The Year of the Gadfly

by Jennifer Miller

  Lily felt the sting of this insult, but then Veronica winked at her—at the real her.

  A new song came on the stereo. “R&B? Really, guys?” Amy said. “Now, Nirvana! I’d do Kurt Cobain in a second.”

  “You’d do a dead guy?” Veronica said.

  “I know he killed himself,” Amy said, scowling. “But Cobain’s still alive.”

  “Um, no, he’s not.”

  “Yes, he is. He died in 1996, and right now it’s 1995.”

  “Krista, cut the tape.” Veronica stood up from the beanbag and stared down the group. “This isn’t going to work if we can’t keep our characters and the year straight. Amy, Kurt Cobain died in 1994. I thought you’d researched grunge.”

  “They knew their characters in advance?” Lily tried to sound casual.

  “What?” Veronica looked flustered. “Yes. I mean, no. Just Amy. Since she’s supposed to be representing a specific type of person from a specific time. Lily, your role here is more . . .” Veronica snapped her fingers. “What’s the word I want?”

  “More ‘stock’?” Amy said.

  “No,” Veronica said, annoyed. “More universal. I mean, yes, you are unique: you live in western Mass., you go to Mariana Academy, you’re albino. But there’s always someone like you at these kinds of parties. You’re the Other. Basic Lacan. Understand?”

  Lily nodded.

  “Look, too much explanation cuts into the authenticity of the experience we’re fabricating. Forget what year it’s supposed to be. Just focus on the sleepover paradigm.” Veronica nodded at Krista, who raised the camera to her face.

  “This is so fucking meta,” Amy mumbled.

  The doorbell rang.

  “Chinese.” Veronica groaned. “Thank God.”

  Krista hurried out ahead of them so she could get shots of the girls stampeding down the stairs. Once they’d all collected in the kitchen with the food, Veronica produced a shampoo bottle from beneath her sweatshirt and began squirting alcohol into each girl’s drink. Lily had no idea what had happened to Veronica’s mother.

  “I’m not sure I—I mean, no thanks,” Lily said when Veronica came around to her. The refusal seemed in line with her character, but she wasn’t sure she wanted a drink anyway.

  “Look at her,” Jocelyn said, climbing onto one of the kitchen stools and crossing her legs. Even in Umbros she looked sophisticated. “She’s obviously a prude.”

  “Well, she can’t be a prude with us,” Veronica said, and put her arm around Lily’s shoulder. “I’ll be honest. We invited you over tonight because we know you want to be different. You don’t have to do everything your parents say.”

  The real Lily didn’t bow to her parents’ every command. She was dating a guy they didn’t like. And even if she was playing a character, her presence at this party was somehow part of her new self. Tonight, it seemed she could go back in time—return to the past and catch up on all she’d missed. “I’d love a drink,” she said.

  “Cheers, ladies!” Veronica raised her cup and downed its contents. Then she poured herself another. With an asthmatic wheeze, the shampoo bottle coughed up its final drops.

  After slurping up lo mein and gnawing greasy spareribs, everyone headed down to the basement. Within seconds, Veronica, Amy, and Jocelyn had claimed the three couches and were dumping out their overnight bags. Soon the floor was covered with everything they’d brought to re-create and mock the authentic sleepover experience: oversize nightshirts, padded bras, aerosol deodorants, eye shadows, hair sprays, teen novels, boy-band calendars, glitter stickers, flavored lip-glosses, scrunchies, gummy bracelets, teen magazines, M&M’s, Doritos, Oreos, Pixy Stix, and a Ouija board.

  Lily watched the scene and realized she had no place to sleep. She wasn’t the only one having this thought, because there was Krista training the camera on her ambivalent face. Ignore the camera, she thought, and looked away.

  “Do you guys think you could . . .” She pointed at the pile.

  Veronica hopped off the center couch and pushed crap aside until it formed a ring. Then she laid Lily’s sleeping bag in the center of the ring and returned to the couch. Suddenly Lily saw the scene as through the camera lens: there she was, standing on her sleeping bag, in the center of a bull’s eye. The girls were silent, almost like they’d rehearsed the shot. But that was completely at odds with Veronica’s plan. This evening was supposed to be organic. Lily pushed down the queasiness in her stomach. For the first time in her life, she was at the center of the circle.

  The girls made a list of “hot” kids, and ranked them by physical attributes, intellect, and character traits. They did the same with their “not” classmates. Under Dipthi they wrote: Beware the unibrowed Indian. Will bite. Under Justin, they wrote: Future occupation: serial killer, child molester, and/or commits suicide by age 30. Lily didn’t protest; trash-talking was Sleepover Etiquette 101.

  Veronica pulled a couple of shampoo bottles and a carton of OJ from her bag. “Ready for the vodka course?” She constructed a wall of pillows and carried the containers behind it. “In case my mom comes down,” she explained, and brought out cups for Amy and Jocelyn. Then she came back with one for Lily and another for herself.

  “Cheers!” They tapped the red plastic cups together. Lily took a sip. Her eyes bugged. This was her first screwdriver. Her first experience with vodka, period. They gossiped and gobbled junk food and finished another round of drinks. Just after 1 a.m., Veronica looked around the room. “Ready to go?” Immediately the girls started searching for their jackets. Lily stood there dumbly, watching. “Well, come on, Lily!” Veronica said brightly. “It’s field-trip time.”

  Outside Lily shivered in Veronica’s miniskirt. The girls walked single file around the side of the house and across the street to Jocelyn’s Jeep. Amy slid into the back. “You next, Lily,” Veronica said. Krista stood beside her, the camera pointed at her face. Lily looked inside the car, hesitating. How much had Jocelyn had to drink? “Come on!” Veronica nudged her. “We don’t have all night.” Lily got in.

  Bethlehem was separated from Nye by a small, steep range of forested hills. The long route between them (parentally dubbed the “safe” route) was a county highway that curled around the base of the hills, passed through an ugly smattering of strip malls, and, after a steep climb, deposited drivers in Nye’s center. The short route (parentally dubbed the “dangerous” route) was the preference of most young drivers because it plunged directly into the hills, taking drivers on a joy ride of slopes. This was the route Jocelyn chose.

  Cold air rushed through the car as Jocelyn careened around bends in the road, and Lily braced her feet on the floor. At one point Veronica reached for Lily’s hand. Her eyes flashed in the dark. Her long hair whipped Lily’s face.

  They climbed into the hills, dipped suddenly, and climbed again. There were no other cars on the road, no streetlights here, only forest rushing by and Jocelyn’s brights sweeping wildly across the trees. The girls laughed and sang to a rock album, wailing with abandon. They didn’t seem to mind the cold. Amy puffed on a cigarette, and Lily’s head reeled with the alcohol and the speed and smoke. Finally they sped downward, the road dumping them out on the other side of the range. Jocelyn cut a sharp corner and then they were in town, rushing past Nye’s dark, ponderous buildings. Windows morphed into more trees as they headed toward Lily’s house and the main road to school. Then, suddenly, Jocelyn veered onto a side road, the trees so close and thick that Lily could not see the sky. Branches gave way to branches, and behind them more branches. Abruptly, Jocelyn cut the wheel and the Jeep bounced onto unpaved ground. After ten minutes or so, Jocelyn braked and killed the engine. The music was swallowed up. The girls hopped out of the car. Lily followed and stood beside the Jeep, listening to its insides settle. The woods were silent. There was no wind. Amy struck a match and the sound hissed in Lily’s ears.

  “Where are we?” Lily wiggled her toes in the too-big shoes.

  Jocelyn linked her arm with Lil
y’s. Amy came over and linked up on the other side. The two girls pressed against her, and she was thankful for their body heat. She noticed that Krista was no longer filming, and she felt relieved; she would have looked like an escorted prisoner.

  “I hate this walk,” Jocelyn said.

  “You wouldn’t last five minutes in the real wilderness,” Amy said.

  “Wilderness is a fabrication,” Veronica retorted as though they weren’t, at that very moment, walking through black, brambled woods. The ground was flat but uneven and Lily kept stumbling in the oversize shoes. Veronica led with a flashlight, though now and then she’d stop, the path having suddenly disappeared. Lily imagined the forest floor as a long tongue, licking up their trail. She thought of bread crumbs and candy houses. Witches and ovens.

  Then, all of a sudden, the woods turned to stone. Veronica scanned her light along the face of a wall and up toward the sky, illuminating darkened windows. She led the group a few feet along the wall, until her light reflected in a series of windows. Then her light swept down, as though into the earth, and Lily saw stairs descending toward a door.

  Jocelyn and Amy withdrew their arms from Lily’s, the warmth evaporating as their bodies moved away. They walked down the stairs and waited for Veronica to get out the key. The air smelled of dead, wet leaves.

  “Entrez!” Veronica said, holding the door open, and one by one they walked into darkness. Veronica swung her light around—she seemed to be treating it like a light saber—and its bright circle revealed an empty concrete room. It was much colder than outside, and the place smelled like a garage. Where the hell are we? Lily thought over and over, but she dared not ask.

  She followed the girls across the room to another door; they stepped through it into more darkness. They were now standing in a tunnel. The floors and walls were concrete, but rusty pipes snaked along the low ceiling. Veronica was first in line, followed by Amy and then Jocelyn. Lily came next, and Krista walked behind her.

  “How are you doing?” Krista whispered, with such kindness that Lily felt an outpouring of warmth for her.

  “Scared,” Lily said.

  “Great, can you say that a little louder for the video mic?”

  Lily swallowed and didn’t answer. Suddenly everyone stopped.

  “Okay, Lily,” Veronica said. “We’re almost there, but because you’re not fully initiated yet, we’re going to have to blindfold you.”

  For a second, Lily panicked. What if they left her here, alone in the dark? But Amy was already tying a bandana over her eyes and yanking the knot extra hard. They guided her another few feet, walked through another door, and then stopped again. They seemed to be in a confined space now. The girls were pressed close. Lily breathed in their sweet perfume and shampoo. This reminder of the outside world—the regular world in which these types of strange adventures did not happen—reassured her.

  Lily heard the sound of scraping wood, and the group shuffled forward a few feet. Immediately she felt the change. They were in another open space, cold though not freezing, with a familiar burnt smell. Amy walked Lily in one direction, then back the way they’d come, then turned her around a few times. When she was sufficiently disoriented, Amy walked her forward and removed the blindfold. They were standing in a Trench classroom.

  Jocelyn flicked on the lights, bathing them all in a harsh hospital glare. Krista resumed filming. Veronica pulled a dozen airplane bottles of hard alcohol from her purse. She handed one to each girl and put the rest on a desk. Everybody removed the caps and drank. Lily took a small sip.

  “How’d you find that tunnel?” she asked.

  “Wandering drunk one night over summer break when Alexi and I were—” Veronica frowned. “You need to drink more than that!” she ordered. Lily tilted her head back and the liquid burned in her throat. “Good girl,” Veronica cooed, patting Lily on the back.

  The girls sat down on stiff army blankets that Amy had brought in from somewhere, and they huddled together for warmth. In the fluorescent light the girls’ skin was sickly pale, their makeup clownish. They looked like children in a pageant, at once too young and too old. Lily reeled from the alcohol and piercing light, but she shut her eyes and the nausea passed.

  “Ready to play?” Veronica said. Amy pulled the Ouija board from her backpack. “So who are we calling first?”

  “The boy who hanged himself,” Jocelyn said.

  “Shouldn’t we turn the lights off?” Lily asked, trying to be a good sport. The girls looked at her, and she realized they couldn’t because of the camera. They all put their hands over the arrow.

  “We wish to commune with the boy who hanged himself,” Veronica whispered. “We wish to know your name.”

  At first the arrow didn’t move. Then it began to slide. At first Lily was certain they were moving it. Then she wasn’t sure. The arrow skimmed across the board and lingered on a letter: J. The arrow moved again, landing on U. Lily watched the girls’ wrists and forearms for tautness, but their hands were relaxed—the arrow pointed to S—like they were simply letting this happen. The arrow landed on T. Lily’s heart beat faster. Electricity buzzed around the circle, fusing their bodies into one breathing collective. I . . . N.

  “Holy shit,” Veronica whispered.

  Justin? Lily thought. This must be a joke.

  “Last name,” Veronica said.

  K was followed by A, then P. Only then the arrow stopped. The girls waited. “Is that it?” Amy whispered. Nobody replied. The arrow did not move. And then it did. The last three letters. When the arrow got to the N, Lily stared at it, not realizing the girls were staring at her.

  “Did you do this?” Veronica demanded.

  “What?”

  “Mess up the game?”

  “No.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “No, I’m—”

  “She’s lying,” Amy said.

  “She’s lying,” Jocelyn said.

  “You manipulated the arrow,” Veronica said. “It’s obvious.”

  “The rumors are true.” Jocelyn’s baby-doll eyes grew wide.

  Lily had the feeling of string unspooling. There was nothing she could do to stop it.

  “I knew Justin was boning you,” Veronica said.

  “What? I’d never do that,” Lily said. “I don’t like to break the rules. Remember?”

  Jocelyn tucked her legs up to her chest. “Maybe the good girl isn’t so good after all.”

  “Tell us the truth, Lily,” Veronica said, and handed around more airplane bottles.

  “I swear.”

  Veronica ignored her. “I think she keeps a diary. Check in her purse.”

  “Already got it!” Jocelyn held up Lily’s purse like a trophy. Veronica grabbed it and pulled a small hammer from her own bag. She put the diary on the desk and smashed the hammer against the lock. Her face was set with total focus and the others looked on, riveted. It’s not my diary, Lily told herself. And yet she felt the impact of metal against metal, like she was the thing Veronica was trying to crack open.

  The lock burst. Veronica tossed the diary to Jocelyn.

  “‘Dear Diary,’” Jocelyn read in a singsong voice.

  “It actually says ‘Dear Diary’?” Amy snickered.

  Veronica brought Lily another drink. Here, she seemed to say, have some refreshment at your own execution.

  “‘The people at Mariana suck,’” Jocelyn read. “‘The artsy girls are fake and obnoxious, especially Veronica Mercy. And the boys are disgusting. There’s this one boy, Justin, who’s the biggest loser in the whole school. But the weirdest part is that I think about him at night. I touch myself and imagine him eating my pussy.’”

  Jocelyn lowered the diary. The three girls stared at Lily. Stay in character, she thought, frantic. Krista crouched down nearby, the camera angled on Lily’s face.

  “You perverted bitch,” Veronica snarled.

  Tears welled in Lily’s eyes. It’s not me. It’s my character. It’s not me. She forc
ed the tears back, took a deep breath.

  “She’s using Justin Kaplan for sex!” Jocelyn burst out with a wild look.

  “Lily,” Veronica said with icy calm, “are you using Kaplan for sex?”

  Lily shook her head.

  “Don’t lie to us. Are you using Justin Kaplan for sex?”

  Lily looked from face to face. Three pairs of eyes and the camera’s blank lens.

  “Are you?” Amy demanded.

  Lily shut her eyes. She knew what she was supposed to say. But she couldn’t speak. She just couldn’t say it. The three girls pressed toward her. Lily opened her eyes to find their faces just inches away. In the garish classroom light, the Studio Girls looked etiolated, white as Lily herself.

  “Are you?”

  “Are you?”

  “Are you?” they shouted at once.

  Lily swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  “We were nice to you,” Veronica said, “and you not only shit all over us, but you took advantage of this poor lonely kid.”

  “It’s sick,” Jocelyn said.

  “Please,” Lily heard herself pleading, though the person talking sounded far away. Her cheeks were damp with tears. But were the tears hers or her character’s?

  Veronica shook her head. “We should send you home.”

  Was Veronica going to make her walk home in the dark, in the middle of the night? Was Veronica that cruel? Or that committed to her project?

  “But that would be idiotic,” Veronica continued. “I think you need to leave us alone for a while. Then you can come back later and apologize. Make it up to us.”

  “But how?”

  Veronica sighed. “I don’t know, Lily. You really hurt our feelings.”

  “Where do you want me to go?”

  The girls looked at each other. “Outside,” Veronica said. “Fresh air might give you some clarity on this . . . situation.”

  Lily didn’t move.

  “Come on!” Veronica stood up and walked to the door.

  “Can I take the flashlight?”