood on the rock, Graham and Viv kissing, it was all intimate and Conner referring to it as a party—knowing anything about it—made me feel exposed. Skinless.

  I kept imagining the vantage point someone on the street would have had looking up at the rock. No clear view of the meteorite. But the flashing police lights in the orchard had drawn Harry in years earlier. A flickering bonfire might have been just as conspicuous.

  I wanted to be in third period with Viv, to show her the texts and for her to roll her eyes dismissively. But when I got there, she was in her seat, playing with the tail end of her braid, talking to Jess, who was perched on Viv’s desk like they were long-lost best friends. Most casual thing in the world.

  I ducked into my desk. Hid my bandaged hand between my knees.

  Conner entered the classroom just then. His attention snapped right to me. He hammered his knuckles on my desk. “Hey, Iz. Waiting for your reply.”

  Iz. Not Icky. Not Ickadora. Not Rags and Riches or Rags and Bitches or Gasbags and Witches or any of the variations his friends came up with. “Don’t hold your breath,” I muttered, averting my eyes. He snickered as he threw himself into his seat.

  • • •

  “Why’d you ignore me before class?” Viv asked as we headed for our lockers after the bell released us. I led her by the wrist into the restroom. A girl was at the sink, close up to the mirror, inspecting the pores on her nose. I closed us into the handicapped stall. Viv was wearing her poppy-red sunglasses.

  “Why was Jess talking to you?” I said, barely audible.

  She shrugged a shoulder nonchalantly and tilted her head to the ceiling as if basking in the sun. “She wanted a crumb of my attention.” She dropped her chin. “Is that so hard to believe?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  She lifted the glasses. “Campbell Avers was over Lorin Yu’s house Saturday night.” Lorin lived across our street from Viv. “Campbell ducked into the orchard to smoke. Walked a little too deep and saw the light. He thought we were having a bonfire and that a bonfire meant beer. He was stoned so most of what he saw he’s hazy on.”

  I pressed a thumb between my eyes. “I’m having an aneurysm. What did he see?”

  “Us. Stripping. He watched until he saw me waving the knife.”

  My hand went to my throat. “Oh my god.”

  “Deep breath.”

  “He saw us taking off our clothes,” I whispered. “He saw you with the dagger. What if someone connects that with—” I held four fingers up, not daring to say it. She slid her glasses back on. “Why are you smiling?”

  “Dramatics become you, my darling. Maybe it’s the lighting in here.” She gazed up at the window near the ceiling. “Maybe I need to take bathroom selfies.”

  I grimaced, feeling sheepish. “Maybe I’m being a little paranoid.”

  She flicked her braid behind her shoulder. “Listen. Campbell told Trent, and Trent told Conner, and Conner told Amanda, who told Jess and Rachel. Campbell thought he saw more than just four of us. They think we had some epic naked bonfire. That’s all. Let them feel excluded for once. Jess was just juicing me for info.”

  “But you didn’t tell her anything.”

  “No way. Screw Amanda and her suckface friends.”

  I chewed on the end of my ponytail and nodded. “They think we had a party. Okay. No crisis. They’ll get distracted by lunchtime and be done with us like that.” I snapped my fingers.

  “Exactly,” Viv echoed my sentiment. She squeezed my shoulders. “Now I’ve really got to pee.”

  • • •

  We were gathered in the barn that evening. I was trying to finish my homework fast, which wasn’t easy since the beginning of the school year grace period with a lighter workload was over.

  Harry sat beside me at the round table. Graham and Viv were talking on the couch. Their airy, hard-to-grasp sentences kept zipping past my ears. I strained to put together what they were discussing. The Order? Conner? Amanda?

  “You guys are giving me FOMO,” I said.

  Graham and Viv’s heads pulled apart, and Graham blinked at me through his spectacles. “Say again?”

  “FOMO,” Harry replied. “Fear of missing out.”

  Graham snorted. “Is that what the kids are saying these days?”

  “What are you guys whispering about?” I asked, not in a humoring mood.

  Viv and Graham exchanged a meaningful look.

  Viv set her hands primly in her lap and said, “We’re comparing what we know about the girl.”

  I shoved my calculus text
away a second after Harry closed his book. We relocated opposite the sofa. Graham rubbed his chin where he’d been allowing a few strawberry-blond hairs to sprout. “The unknowns outnumber the knowns,” he said. “None of us know who killed the girl, or who dumped her on the rock, or who left her T-shirt on the rocks to look like wings. We don’t know if the perpetrator was one individual or if there were multiple perpetrators involved. There’s no physical evidence left over. The case is five years ice cold. There’s likely no solving it. But we do know who’s to blame for that.”

  “Denton,” Viv said.

  “Yes. He was the lead officer on the case,” Graham continued. “When someone dies and it’s obviously foul play, there should be an investigation.”

  “It’s like everybody agreed to make it go away,” Viv said. “And then a few years later, the same thing happened with Harry’s dad’s attack.”

  Harry stopped chewing the side of his thumbnail. “But it’s the girl I want us to help, not my dad.”

  Graham looked reluctant to accept this. “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah.” Harry bobbed his head adamantly. “Dredging it up would scare Simon and make my mom sad again.”

  Nah, hon, she’s nothing like you, just a runaway asking for it. I sat on my hands. On the morning after the blood moon ritual, when Harry and I had shared that we wanted to help Goldilocks, I told Viv and Graham about what Denton said. I described searching for evidence of Goldilocks in the Ghost Tunnel. I admitted the truth about the scar on my shoulder—that it wasn’t a souvenir from my grandmother’s near-feral cat. Viv had run her shaking finger over its ridge.

  Graham removed his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt as he slowly shook his head. “Everything the cops and city hall said was an excuse not to investigate.”

  Viv piped up. “First the cops said she wasn’t offed in Seven Hills, just dumped here.”