I didn’t expect Livia to be the one to help spring me from my cage.
The day Livia came back to Imperial Day, I found her standing in front of my locker at the end of eighth period, arms folded at her chest, jaw set. She looked like she’d been waiting there since lunchtime.
“So you’re back,” I said, because otherwise I think she would have stood in front of my locker glaring at me for another ten minutes without saying a word.
“Are you happy with the way things turned out?” she spat, like it was my fault.
I held up my hands in surrender. Whatever Livia thought had happened between us, I had too many other things on my mind, and the last thing I wanted was another enemy.
“Livia, whatever you think I did to you, you’re wrong.”
“Sure,” she said, bumping my shoulder with unnecessary roughness as she shoved past me and stalked off down the hall.
In the three weeks following her return, Livia moved through the halls with an unblinking calm, daring anyone to ask where she’d been or to bring up the circumstances surrounding her exile. People whispered about it, but no one was bold enough to ask her to her face.
Livia sat alone at lunch. I never saw her speak to anyone except teachers. The only person she seemed to make any kind of exception for was me. Since her return, she’d slammed the bathroom door in my face, spilled a cafeteria tray full of chicken teriyaki and rice down my front, and stepped on the back of my heel in a way I couldn’t prove was on purpose, but knew wasn’t an accident.
When I ran into her in an empty stairwell one day after school, I clutched the railing and braced myself for the inevitable shove, but instead, Livia took me by the elbow, gave it a tug, and said, “Come with me.”
“Why?” I asked, digging in my heels.
“Because we’re going to do something.”
“What?”
“You know what’s the best thing in the world about having the worst thing happen to you?” she asked with a smirk. “After that, it doesn’t matter what you do. So come on.”
I felt a shock go through me as she said this. It was the same feeling I’d had when I broke into the front office, the same feeling I’d had that night on the New York City rooftop with Maisie. I didn’t care what happened to me if it meant I could put a stop to this. Even if it meant working with Livia. She led me up the stairs to the third floor, into the Honor Council meeting room. We were not expected. We were not invited. We walked past the witness-holding cell, rounded the corner, and took seats on two of the wooden chairs while Astrid Murray gaped like a fish.
“You’re not allowed to be here,” said Macro, Cal’s pet freshman. Livia shrugged, daring him to do something about it.
Jesse Nichols and Chris Gibbons came in next, the latter scowling at the sight of us.
“Leave,” Jesse Nichols said. God, what an insipid person. Has anyone ever listened to anything Jesse Nichols has ever said?
Again, Livia and I said nothing, not even when Chris Gibbons made an obscene gesture at Livia or when Astrid Murray started doing her best impersonation of my stutter and limp, which I had to admit were fairly spot-on. I guess since her parents were actors, maybe she’d accidentally learned something.
“What are you even trying to prove?” Astrid asked as I turned away, repulsed by her bug eyes and mottled jowls.
Livia and I remained silent because we knew that ultimately, there was one person whose thoughts on this subject actually mattered, and until he arrived, it was pointless to engage his minions.
A few minutes later, Cal arrived with Kian Sarkosian. When they entered the room, everyone let out a raucous cry.
“CAL!!! CAL AND KITCHEN BOY!!!”
It was a far cry from the days of Augustus. I remembered how Soren had arrived at his ambush hearing, half-expecting to find the Honor Council representatives in robes and wigs.
I wondered why they’d started calling Kian “Kitchen Boy.” I also wondered what about him was so broken inside that he felt compelled to stay even after everyone else had resigned in disgust.
“To what do we owe the honor, Claudia?” Cal asked. He acted like Livia wasn’t even in the room, like she’d ceased to be an entity of any concern the moment she left Imperial Day and the Honor Council behind.
“We’re staying,” I said somewhat stupidly. Talking to Cal never got any less intimidating for me.
“Sure, that’s great. You’d be taking up space somewhere, it might as well be here.”
“What about the confidentiality of the court?” Astrid Murray piped up, suddenly a privacy advocate even though just a week before, I’d heard her gossiping about a juicy case they’d tried.
“Claudia and Livia are not here to spy on us.” Cal said it like he was addressing the Honor Council, but it was clear he was talking to Livia and me. “They are here because their minds are small and twisted, and we should show them today that whatever they think is going on in this court is simply not true. Jesse, your client is waiting outside. Let’s get started.”
Jesse Nichols went around the corner and I heard the door to the witness room swing open. A moment later, he came back, a terrified-looking Ruby Greenberg trailing behind him. If Jesse Nichols was my appointed representative, I’d be terrified, too. I wondered what she’d done, then I remembered that she was the editor of the Weekly Praetor, that she’d hesitated before offering Cal his weekly column, that she’d run that letter from Ms. Yee before she resigned. None of that was a crime, but I didn’t doubt it was the real reason Ruby Greenberg was here.
“Why are they here?” Ruby asked, her eyes darting over toward us, then back to Jesse, who, being 75 percent barnacle, looked to Cal for an answer.
“These girls are here today as impartial observers of the court,” Cal said. “That’s all right with you, isn’t it?”
Ruby nodded, and Cal began the hearing by reading the charges that had been brought against her.
The case against Ruby Greenberg was serious, and also, it wasn’t. In addition to her newspaper-editing gig, Ruby hung out with Imperial Day’s art scenesters and literary types and was always doing countercultural, subversive things, but only if she thought they would get her into RISD. No punk had ever taken so many Princeton Review SAT courses or earned so many attendance awards.
She was accused of painting a mural on the side of Imperial Day. It was a beautiful mural, everyone agreed on that, and no one wanted to take it down, but because it defaced the cornerstone that had been laid by homophobic tit Paul Chudnuff himself, and because no one seemed to remember authorizing the mural, it was technically a crime.
Jesse Nichols offered an indifferent defense against the facts of the case: Ruby thought she had permission. It was clear she hadn’t acted alone, but had been singled out to make an example of and she wasn’t naming any names. Chris Gibbons grumbled that she was uncooperative. That was what some of them really wanted, I could tell, an excuse to bring in more students and make them beg for mercy. There was nothing Cal liked quite so much as a girl who was afraid of him. Especially if she wore thigh-high boots and fishnet tights.
“Any closing statements?” Cal asked.
“Please,” Ruby said. “Please, I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. I’ll sandblast it off. I’ll do anything. Just please don’t suspend me.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Cal said with a wry smile that reminded Ruby and everyone else in the room that according to the Imperial Day Student Code of Conduct, the sentencing for vandalism started with suspension and went all the way up through expulsion.
Jesse Nichols led a near-tears Ruby back to the holding cell while the Honor Council prepared to deliberate. Astrid Murray and Chris Gibbons glared at me, like that might make me follow them, but Cal anticipated their irritation and said, “We have nothing to hide.”
As soon as they were out of the room, the Honor Council members circled up their chairs and fell silent until Kian said, “One-week suspension,” like it was the opening bid at an auction, or taking the temperature of the room to see what kind of justice people were hungry for that day.
There was a moment of silence, and then Chris Gibbons said, “One day. It would accomplish the same thing—you heard her.”
Oh Ruby, I thought, you should have held your cards closer to your chest. Never let them know what you’re afraid of.
“What if we told her to pay to have the mural removed?” Macro posited.
“What if she had to do it herself?” Chris suggested. “Obviously she didn’t act alone. If her friends’ consciences get the better of them, they’ll come out to help her.”
“Are we happy with this?” Cal asked. The others nodded their approval at Chris’s suggestion, then Cal raised his hand and said, “Clean-up duty it is.”
I thought, Is this it? I’d been looking for scandal and injustice, and what I’d seen was even-handed discussion. Thoughtful deliberation. Mercy. Not what I expected.
“Should I go get her?” Jesse asked.
“I’ll break the news to her,” Cal said. “No need to drag her back out here in front of all of you and do the whole suspense thing. We’re done here—you can all go.”
Cal disappeared around the corner and I heard the door to the holding cell click shut behind him.
“Was it all you hoped it would be, Claudia? Was it more?” Chris asked, his voice taunting. “Lots of good gossip to take back to your boyfriend?”
Astrid Murray chortled, and the two of them slung their bags over their shoulders and left together, still mocking us. I didn’t care. They could say whatever they wanted because in that moment, I actually felt like I’d done some good. Because Livia and I had been there, the Honor Council had decided to go easy on Ruby, to show us how merciful they were capable of being.
Before I could pat myself on the back too much, though, Livia got up from her chair and inclined her head toward the door. “Come on,” she said.
“Seen enough?” Kian asked. Oddly, it seemed like he was really asking. He was the only Honor Council representative besides Cal who hadn’t been irritated by our presence.
Livia made no distinction, though, turning on him like an owl that’s just spotted a rabbit.
“I saw that you wanted to suspend that girl for a week for painting a mural that everyone likes.”
Kian smirked at her. “Wasn’t that how you used to do it, Livia? Start high on the sentencing, then see if there’s anyone willing to argue down? That’s how I remember it being.”
Livia’s eyes flashed, and for a moment, I thought she was going to tear into him, a sophomore talking to her that way. Macro and Jesse Nichols watched, bloodlust in their eyes, but Livia disappointed them by marching out the door. I got up and hurried after her, not wanting to be left alone with those three.
The holding cell was empty, and when I looked out into the hallway, there was no sign of Ruby or Cal.
“Where are they?” I mouthed to Livia. She didn’t answer, but picked up speed as she headed out into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind us.
The last time Livia and I had been in this hallway together, I was lying on the floor gasping for breath, my ribs and sides aching where she’d kicked me. Now, when she looked at me, there was no rage, no hatred.
Instead, she said, “If you were Cal, where would you take Ruby Greenberg right now? If you wanted to ‘tell her something’?”
My eyes widened. Livia didn’t explain further, but she didn’t have to.
There were bathrooms on this floor, but they were the ones the Honor Council would have used. Tryouts for the spring play were going on in the theater, so the auditorium was out. The orchestra room was locked up.
It would be somewhere isolated, somewhere deserted, somewhere no one would have any reason to go. Somewhere far enough removed that they would not be seen or heard.
“The West Gym,” I said.
Livia nodded. “Locker room,” she added.
Together, we went down to the first floor, Livia racing down the halls toward the practice gym and me doing my best to keep up with her. This wasn’t the main gym with its glossy waxed floors and padded bleachers, filled every Friday night during basketball season. The West Gym had been untouched since the days of homophobic tit Paul Chudnuff when they tossed around medicine balls and climbed ropes. Now it was where we did yoga or self-defense or any physical activity deemed insufficiently masculine for the main gym.
Livia opened the door and closed it softly behind us. We slipped off our shoes and padded across the floor toward the locker room without speaking. We looked at each other once before reaching out together and pushing the door to the boys’ locker room open.
It was a cavernous room with high windows and poor ventilation. A hundred and ten years of stale sweat hung in the air. From behind a row of lockers, we heard a moan echo off the mosaic tile walls.
We closed the door behind us without a sound and crept around the corner, where we saw Cal sitting on a bench with his back to us. His pants were around his ankles. All I could see of Ruby were her fishnet tights and boots. The rest of her was hidden behind Cal’s torso.
“Isn’t this better than getting suspended?” Cal asked, then moaned again.
I turned my back on the scene and almost collided with Livia as I made for the door. She glared at me and raised a finger to her lips.
We could not be caught, she was saying. We had to leave the way we’d come in, undetected.
But Ruby, I thought. We couldn’t just leave her there.
“No,” I whispered, and then I ran for the door, making as much noise as I could, slamming doors behind me as loudly as they would slam. I picked up a half-inflated basketball and flung it at the locker room door, then Livia and I ran out of the gym.
I didn’t breathe until I was out of the locker room, out of the West Gym, down the hall, and out in the parking lot, struggling to keep up with Livia. And when I did breathe, I realized that we hadn’t made anything better. We hadn’t saved Ruby from anything. Instead, Cal did what he wanted, took what he wanted, just like he always did. I thought about Ruby. She thought her sentence was going to be a suspension. She’d never know that the rest of the Honor Council ruled for community service hours. I felt myself shudder involuntarily.
As I caught up to Livia in the parking lot, I braced myself for another earful accusing me of sabotaging her campaign, blaming me for everything that had happened, screaming that all of this was my fault, up to and including what Cal had done to Ruby Greenberg.
It didn’t happen. Instead, Livia froze in place. Her shoulders hunched forward and her mouth fell slack. Her arms hung limp at her sides until she drew one of her hands up, bringing it to rest on her cheek.
“We just left her there,” Livia said.
“No,” I said, “that’s not what happened. That’s not how it was. We tried.”
“It’s not enough. It’s never enough,” she said, and then her chin sank down into her chest and she began to cry.
It is a strange and terrible thing to watch your enemy cry when you know exactly how she feels. I was repulsed, disgusted, angry, frustrated, and I didn’t know what to do about any of it. I didn’t know how to make it stop. I understood completely why Livia was crying.
Her pain was my own, and if she had been anyone else, I would have tried to comfort her.