“We’re not,” Sivan said. “That’s ridiculous. They’re already pissed at us. Do you want to get us expelled?”
“We won’t get expelled,” Rachel said smoothly. “Trust me.”
“The last time I trusted you with something this important, I got a tampon stuck inside me,” Gertie said, shivering at the memory.
Rachel sighed. “Gertie, you did not get a tampon stuck inside you. I told you how to put it in, and you did and it was totally fine, and then you immediately got super-nervous and tried to yank it out, and your pussy muscles clenched and I had to talk you down with deep-breathing exercises. I should’ve gotten you high before you tried it.”
“Please don’t talk about pussy muscles here,” Sivan said, gesturing to their surroundings.
“I’m sorry,” Rachel said. “I feel like I always end up saying the wrong thing with you. I feel like a really offensive person.”
“Do you really feel that way?” Sivan asked, genuinely touched.
Rachel giggled.
“Nah,” she said. “You’re just kind of uptight. But I love you for it.” She hugged Sivan, who rolled her eyes.
“Look,” Gertie said. “They’re leaving.” It was true. All the kids from Lindbergh were filing out of the museum shop after their teacher.
“Last chance to say something to him, Gertie,” Sivan said. Gertie looked at her, surprised.
“I’m not trying to pressure you or anything,” Sivan added quickly. “I just don’t want you to be disappointed again like you are when you come home every summer.”
“Oh, it’s not her last chance to say something to him,” Rachel said confidently.
“Let me guess,” Sivan said. “Your psychic powers have told you we’ll see him again.”
“Exactly,” Rachel said.
And just like that, Danny Bryan and his companions were gone.
Against her better judgment, Alicia Deats went up to Brian Kenner in the documentaries section of the museum shop. He was looking at a DVD about Leni Riefenstahl, and didn’t see her come up.
She cleared her throat. He jumped a little, and looked annoyed when he saw who it was.
“You like documentaries?” she said awkwardly. The kids were all occupied with one thing or another, and she figured she may as well open with something neutral in order to smooth over their earlier differences.
“On Netflix, yes,” Brian said, putting the documentary away. “I’ve seen this one. I was just interested in how they market it in the hard copy as opposed to online.”
“Oh,” Alicia said. “Yes. I don’t have Netflix. I actually don’t have a TV.”
He nodded and looked at the ground. They stood in awkward silence for a long moment.
“I used to have one,” she said. “I used to love TV. I watched a lot of BBC America and Syfy stuff.”
Brian looked mildly surprised. “Me too,” he said. “Why’d you stop?”
“It’s a long story,” Alicia said, because it was. She looked at her feet for a moment and studied her toes. Her mother and her sister, the Republican corporate lawyer, always said she ought to at least get a manicure if she was going to insist on wearing those hippie Birkenstocks all the time, but Alicia couldn’t think of anything sillier than a girl in Birkenstocks walking around in pink toenail polish or something like that. She liked Birkenstocks because they were low-maintenance, and comfortable, and getting pedicures made her feel sad for the poorly paid women who had to scrub stuff off people’s feet all day. She wasn’t really the pedicure kind of gal.
She looked up, and Brian was gone.
Just gone. He’d walked away, right in the middle of what was shaping up to be kind of a decent conversation, maybe.
Great. Fucking great.
How many hours til they got home? Forty-five?
She was already counting down.
“Well,” said Mr. Kenner in his booming announcement voice that echoed through the bus. “Despite the antics of a few of the girls during the final film, I’d say the trip to the Holocaust Museum was almost a success.” They were all packed onto the bus, which was rolling along the streets of D.C. at a pretty decent pace, considering it was just about the beginning of rush hour.
“It’s time for dinner,” he continued. “There happens to be a restaurant right across the parking lot from our hotel, so we’ll eat there tonight.”
“What restaurant is it?” Kaylee asked. “I’m a vegetarian.”
“Weren’t you eating beef jerky in my classroom two days ago?” Mr. Kenner asked.
“Yeah, but I read a thing that says meat makes you break out,” Kaylee said. “And there’s a dance next month.”
Mr. Kenner paused. Kaylee looked at him.
“And?” he said.
“And what?” she asked.
“And that’s the only reason you’re a vegetarian for the next four weeks? The end-of-year dance?”
“Well, yeah,” Kaylee said. “I mean, what other reason do I need?”
“Well I applaud your commitment to a kinder diet, Kaylee,” Ms. Deats said, ignoring Mr. Kenner. “If you stick with it, you’ll reap the rewards for years to come.”
Kaylee looked at Brooklynn, confused.
“B,” Kaylee said. “Did she just say I’ll r—”
“No, honey,” Brooklynn said. “She didn’t say you’ll rape anything.”
“Because it really sounded like she said that,” Kaylee said.
“It did sound a little bit like that,” Peighton said. “But that’s not what she meant.”
“Okay, good,” Kaylee said. “Because I’m not the type of person who would rape anything. Or anybody.”
“Of course you aren’t,” Brooklynn said.
From a few seats away, Sivan barely stifled a groan.
“She can’t seriously be that stupid,” Gertie said.
“Oh, she is,” Rachel said. “And it’s glorious. Like I know I’m not good in anything but English class, but every time Kaylee opens her mouth in class I just feel like a genius.”
“So where exactly are we going to dinner?” Kaylee asked.
Mr. Kenner looked over his glasses at her.
“OMG Thursdays,” he said.
A massive squeal of joy rose up from the students. Ms. Deats smiled. Sixteen-year-olds were practically adults, but they still acted like little kids sometimes. This was definitely one of those times. Olivia was practically jumping up and down in her seat. Carter Bump looked as if he’d just won the lottery. Even Brooklynn, Peighton, and Kaylee, who usually turned up their noses at things, looked absolutely delighted. Kaitlynne and Olivia hugged.
OMG Thursdays was perhaps the most popular chain restaurant franchise in Flemington, New Jersey. It had only opened a branch in Flemington the previous summer, and no one in town was yet accustomed to the excitement of having a huge, colorful, noisy OMG Thursdays so conveniently close to other major Flemington attractions, like the outlet mall and the highway exit. It was really quite thrilling to go to OMG Thursdays and eat an O-M-Gigantic Steak™ basted in special Malibu Rum Secret Sauce™ and wash it down with an O-M-Ginormous Watermelon Margarita Blaster™ (virgin for the kids, of course), always available with a complimentary side of Sexy MexiCaliTexan Nachitos Buenos™. The fried Snickers Popcorn Balls™ were also amazing—popcorn coated in melted Snickers bars, rolled into a ball, dipped in beer batter, and deep-fried to perfection. OMG Thursdays had a twenty-page menu, of which five full pages were devoted to desserts. It was perfect.
Sivan was no fan of OMG Thursdays, given that her father and a board of community activists had tried to fight the demolition of the landmark 1937 diner that had previously occupied its lot. Rachel had never actually been to an OMG Thursdays, as her parents frowned on entering any establishment with a liquor license. And Gertie always got a weird headache from the glaringly bright lights, flashing disco balls, blaring jukebox, and general hectic atmosphere. But they were perhaps the only three people on the bus who displayed no amount of excitem
ent over OMG Thursdays. Despite her loyalty to the cause of historic preservation, Sivan had always had a sneaking desire to try the famed Green Bean-a-rinos™, which were vegan fried green beans that allegedly tasted absolutely amazing, according to Ms. Bump, the gym teacher. Ms. Bump wasn’t even a vegan, but she got those fried green beans every single time she went to OMG Thursdays with the other gym teachers, and she always raved about them in gym class the next day.
The bus pulled into the parking lot, and there was the Holiday Inn, OMG Thursdays, and a freestanding Rite Aid pharmacy.
Rachel had an idea. She was always full of great ideas, but this one was particularly good. When the bus came to a halt, she waited her turn to file off the bus. But before she did, she leaned over and whispered a question to Ms. Deats, who immediately gave a sympathetic nod of assent. And as Mr. Kenner did the head count in the parking lot, Rachel scurried over to the Rite Aid and disappeared inside.
“What is Rachel doing at the Rite Aid?” Mr. Kenner asked Ms. Deats. “Did you approve that?”
“I did,” Ms. Deats said.
“Without a chaperone?” he demanded. The students quieted to listen in on what seemed like a brewing fight.
“I—well, yes,” Ms. Deats said. She was clearly embarrassed.
“Why?” Mr. Kenner said. “You know that’s against protocol.”
Ms. Deats leaned over and whispered in his ear, and his expression changed.
“Oh,” he said, turning red. “That’s fine, then. All right.”
“Tampon run!” Brooklynn sang out, and a bunch of the kids laughed. Sivan and Gertie glared at her, but she ignored them. She was having too much fun.
“Enough, Brooklynn,” Ms. Deats said. “Remember the circle of forgiveness.”
“I’m sorry,” Brooklynn said contritely. As soon as Ms. Deats turned her back, Brooklynn lowered her voice and said, “At least we know Rachel isn’t pregnant.”
“Yet,” Peighton said, and the two girls snickered.
“Wait, how do we know that?” Kaylee asked.
“Because she has her period, honey,” Brooklynn said with a sigh.
“Ohhhhh,” Kaylee said. “Oh, that’s why she had to go to the pharmacy.”
“Yeah, probably to buy like extra-huge tampons,” Peighton said.
Kaylee looked confused again.
“Because of all the dicks she’s had inside her, sweetie,” Brooklynn explained patiently.
“Oh!” Kaylee started laughing. “Oh, gross!”
“I fucking hate those cunts,” Gertie whispered to Sivan, her fists clenched.
“Me too,” Sivan said. “Although maybe we don’t have to use a gendered term anymore. We could just call them assholes. Everybody has those.”
“And there’s nothing we can do about them,” Gertie barreled on. “That’s the shittiest thing. They’re just always going to be there. You know Kaylee will check out my phone when I’m listening to music in study hall, and whatever track she sees on the screen, she’ll tell me it sucks? Like do you think Kaylee has even heard of Sleater-Kinney or Le Tigre?”
“I mean, I haven’t either,” Sivan said. “But I just listen to hip-hop.”
“You and your dad,” Gertie said fondly. Noah Finkelstein was always listening to Mos Def or Talib Kweli or Dead Prez outside while he did yard work at the Finkelsteins’ house. She and Sivan had tried to explain to him that he could just listen on headphones, but he preferred to hook up his ancient iPod to speakers and just blast, like, N.W.A. at 8 a.m. on a Sunday. His neighbors (the Chuddfords) did not know what to do.
Rachel returned from the Rite Aid, carrying a bag and looking embarrassed. This was rare for Rachel.
“Sorry to make everybody wait, Mr. Kenner,” she said with uncharacteristic shyness.
“That’s fine, Rachel,” Mr. Kenner said. “Health comes first.”
She re-entered the pack of students, ignoring the smirks from the cuntriad.
The class filed into OMG Thursdays. Because it was early in the dinner shift (and, of course, because Mr. Kenner had called ahead), they were seated in an empty section of the enormous dining room.
Peighton, Kaylee, and Brooklynn staked their claim on three seats at the end of a long table. To their surprise (and Gertie’s and Sivan’s), Rachel made a beeline for them.
“I’m so glad we made up,” Rachel said smoothly, sliding into the seat right beside Brooklynn. “Now we can enjoy dinner together. I’m sorry about earlier. I don’t know what happened to me. I get so carried away sometimes. I think it’s like a real problem.”
Gertie and Sivan looked at each other, confused.
“C’mon, girls!” Rachel said, beckoning them. “Sivan, you sit next to Kaylee and Peighton. Gertie, you come sit next to me and Brooklynn.”
Brooklynn opened her mouth to protest, but suddenly Ms. Deats was upon them, looking absolutely delighted.
“Girls, I have to tell you, this is really inspiring,” she said, her eyes shining. She patted Brooklynn and Rachel on the back. “The way you’re reaching out and making an effort to work together is just so fantastic. If I could give you the opposite of a strike, I would! I’m just so pleased.”
Brooklynn closed her mouth into a thin, straight line.
“Well, it’s all because of you,” Rachel said. “You made the difference.”
Ms. Deats blushed.
“Oh, stop,” she said. “That is just too kind.” Then she moved along and found her own seat in the middle of the table.
Mr. Kenner explained the rules: they could each order a soda or iced tea (“Nothing from the bar, even without alcohol!” he said sternly, looking at Olivia, who looked visibly disappointed) and an entrée.
“What about dessert?” Olivia asked desperately.
“No dessert,” Mr. Kenner said. “We’re on the school’s credit card here.”
A whine of protest rose up from the assembled students.
“Processed sugar is a killer,” Ms. Deats said. “It saps your strength and causes terrible diseases.”
The students only whined louder.
“Well, I’m sure there will be vending machines in the hotel,” she said. “If you must have dessert. But nobody is allowed to order room service.”
“What about late-night pizza?” Brock Chuddford asked. A couple of his lacrosse buddies burst out laughing and high-fived him. They burst out laughing and high-fived him every time he said anything. He was their boy king.
“Absolutely not,” Mr. Kenner said. “We’ll go over the rules for tonight later. But they are strict. And if you break them, you will be punished.”
“I was just kidding, bro,” Brock mumbled.
“What’s that, Brock?” Mr. Kenner asked. “I couldn’t quite hear you.”
“Nothing,” Brock said. “Sorry I asked.”
“Remember that you already have one strike,” Mr. Kenner said. “You wouldn’t be alone in that distinction if I had my choice.” He glared at the girls seated at the end of the table, and they all looked back at him innocently. Rachel wasn’t the only one who knew how to fake it.
The meal got under way, and Brooklynn, Peighton, and Kaylee made a big show of ignoring Rachel, Sivan, and Gertie. The cuntriad chattered among themselves, mostly about the big dance. They all ordered iced tea from the bored-looking waitress.
“I’ll have an iced tea too,” Rachel said brightly. “If you want, you can just bring us a pitcher. If that’s easier.”
“I guess,” the waitress said listlessly.
“I’ll have—” Gertie began, and Rachel cut her off.
“She’ll have a Coke,” Rachel said. “And Sivan over there will have the same.”
“But I wanted iced tea too,” Gertie said.
“No, you didn’t,” Rachel said, poking Gertie under the table. “Iced tea is for people who are watching their weight. You don’t have to worry about that.”
Kaylee snickered and mumbled something to Peighton, who started giggling too. Gertie stared at Si
van, and Sivan stared back, because they both wanted to hit these jerks. And also, what was Rachel doing?
The drinks arrived, and Rachel tried to pour iced tea for everyone who’d ordered it.
“I can pour my own,” Brooklynn said, snatching the pitcher away. Rachel looked irritated for a moment, and then the usual carefree smile appeared on her face.
“No worries,” she said.
“What does that even mean?” Peighton snapped. “No worries. Dumb. There’s always something to worry about.”
“That’s true,” Rachel agreed. “I’ll have to stop saying it.” Peighton gave her a hard look, but there was no trace of sarcasm in Rachel’s voice, no evidence of insincerity in her face.
“Well … whatever,” Peighton said, shrugging.
When the entrees were served, Brooklynn looked at Peighton and Kaylee.
“I have to pee,” she announced.
“Okay,” Kaylee said, with a mouthful of grilled chicken.
Brooklynn looked at her expectantly.
“She means we should go with her,” Peighton said. “We always go together.”
“Oh, right,” Kaylee said, swallowing her chicken. “I know. I’m just really loving this chicken.”
“You know, Gertie and Sivan have to go too,” Rachel said.
“No, I definitely—” Sivan said, but Rachel jumped back in.
“I know how tiny your bladders are,” Rachel said, poking Gertie again under the table. Gertie didn’t know exactly what the point of this exercise was, but she knew she was supposed to go to the bathroom. Whatever Rachel was up to, they’d probably find out soon enough.
“Yeah, c’mon, Sivan,” Gertie said. “Let’s go with them.”
Peighton, Brooklynn, and Kaylee looked annoyed and marched off as quickly as they could. Gertie and Sivan followed at a distance.
“What is Rachel doing?” Sivan asked Gertie in a low voice.
“I have no idea,” Gertie replied. “She kept poking me under the table.”
When they reached the bathroom, Peighton was primping in front of a mirror. She turned and looked at Sivan.
“Shouldn’t you be in the men’s room?” she asked. Kaylee and Brooklynn were already in stalls, and they cackled.
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