First We Were IV

by Alexandra Sirowy

  “My parents are going, is your dad?” Harry asked. He nudged my foot with his. I looked from the rubber toe of his sneaker to his eyes. “Is your dad going tonight?”

  Mayor Carver had called an emergency town meeting. A discussion of the city’s heightened security measures. Check points. Increased patrols. In sixth period, word spread that the Seven Hills police department was canvassing. They’d search the knoll. Whether they knew the train car came from the Ghost Tunnel wasn’t clear; there were multiple tracks that converged from the hills onto the run that lead into town. If they did scour the tunnel, they’d find weeks-old remnants of a massive party. And that, for some reason unknown to everyone but the ten of us, the police chief had left town. Denton had resigned. An interim officer needed to be named.

  He’d left Seven Hills. I was hollow at the triumph, save for one thought: too late.

  Denton should have left town eight years ago, seven, six, so he wouldn’t have been the one called when I found Goldilocks. Nah, hon, nothing like you, just a runaway asking for it. Without Denton there may have been an investigation. Without Denton the Order might not have had its wicked shape. It just would have been pranks, fun, and little rebellions, with nothing to do with blood, revenge, and dead girls. And there’d be no blood on my hands—not the dove’s or the goat’s. No. How had Denton suffered? How had he paid? The Order shouldn’t have sent him away—not yet. I spent the rest of sixth period in the restroom, sick with remorse over all the revenge on him I’d forfeited.

  In the midst of all this there was chatter about the goat. Who. Why. How. The theory I heard floated most was sacrifice. IV took its life in the name of an unseen and blood-hungry vigilante force. With the gossip, the theories of who IV was changed from vigilante hero to crazed disciple of a cult. IV was tormenting the town to pay fealty to a pagan god who craved anarchy. And then hours passed and kids felt this was bordering on way too superstitious and that IV was obviously just a teenager who was as sick of being bossed around at school and home by grown-ups as they were. IV was saying fuck you to everything adult. IV was pissed that a fellow teenager had been killed in town and wasn’t it super messed up that no one had done anything about finding her killer?

  The four of us postponed our final rebellion for the following Wednesday. The plan was to meet with the initiates at Viv’s on Saturday. We needed to talk about staying under police radar. We needed to stay calm. Invisible. I needed to remind them, gently, of the Polaroid I had tying them to the train car and fire.

  We’d come so far—sacrificed, rebelled, and planned. I wouldn’t allow anything to derail us before our finale. And already I’d stopped considering it a finale, an end. My breath stuttered at the thought of no more rebellions. No more revenge. How could I return to being weird, helpless, inconsequential Izzie? I wouldn’t. I refused. I had invented the Order. I had aimed it at Seven Hills. I had vowed revenge for Goldilocks. And though I wasn’t certain what shape we’d take next, rebellion had dug its claws into my heart and wouldn’t let go.

  31

  We gathered together on Saturday night. The barn was removed enough from the street that we didn’t worry about any of the patrols hearing us. We wouldn’t dance on the rock or light a fire. I’ve never felt so thirsty for a party. I was giddy with restless mischief; guilty and wonderstruck at our nerve.

  I stood on a chair in the middle of the barn. Nine faces turned up to me. I raised both Polaroids for everyone to see. “These are going to be buried in a chest where the idol was found. Even though we can’t take credit for being IV, we’ll all know there’s proof of it, of what we’ve done, somewhere secret.” I felt a foreign and threatening smile spread my lips. Let the proof of their guilt stick in our initiates’ heads. Let its threat linger. Let them remember that only the four of us would know where the damning evidence was buried. I raised the bottle. “To doing wicked things for just ends. To the Order of IV.”

  Bottles clinked.

  Harry offered me his hand. Linked together I felt more grounded, less like the barn was topsy-turvy with bodies. I ached for our next rebellion. The momentum had us, as if we were bolting downhill. My bones, blood, and heart wanted to wield the Order again. Again, again, again.

  Harry and I drifted to where Graham was opening a cider—he’d had a few already.

  “Want one?” he asked, turning from the fridge. Behind his glasses there was a wet, shimmery glaze to his stare.

  “No, thanks,” I said. Harry shook his head.

  “My mom got home tonight. Asked me why we’d received a letter in the mail about the city outlawing any use of a Roman numeral four. She was baffled.” He popped the cap of the cider and let it ping on the floor.

  “What’d you tell her?” Harry asked.

  “About Driftwood Street, the knoll, the blood rebellion, the goat, the train car—all of it.”

  “She couldn’t tell it was you though, right?” I said. “You didn’t give it away by acting proud or smug?”

  His thumb traced the rim of his cider bottle. “If she suspects, she didn’t say.”

  I struggled to read his expression, not used to working so hard to understand him. “Do you think she might?”

  He blinked at me. “You know my mother wouldn’t get involved. Too much of a scientist. She sees things in context. Nothing we could do would surprise her because in context, our actions seem insignificant. A drop of mischief in a broken world.”

  I narrowed my eyes. Graham didn’t usually sound jaded. Where was his victor’s bluster? “Is that the nihilism or fatalism talking?”

  Viv’s voice rose above the chatter before he could respond. “Don’t be loud outside—my parents might be home.” She was chasing Jess and Amanda, who’d escaped out the door. “Iz—Harry? Can you help me?”

  Harry pressed his lips to my temple and went after her.

  Graham took down half the bottle in his next sip, eyes stuck to me. Heat crept up my neck. He knew that I knew he’d seen. First person to see Harry kiss me.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t get wasted. If your mom’s home, I mean.”

  He tapped me on the nose. I swatted his hand. “Izzie. My mother wouldn’t mind if I started selling hallucinogens out of her bedroom as long as I kept getting good grades.” He spoke with a bitter swagger. I wanted him to turn it off. To act like himself.

  “It’s hot in here. Let’s race to the rock,” I said.

  He smiled like he thought I was joking. “We’re in the middle of a party.”

  I jabbed a finger into his shoulder. “Two weeks ago you’d have paid me to give you an excuse to leave.”

  Graham set the cider on the top of the fridge and rubbed his hands together. “If you think I’m letting you win, you’re going to be disappointed.” He vaulted over dislodged throw pillows and sent Rachel’s cider flying as he dashed between her and Conner. A shouted “Watch it!” came after he was already through the door.

  All the initiates disappeared for me. I sprinted after him. His path through the trees was marked only by nearly bare branches shuddering. When had all the leaves fallen?

  I don’t remember who won, only that we arrived at the rock seconds apart. We lay on top of it and talked about nothing important. On our way back, our pace synchronized from so many years of marching off to find adventure. And I realized what an idiot I’d been to have ever worried about Graham moving on from his friend Izzie. We’d been permanent before the Order. How hadn’t I seen that?

  Viv was leaving the barn as we rounded its corner up the path. She sighed—a long, suffering sound. “I’m tired,” she said, brushing past us. “Make them keep it down.”

  I watched her vanish from the party. I almost went after her—twirled her under my arm, swore to her we’d find a way together to take down Amanda.

  But Graham said “Look,” pointing to the sky. “Those are nimbus clouds. I can’t remember if they predict rain or not.” He pulled his cell out and was looking it up as I spotted Harry and Amanda under the trellis hal
fway to the barn.

  “Uh-oh,” Graham murmured. “They produce precipitation. I guess it could rain with the skeleton. It wouldn’t necessarily ruin it. But not ideal conditions. See?”

  He followed my gaze.

  Amanda had her hand on Harry’s shoulder. I wondered, what could they be talking about? Had I ever seen them have a conversation? I remembered Harry’s phone buzzing and Amanda’s name flashing.

  The party broke up early. Graham stayed in the barn. Harry walked me home. I shoved away the desire to ask Harry what Amanda wanted. I wouldn’t stoop so low as to feel threatened by her. I trusted Harry. It was six houses between Viv’s and mine. Two police cruisers passed us in the short distance. The initiates were going to provide us the subterfuge that drew them away for the final rebellion.

  Seven Hills was besieged by an invisible threat. It wasn’t real. We weren’t going to hurt anyone. Not really. Fear inflicts its own special damage.

  Sunday raced by, unmemorable.

  On Monday morning Harry posted on the school blog a chronology of all the crimes and pranks the party known as IV was accused of. Just part of his ongoing coverage, except it was the first of his articles that alleged the Seven Hills police department had a history of choosing not to investigate certain crimes like Jane Doe’s murder and the brutal attack that left Harry’s father permanently limping. My chest constricted as I read it. Harry had been adamant that we not use the Order for his father, but perhaps now, now that he’d seen what we could do, perhaps our next business would be to avenge Harry’s father?

  Harry’s title and not the article’s content incited controversy on campus. “One Man’s Freedom Fighter . . .” The rest of the quote, “Is Another Man’s Terrorist,” was common enough that the dot-dot-dot was lost on few. A schoolwide argument ensued. One side, the minority, argued that IV was a terrorist in the sense that they were terrorizing Seven Hills. The majority argued that IV was fighting for justice, given their concern over a sexist school dress code and an unavenged dead girl.

  A few of the AP teachers decided to go with the fervor and organized a formal debate after classes. I didn’t attend.

  In third period, Trent, bushy eyebrows dancing suggestively, said, “So Rocha and Schultz. Fucking random, huh?” For a moment of blankness I had no idea who he meant.

  “Harry and Amanda,” I said like I was sounding their names out.

  “Yeah. Hit it hard behind the barn,” he said, and gave his hips a pop.

  My head swayed slowly. “Wait. What?”

  “Saturday. At Viv’s house. Hey.” He leaned over in a confidential manner. “Is your girl, like, with the other dude? Graham.”

  “No,” I said.

  “Not that I like her or anything.” He swung away. “I might need a date for the next dance is all, and Viv’s scary intense but hot.”

  I put Trent out of my mind. Amanda too. I knew Harry. He wouldn’t do what Trent said. Not ever. Especially not now. By lunchtime I’d heard four more times how random the pairing of Amanda and Harry was. No one questioned the rumor’s authenticity, only parroted it to me.

  The four of us ate on the highest ledge of the amphitheater. Walking to join them, I’d experienced appetite-erasing dread. Then I arrived and Harry was Harry. Earphones around his neck, sweet smile my way after he tossed me his last chocolate cookie, and dreamy, heavy lids as he settled back to listen to music. I didn’t care if the rumor reached me five hundred times, I’d never believe it.

  Amanda picked a lousy day to join us. Short dress showed off her goose-pimpled legs. A fuzzy beanie the colors of funfetti frosting with flecks of silver thread reminded me of the holographic tape in the orchard. Made me miss summer, when there was fruit on the trees. She squatted on her backpack, knees kissing, a perfect triangle of crotch in the gap below for anyone who looked.

  She talked to Viv, who responded periodically as she glanced up from scrolling on her phone. Amanda was really trying with an eager smile, the patient silences where she picked at her nail polish until Viv’s focus landed back on her. I wondered why she didn’t huff off. Viv was done playing with her. Keeping her enemy close hadn’t paid off.

  At last Amanda slung her backpack over one shoulder and gave an awkward wave.

  “Maybe I’ll see you after school?” she said, staring expectantly at Harry.

  Harry, headphones on, looked around our circle of blank stares, and shrugged.

  I spent that afternoon driving an hour to a craft store to buy black feathers. With Viv in my room, door locked, we used wire and glue guns to make wings. An old sketch of Goldilocks and her T-shirt wings stayed propped up against the bedframe until we finished.

  I texted Harry sometime before dinner.

  He showed up a little after. Texted that he was in front, asked me to come out.

  He was at the sidewalk, sitting on the waist-high brick wall near our mailbox. His back was to me, the curve of spine showed through his hoodie

  “Do you want to come inside?” I called, pulling my sweater closer, walking to meet him. It was dark already, a little past seven.

  “Is your dad home?” he said without turning.

  “In his office.”

  “Can we stay here?”

  I perched on the wall next to him. We were side by side, basically facing each other but his eyes didn’t go to mine.

  “Everything okay?” I asked. He was chewing the side of his thumbnail so ferociously that it was bleeding. “What’s wrong?”

  His hand dropped into his lap. “Are you testing me with Amanda or something?”

  “Or something,” I repeated in the strange tone he’d used. “Huh?”

  “I’ve been racking my brain to figure out what’s going on.” He was speaking softly. “Have you been giving her secret rites and telling her to hit on me? Seeing if I’d go for her even though you and I are going out?”

  “Because that sounds exactly like something I’d do,” I said, more confused than furious.

  “It doesn’t.” He gave his head a shake. “That’s what’s thrown me. You’re usually honest. No filter. I love that. I thought you were—uh—not like this. Not sneaky.”

  I stood. “And I thought you didn’t have your head up your ass.”

  “Wait. Don’t walk away.” His voice shifted behind me, as though he’d started to follow. “I know you wouldn’t ordinarily do this. It’s your dad and mom, right? You’re freaked out and thinking that all guys do . . . you know.”

  I stopped, rigid and facing the house. “No. I am not testing you, Harry.”

  “Izzie. Amanda told people that she and I—that we had sex Saturday behind the barn.” I turned slowly. His eyes bugged out. “Sunday she texted me inviting me over. It was ten at night. After school, after the debate, she asked me. She was all, ‘When are we going to hook up?’ It was an accident that I even talked to her at the debate. I went to cover it for the blog. She called me over. She’d never really spoken to me before all this—ever. And I realized, you gave that secret rite to Conner for the goat. You could be delivering secret rites to her, telling her to come on to me. What am I supposed to think?”

  “You’re not supposed to think that I’m testing you to see if you’ll cheat or flirt.”

  “Isadora—”

  I pointed savagely up the street. “Go home, Harry.”

  “Wait—”

  “No!” I shouted over my shoulder.

  “I don’t know what’s going on.”

  I crossed the threshold and turned to slam the door. It was too dark to make out his expression, but I hoped he could see how heartbroken I was.

  32

  I’d felt trapped in a poisonous fog since Harry’s accusation against me the afternoon before. I had stared listlessly out the window at pumpkins, hay bales, and police patrols as Viv drove us to school.

  There was a dense crowd gathered around the flagpole when we arrived. My attention went to Harry’s feathery brown hair in the crowd, drawn to him by a magnetic and ann
oying force. He was standing next to Graham, their shoulders touching. Trent and Conner were beside them, Campbell and Jess a yard behind them.

  Viv made a small gasp.

  A rabbit was hanging from the flagpole.

  “The biology bunny,” Jess said darkly, when she noticed us standing beside her and Campbell. I remembered the white-and-black rabbit from freshman year; Ms. Stevenson kept its cage in the classroom.

  Now there was a noose around its furry neck. The bunny was limp, hind legs extended, ears lank. An empty-of-life sack of fur. There wasn’t a lot of chatter, just a stunned sense of horror keeping everyone trapped, watching.

  “I don’t understand,” Viv said. I braced a hand against someone’s shoulder, realized it was Campbell. The biology bunny was swinging like a kite tail in the wind.

  “What happened?” I whispered. His grim eyes flicked to Conner and Trent.

  He shook his head and muttered, “I think.”

  I was seized by a conviction that the bunny was my fault. If Conner and Trent had stolen the rabbit, killed it, and strung it up, I’d inspired them with the goat. I’d led them to believe that the Order of IV demanded bloody sacrifices. We had sown the seeds as soon as we’d asked them to drive pins through a dove’s heart.

  Graham’s angry but restrained voice rumbled from in front of us. Conner held his eye, a defiant tilt to his jaw; Trent was staring at his trembling open hands.

  “I’m done,” I heard Campbell say, more to himself than anyone. “I am done.”

  I held my finger to my lips.

  He bent down to whisper into my ear. “What does this have to do with the murdered girl, Izzie? How is that rabbit helping her? What about the goat? The bird?”

  He drew back, and his sad expression became harder.

  The top of a ladder bobbed to my left. Security was on its way over.

  Viv clutched my arm. “Look what’s written on it,” she whispered. I caught a flash of red. The bunny pirouetted on its leash. I kept losing sight of whatever side bore the mark. Security stomped up the ladder. A razor sawed through the rope. The bunny thumped against the top rung. Security shoved the bunny into a black garbage bag. An upside down IV was visible for a fleeting second, then gone.