Chapter Twelve
But during the times Maggie and I were alone together, more and more often I suspected she’d had something from her mother’s liquor cabinet before I arrived. Maggie’s mom was divorced and not often home. She worked, and when she didn’t work, she dated unapologetically. That was a concept so alien to me that I couldn’t help but pity Maggie. On the other hand, it gave us a place to hang out that was almost always unsupervised. A place where we could speak openly about anything and act out in ways we couldn’t have gotten away with at my house. Or Jane’s. Or even Carly’s, whose parents also worked, but whose home, it was understood, we should never disrespect.
I think it was the day Maggie showed up at school with the unfocused gaze and slow manner of speaking that had become so familiar to me. Like someone just waking from a nap, her eyes remained at half-mast, and her tongue coiled lazily around each word. Looking back, it should have been easy for me to hear that silent cry for help, but I didn’t. Drinking wasn’t a shameful thing, a crutch, a tool to numb painful feelings. It was an act of rebellion against parents and school and social norms. It was fun. And Maggie was still wonderfully lovable and entertaining at the same time.
First period was American History, a class Maggie and I shared. That morning, Maggie was a little worse off than usual and, in fact, seemed to be barely functioning. When Mrs. Gossage announced we’d be watching a Civil War movie so she could finish grading tests, I was relieved—Maggie could use that hour to get herself straight. Mrs. Gossage was an eccentric with long, graying hair; horn-rimmed glasses with lenses so smudged by fingerprints it was hard to see beyond them; the same pair of Birkenstock sandals, regardless of the outfit she wore; and a very large and colorless mole on her lip that was almost impossible to ignore when she was speaking. Her apparent favorite colors were black or dark brown which magnified, by contrast, the flaky field of dandruff that adorned her meaty shoulders.
Despite her odd appearance, she was one of the more popular teachers in school, not because she had the gift of bringing history to life for her students; in fact, it was quite the opposite—her lectures were dry and tedious. But her students loved her because she listened to us as though whatever came out of our mouths was quite possibly the most interesting thing she’d heard that day. She peered at us through those badly smudged glasses as though we were precious examples of the best of humanity. She valued us and our opinions—both the profound and the ridiculous—so we valued her in return.
It was a good movie, so it didn’t take me long to get drawn into the story. I became so engrossed that it was almost thirty minutes before I glanced over at Maggie, who sat in the desk one row up and to the right of mine. By then, her head was on the table, cradled in her arm, and I concluded she was asleep. I winced, hoping she wouldn’t snore like I’d seen her do in the past. I nearly pretended to drop something so I could lean forward and jiggle her awake but thought better of it. The volume of the movie was loud enough to cover up a bit of soft snoring, and Mrs. Gossage had stepped out of the room. But the rest of the movie was ruined for me as I became obsessed with watching out for Maggie. After a while, I lost track of the storyline.
Seated in front of me was a girl named Kerry. Directly across the aisle from Kerry was Maggie. Kerry was a friendly girl whom Maggie and I often chatted with before class, but that day the sight of Maggie sprawled across her desk, mouth agape, proved to be irresistible. Kerry glanced back and forth from the screen to Maggie several times before turning around to look at me, stifling a giggle with her open palm. I looked over her head at the screen, pretending not to notice, pretending I was completely absorbed in the movie. But when she reached across the aisle and poked Maggie’s shoulder with the blunt end of a pencil, I cringed. Maggie retracted her arm, mumbled incoherently, and turned her head to face the other direction. From where I sat, I could see the glisten of spittle on Maggie’s chin and the lower part of her cheek.
The flickering screen in the dark room created a cozy fireplace-type atmosphere. By that time of year, mornings were quite cool, and the heated classrooms were stultifying under the best of circumstances. But gather a roomful of teenagers early in the morning, and anyone could have fallen asleep under those conditions. I had no doubt others were napping as well, and, once I’d lost the storyline, even I felt my eyelids drooping. But Maggie looked disheveled, and it wasn’t her first time. I knew that once you were pegged with a particular fault, trait, or weakness, it was impossible to shed.
“Are you drunk?” Kerry asked, loudly enough that even I could hear. An intense wave of sympathy for Maggie washed over me, triggering a fiercely protective instinct I didn’t know existed. The girl seated in front of Kerry turned around and looked at her, and then craned her neck to get a look at Maggie. The boy on the other side of Kerry peered at Maggie and let loose a rude snort, his head powered forward by its release. I feared others had also taken notice. Part of me wanted to hide and disassociate from Maggie’s shame, but most of me wanted to wrap my arms around her, take her home, and tuck her into bed away from the curious stares and laughter of others. I wanted to protect her from becoming the class joke. The class drunk.
Mrs. Gossage came into the classroom just as Maggie flailed her arm to keep Kerry’s question at bay. Unfortunately for Maggie, her hand connected with the history book on the corner of her desk, and it hit the ground like a gunshot. Kerry and I both sprang from our seats to pick it up, but Mrs. Gossage silently motioned us down. Maggie jerked her head up and wiped her damp chin with the back of her sleeve. She looked around cautiously to see if anyone was watching as she slowly got her bearings. She swiveled to face me with an embarrassed smile and rolled her eyes. I smiled back, breathing a sigh of relief that nothing worse had happened. Kerry stared at the screen, and I returned to the movie until, a few minutes later, the bell rang.
“Ladies, stay a minute please,” Mrs. Gossage motioned to Kerry and Maggie as everyone filed out of the room. I lingered by the door until Mrs. Gossage noticed me and said, “You can go, Grace.”
I moved to the hallway just outside the door, my heart thumping wildly with concern. I tried my best but couldn’t hear a word of what they were saying, the noise from the hallway overwhelming the soft voices from within. A minute later, Maggie came out alone. She was smiling, which was a relief. I didn’t think she smelled of alcohol, but of course she had her ways—vodka only, mixed with orange juice. It never left a scent on her breath, at least not one I could detect.
“What happened?” I asked, breathless with anticipation. We didn’t have far to walk to get to Geometry, so Maggie was taking her time—ambling, but at least she looked better than she had an hour earlier.
“She asked what was going on with me and Kerry, and I said Kerry poked me with a pencil, and we were just kidding around and the book fell.”
“Where’s Kerry?”
“Mrs. Gossage’s still talking to her . . . something about being able to trust us if she has to step out of the classroom. Blah, blah, blah. Anyway, she told me I could go.”
“I hope Kerry’s not in trouble,” I said as we walked into our next class.
Five minutes into Geometry, a student messenger arrived just as Mr. Munson was wiping down the board under a cloud of chalk dust. The messenger, a short red-haired boy I recognized from homeroom, said that Maggie was wanted in Mr. Sutherland’s office. Mr. Sutherland was one of two counselors at our school, but he also handled discipline cases.
“Oooh, Maggie’s in trouble,” Franklin blurted out. Franklin, who was seated in the front of every classroom, the better to be supervised, was a frequent target of Mr. Sutherland’s summons. That morning he was giddy at the chance to pile on someone else. And a girl? Even better—no one who would take his taunt as fighting words.
“Maggie,” Mr. Munson said. “You’re excused.” He held up a hall pass, and thirty heads swiveled in order for thirty sets of eyes to feast on Maggie’s walk of shame.
“Shut up,” Maggie hissed at Franklin, bumping his desk with her hip on the way out.
The rest of class was a blur. Geometry was usually a blur for me, but that day I wasn’t even pretending to pay attention. I stared at the backpack slung across Maggie’s seat and wondered if I should take it with me if she didn’t get back before class was over. But then, just as the bell rang, Maggie returned.
“What happened?”
“Sucks,” Maggie said. “Somebody reported me for drinking, so Mr. Sutherland wanted me to take a breathalyzer.”
“You’re kidding!”
Maggie stuffed her notebook and sweater into her backpack before zipping it shut. Kids from the next class were already arriving, and Mr. Munson looked up from his stack of papers to observe Maggie’s activity. He raised his eyebrows quizzically, causing me to wonder if teachers were as interested in student gossip as the kids were.
Maggie slung her pack across her shoulder and lowered her voice. “He called my mom at work, and she said she didn’t give her permission for me to take the breathalyzer, so Sutherland said if I didn’t, they were going to suspend me.”
“So?”
“So I didn’t do the breathalyzer, and now Mom has to come pick me up, and I’m suspended for three days. I don’t care. I actually wanna go home.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take notes and get your homework while you’re gone. I’ll come see you after school today, okay?”
“Thanks,” Maggie said. She looked like she was about to cry.
“I’ll walk with you.”
“You’ll be late.”
“I don’t care. One for all—”
But Maggie wasn’t interested in hearing the rest of our motto.
“Mr. Sutherland’s an idiot,” she interrupted, and I knew she was striking out against her own helplessness and frustration. “I don’t know how Carly can stand being in the same room with him for her SAT tutoring. He’s all like, ‘I’m your friend, you can talk to me.’ As if.”
I didn’t have any experience with Mr. Sutherland other than the day he first welcomed Luke and me to Indian Springs High, but I wanted to be supportive.
“He’s a huge idiot,” I said, branding myself as one with those words.
We walked by the trophy display case near the front of the school. I’d never actually stopped to look at the shiny brass trophies exhibited there. I’d never seen a single student who did. Who was or wasn’t being recognized in that case seemed so remote to my life as to be practically nonexistent.
“He’s actually kind of pervy, if you ask me,” Maggie went on. “He put his arm around me when I was leaving his office . . . moving in for the bra-strap grope. You know, the supposed supportive pat on the back. Dirty old man.”
I’d never considered that a supportive pat on the back could be a pervy thing to do. Maybe because no one had ever done that to me, except perhaps my mom, who I knew was being genuinely supportive. Maybe even Dad when he was still Dad. Back before I wore a bra, not that Dad would know or care about that. But I believed Maggie. She knew things I didn’t.
“Gross,” I said. “So who do you think told on you?”
“I guess Mrs. Gossage, who else?”
“Yeah. You thought she was letting you off, but she was just getting you out of the way so she could report you.”
And then the words I wish I’d never spoken. “Maybe Kerry?”
Why did I say that? I wanted to offer something that Maggie might prize. An us-against-them thing. I wanted her to have proof that I had her back while she was dozing off. I was her watchdog. Her protector.
“Kerry?” She raised her eyebrows and looked at me curiously. “Why would Kerry do that?”
“I dunno. Maybe she was going to get in trouble for poking you with the pencil. Maybe she was trying to turn it around on you?”
Maggie considered this. We arrived at the front door to the school where her mom would be picking her up.
“She asked if you were drunk,” I said. “Anyone could’ve heard her—people did. I heard her.”
“She did?” Maggie seemed genuinely puzzled. “Well, maybe it was Kerry, and I misjudged her. I always thought she was nice. Anyway, I don’t care, she did me a favor—three days’ vacation.”
Maggie’s mother’s maroon SUV pulled into the traffic circle.
“You’d better go,” Maggie said. She leaned over and hugged me with one arm. “See you later, okay? Maybe Carly can give you a ride to my house. Tell Jane to come too, if she can. Mom won’t be back until six, so we can hang out.”
The SUV came to a stop in front of us, and Maggie’s mom lowered the passenger-side window.
“You’d better get in, young lady. This was a very bad time for me to have to leave work.”
“Love you, Maggie,” I said. “Sorry this happened to you.”
“Love you too, girl. Thanks for always sticking up for me.” Even a half-smile from Maggie felt better than a full-blown smile from someone else, but it always came at a cost. Even then, I sensed a limited reservoir of happiness within Maggie, one that emptied drip by drip. Every smile. Every hug. Every laugh bringing her closer to a dark and empty pit.
The bell rang, but I stood and watched while Maggie lumbered down the steps, bent from the weight of her backpack swinging heavily from one narrow shoulder. The day had started out cloudy and gray. A weak November sun pushed through the clouds but was quickly swatted away by the gloom. Only when Maggie’s car disappeared did I move from that spot, turning to walk the empty hallways, unprotected by a hall pass, trying to remember if it was a lab day in chemistry and, if so, if I would be able to slip in unnoticed.
Normally I rushed to lunch, but that day I lingered at my locker and then stopped at the library to return a book. Maggie’s depression had become real to me that morning, although I didn’t yet have a word for it. And even though I couldn’t or wouldn’t name it, I recognized it as a thing that had the potential to thrive within me as well if I wasn’t careful. Just like Dad fell off the ladder, I could fall into this well of despair.
Carly and Jane weren’t like us. They were strong and unafraid. They would save us—Maggie and me.
“Oh my God, finally!” Carly snapped when I showed up for lunch.
Seeing the two of them, Jane and Carly, sitting at the table together without the buffer of Maggie or me, was a disturbing sight to behold. It was like seeing a lion and a zebra drinking side-by-side at the watering hole.
“Everyone’s saying that Maggie got sent home for drinking. What happened?”
I set my tray on the table and slid onto the bench, ducking my legs under the tabletop. Without Maggie there, I knew nobody would have wiped the benches clean for us.
“It’s true,” I said. “I was going to talk to you about it.” I addressed my remarks to Carly, who had the most claim on Maggie. “She’s been doing it a lot lately. Only one time at school before today, and it wasn’t that bad . . . not like today. But after school—”
“And you never said anything to me?”
I couldn’t take Carly’s disapproval. She meant so much to me, and her approval always arrived like a gift whenever it was bestowed. I still woke up mornings in disbelief that Carly was actually my friend. My friend. I glanced at Jane, whose eyes were soft. She laid a pale hand over my own as I gulped down my anxiety. The dreary sky had wormed its way into my mood, and I was reminded how unforgiving a Northern California winter could be. Those first days in Indian Springs when I thought I’d never be warm or see the sun again.
“I’m . . . worried about her,” I said, my quivering voice giving way to tears.
“Hey,” Carly scooted across the smoothly coated metal bench, her voice transforming into a gentle coo. “Don’t cry, Grace. Maggie’s okay. She’ll be okay. That’s what we’re here for. Right, Jane?” She tucked my hair behind my ear and lightly ran her hand up and down my spine, my muscles releasing their tension in the wake of her touch. I thought of Mr. Sutherland groping for Maggie’s bra strap. If he’d been acting from a place of kindness and sympathy, Maggie would have known the way I knew then with Carly. My tears cleared like a sudden and unexpected spring shower surrendering to the sun. “The Kitty Committee, remember?” Carly said. “That’s the whole point.”
I nodded yes and looked at Jane, whose eyes radiated sympathy but not agreement. Had I been crying for Maggie or for myself?
“I think Kerry might have told on her,” I said, doubling down on my disastrous earlier mistake. I stared at my uneaten bowl of ramen, which was rapidly surrendering its steam and nourishing heat to the frigid day. I pulled the cord of my jacket, tightening the noose around my neck.
“Kerry Thompson?” Carly’s eyes popped open. She dropped her hand from my back but didn’t move from my side. We were pressed against each other, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, hip to hip. I felt the warm, moist puff of air leave her lips and enter my lungs. I breathed in her resuscitating breath. Her surprise and indignation. I siphoned strength from the heat of her body against mine. “What does she have to do with anything?” Carly asked. “Why would she even do that?”
It was my now or never moment. I still had the chance to back out, albeit at the cost of making myself look foolish. I forged ahead.
“We were watching a movie in history, and Maggie fell asleep.”
I’d told this story to Maggie, hoping she’d understand my loyalty and commitment to her happiness. Kerry had made me uneasy with her obvious delight in Maggie’s misery. In the way she’d introduced other bystanders to Maggie’s shame. In the way she’d prodded Maggie with her pencil, degrading her as though examining a decaying carcass that she didn’t want to touch. Maybe I’d even believed in Kerry’s complicity myself, I no longer remember. What I do remember is that my conclusion seemed to please Carly. She wanted to hear more.
“Mrs. Gossage wasn’t in the room most of the time, so it didn’t really matter. Kerry said something about Maggie being drunk, and everyone sitting around her could hear. I could even hear, and her back was to me. Then she poked Maggie with a pencil, Maggie swung her hand around, and her book fell. So Mrs. Gossage made them stay after. I think maybe Kerry was probably trying to get out of trouble by blaming Maggie because Mrs. Gossage made Kerry stay after, and Maggie got to leave.”
“What’s she like?” Jane asked. “That Kerry girl.”
“She’s okay,” I answered. “I mean, we thought she was nice, but maybe she’s not who we thought she was.”
My second thoughts were catching up. Gaining in strength over Carly’s approval. I plunged my plastic fork into the ramen noodles and twisted them around and around and around until I’d gathered every last one of them. Then I brought them to my open mouth, my bottom lip pushed out like a platter to catch any potential drips or runaway ramen.
“You really going to eat all that at once?” Jane smirked. I returned the ball of noodles to the cup and looked up at Carly, waiting to see what she would say next.
“It makes sense, though,” Carly said. “Mrs. Gossage is really cool, and I can’t see her wanting to ruin someone’s life. She’d be more likely to keep Maggie after class and have a heart-to-heart talk with her. Ask her to smoke a doobie or something. I’m sure you’re right. It was Kerry.”
We’d gone from Carly’s initial disbelief, to my hypothesis, to my qualifiers (the words think and maybe and probably), to a final, unambiguous verdict. And we’d traveled there at lightning speed. Case closed.
“Maggie wants us to come see her after school,” I added meekly. “If you guys can make it.”
“I have debate club, but I can miss it,” Carly said. “This is more important. How about you, Jane? I can drive us.”
Jane took a deep breath and released it as a hiss between clenched teeth. “I have Thespians, but I guess I can tell them I have a dentist appointment or something. I could do that, I guess.”
“You guess? You don’t have to come if it’s too much trouble,” Carly said. It was a hope within a dare. I knew Carly didn’t want Jane to come. She wanted to be Maggie’s savior over and over again, as though she was rebranding Blizzard with a new can of red spray paint or once again loosening Rich Benson’s bike chain and rejoicing in his broken bloody tooth.
I respected and admired Jane. She had everything I wanted and thought I needed. But did she have what it took to fight for us—Maggie and me—with more than just her shining example?
“I want to,” Jane said. “It’s just that I’m co-president.”
“So let your co take over,” Carly said. “Isn’t that the whole point of co-presidenting?”
Jane scooped a spoonful of yogurt from its plastic container, digging deep for the strawberry preserves on the bottom. She brought the spoon up to her mouth where it waited, barred from admission while she turned something over in her head.
“I’ll make it work,” she said.
“I feel like I’m in prison.” Maggie led the way to the kitchen. “I’m not allowed to leave the house, and Mom put a lock on the liquor cabinet. An actual lock. Can you believe it?” Each of us naturally gravitated to our usual seat around the kitchen table. “Anyone want anything?” she asked half-heartedly.
“I’ll get it.” Jane swung gracefully from her chair and peered into the fridge. “Let’s see. Milk or . . . coke. Chocolate cake! Uh oh, your mom left a beer in here.” She emerged holding a coke. “Anyone else want one?”
One of the fluorescent bulbs on the ceiling was in the process of dying—flickering and faintly hissing.
“Bring the cake,” Maggie said glumly. “And four forks.”
“Sorry, Maggie,” I said. “About today. But we’re all here for you.”
To my ears, I sounded mature and supportive. I had no idea what else to offer beyond gathering the others to visit Maggie during her exile. Being there physically, I realized, was worthless without something more, but what that something more entailed, I hadn’t a clue. That was Carly’s job. Maybe even Jane’s. My job was done.
“We all made sacrifices to come see you today, Maggie,” Carly said. “Well, maybe not Grace, but Jane and I did. And we didn’t do that just to be here for you, as Grace put it. I don’t know why Jane came, but I know why I did. You need to hear this from someone, and I’m not afraid to say it. You’re fucking up, and you need to stop.”
Jane’s corn-silk hair swung as she turned from the refrigerator, a large chocolate cake balanced in her hands. She looks as surprised as I feel, but why should we be? I wondered. Carly was right. Maggie was fucking up, and she needed to be stopped. Carly was blunt, but who was going to save Maggie from herself if not her best friend?
“Uh . . . thanks, Carly. Nice of you to stop by,” Maggie said. “A little moral support would be appreciated.”
“Moral support for what? So you can drink and come to school drunk again? Get a grip, Maggie. School’s serious, and if it’s not serious for you, it should be because it’s the only way you’re going to get out of this shit town. Not only that, but you make the rest of us look bad by association.”
“Rule number three,” Maggie deadpanned. “Alcohol is okay.”
“Yeah, we drink for fun when we’re out having fun,” Carly said. By default, Jane and I had become passive bystanders. “Do you want to spend the rest of your life in Indian Springs while I’m out in the world achieving? While Jane and Grace are too? You really want to be here doing nothing? Because that’s just where you’re headed. Do you want to be a loser? Because right now, that’s what you are.”
“Carly . . .” Jane said, leaving her sentence unfinished.
I was surprised but pleased that Carly had labeled me as a future achiever, lumping me in with her and Jane. An hour earlier, I wouldn’t have thought of myself that way, but the mere suggestion from Carly’s lips straightened my spine. I nodded seriously, as though it was a known fact that I would be moving on from Indian Springs in pursuit of serious and important goals. But I couldn’t stop myself from biting the inside of my cheek at the callousness with which Carly called out Maggie. I sensed the faint metallic taste of blood on the back of my tongue. Carly and Maggie had known each other their whole lives. They could speak to each other this way, I reasoned, although I doubted Maggie would speak like that to Carly. But Carly didn’t do stupid things, did she? She was always in control, wasn’t she?
“You guys too?” Maggie looked from Jane to me. “You think I’m a loser too?”
“Of course not.” Jane looked down at her can of soda.
“I don’t think Carly meant you’re a loser,” I said. “She just doesn’t want you to get in trouble.”
Carly’s eyes glinted hard at me. “Don’t interpret what I did or didn’t mean. I said what I meant. Is that the way you want people to look at you, Maggie? To look at us, your friends? It’s one for all and all for one, isn’t it? That means we’ll take care of you, but you also have to take care of us, and I honestly don’t want my teachers to be looking at me and wondering if I’m some kind of a drunk loser. You have to be able to set limits between serious time and fun time.”
She got up from her chair and stood behind Maggie, resting her hands on Maggie’s narrow shoulders. “You know I love you, right? I’d do anything for you, and I’m only saying this because I love you. So cut it out, okay?” Her voice had softened so convincingly that I could almost believe a different person was speaking. “Okay?” she repeated.
“Okay,” Maggie said, her eyes glistening with tears. “It’s not like I could do it even if I wanted to, with Mom locking down the house the way she has. And I’m grounded for two weeks.”
Carly rotated onto Maggie’s lap. She took Maggie’s face between her hands and pulled to within inches of her, where they could practically share each other’s breath. “We’re still going to have fun, I promise you,” she said. “And I’m sure your mom will let us visit even if you’re grounded. I’ll convince her. But you gotta try harder for me, okay? I want you to succeed.” She brushed Maggie’s cheek with a kiss that, to my eyes, seemed almost sensual. I didn’t know Carly was capable of such an intimate and emotional gesture—for lack of a better word, a human gesture. It aroused something within me that was close to jealousy, but was also longing for a kiss like that from Carly. I would never be that to Carly, I realized with a sudden sharp pang of regret. I could never take Maggie’s place in Carly’s heart.
“I know you do,” Maggie said, and Carly stood and walked to the refrigerator, surveying its contents before emerging with a ginger ale.
“Grace thinks Kerry ratted you out,” Carly said, her sweet, soothing voice transformed to match the ugly accusation. I imagined a gangster in an old black-and-white movie: a machine gun pointed at the hapless victim; its rat-a-tat-tat ending the snitch’s life.
“I know, right? And I always thought she was nice,” Maggie said. Princess Leia mewed from underneath the table, and Maggie swooped the nearly grown kitten onto her lap.
“I think it was her,” I said. “I’m pretty sure, but I can’t be a hundred percent sure.”
Jane reared her head, glancing up from the fingernails which had preoccupied her until that point—pushing down her cuticles, chipping off old polish, anything but looking at Maggie and Carly. She stared at me, her expression unreadable, a clean blank slate like her wide, smooth brow.
Help me, I thought.
“Oh, it was her,” Carly said. “Without a doubt. I mean, who else would it be? Mrs. Gossage? Give me a break.”
“Yeah, I agree,” Maggie said. “I mean, Mrs. Gossage was really nice to me when we were talking. And she let me go, so I’m pretty sure she didn’t suspect anything or she would’ve just sent me to the office right then.”
“So, I’ve been thinking,” Carly said. “We talked about proving our loyalty to the Kitty Committee—to each other—by performing an act of allegiance. And then we never did anything about it. I take full responsibility and admit I’ve allowed myself to get too distracted by school, and maybe I’ve been neglecting us.” She threw out both arms to virtually encircle our group. “Anyway, I’m willing to work on that, starting now. The timing’s perfect.”
The dying fluorescent light sputtered and blinked as rapidly as a strobe.
“What do you mean?” Jane asked. “Like how would we prove our loyalty to each other?”
Maggie didn’t have to ask. She knew how Carly proved her loyalty. By then, I knew it too. Princess Leia was curled in Maggie’s lap, relishing her warmth, the soft touch of her fingertips.
“Kerry has to suffer something. Something commensurate with the suffering she caused Maggie. It’s only fair.”
Maybe Jane isn’t ready for this, I thought. At least I’d been prepared. What was needed was a degree of lightness—the air was too heavy, too toxic; the dying light was too anxiety-inducing. My heart fluttered as though escaping through my throat. I coughed, and it slunk back into my chest, resuming its normal beat.
“Commensurate,” I said. “That was one of the SAT words.” Even though my intent was to bring levity, I regretted saying it the second it left my mouth.
No one acknowledged the comment, through word or deed. It was like, at that moment, I ceased to exist. I’d served my purpose—being Kerry’s accuser. Now I was expected to shut up and let bolder and brighter minds take over.
“Who wants to be the first person?” Carly asked. “We’ll all have our turns eventually.”
Jane and I looked at each other from across the table. Her head shook so imperceptibly that I thought I might have imagined it—the flickering light bouncing off her ghostly locks. I wished I knew. Nobody spoke.
“So no one,” Carly said after a cringe-inducing moment of silence. I bit the side of my cheek again. Tasted blood again. Carly’s disappointment was palpable, and I felt like I was letting her down—betraying her, even. “If no one else is going to volunteer, I guess I will. Not exactly a promising start to the Kitty Committee, is it?”
“I’ll do it,” Maggie blurted out.
I exhaled the breath I’d been holding in.
“You can’t, Maggie, because this one’s for you,” Carly said as though that should be obvious to any thinking being. Her hands were folded on the table, and I noticed her nails were perfectly manicured and gleaming. She didn’t have chipped polish or overgrown cuticles like Jane. Like mine, which were bitten down to the pink.
“I’ll do it,” I said, trying my best to sound as if it was really my idea. Without thinking, I brought my hand to my mouth, cleaning under the nail with my lower front tooth.
Princess Leia stood and arched her back before dropping silently to the floor.
“You’re amazing, Grace,” Carly said. She pulled my hand gently away from my mouth, tenderly positioning it on my lap. Even my mother wouldn’t attempt such a blatantly humiliating gesture, and yet I took it as a sign of affection. Carly cared for us. She didn’t want us to embarrass ourselves. She wanted us to achieve like her. To be beautiful like her. Carly’s hand was smooth, slender, soft, and warm. Mine was big, large-knuckled, chapped, and cold. My hand would never be Carly’s hand. And yet. “I knew you’d come through for us,” she said.
“Yeah, Grace, thanks,” Maggie said. “It means a lot that you’d do this for me.” She leaned over to pick up Princess Leia, who was cleaning herself at Maggie’s feet. She held up the cat, front legs pointing toward me, hind legs dangling. “Thank you, Grace,” she said in a high-pitched voice I took to be Princess Leia’s human incarnation.
“Amazing, Grace,” Jane said, but only I seemed to hear her.
“What do I have to do?” I asked. I was feeling a little more confident after Maggie and Carly showered me with their approval. A little less anxious. I was coming to the place where I believed I’d done the right thing. And how hard could my assignment be? Maybe I’d have to watch Kerry in class, and if I saw her do something wrong, I’d report it after class to Mrs. Gossage. Maybe even anonymously. I would prove my allegiance to the Kitty Committee before anyone else and then sit back and relax when it was the next person’s turn.
“I’m going to think of something,” Carly said. “I’ll let everyone know in a few days.”
I speared a chunk of chocolate cake with my fork, mostly icing, and brought it to my mouth. It was moist and delicious. I helped myself to a second forkful.
“Wait,” Jane said so abruptly that I gulped the forkful of cake, making ugly, throat-clearing noises to help push it down. “Isn’t there something about every member having an equal voice? I remember that was one of the rules.”
“Rule number six.” My voice was raspy with cake crumbs, but I was anxious to prove myself as the most serious member; the only one of us who had memorized the rules verbatim; the only one who would soon prove her allegiance. “No one member is above the others.” I had studied these rules at home in the days after we created them. I could recite them in my sleep, and sometimes I wondered if I did.
“So what I want to say is,” Jane went on, unimpressed with my recitation versus the rule’s underlying significance. “How do we really know that Kerry told on Maggie? What proof do we have beyond Grace’s theory? I demand that we address this because we’re all equal in the Kitty Committee, and I’m not comfortable with what the others have decided.”
I was stung by her words. I’d actually wondered the same thing myself, but hearing it come from Jane, with an almost sarcastic inflection, suddenly fed my own growing doubts—not only about my conclusion but about my self-worth. Maggie turned to Carly for the answer.
“Fair enough,” Carly said. “That’s a valid point, so let’s address it.”
Jane’s shoulders visibly relaxed, elongating her graceful neck. She’d been heard, and that’s all she wanted. Carly had disarmed her. Alleviated her concern that we were rushing into something intrinsically wrong. I glanced at Carly, whose body, in contrast to Jane’s, seemed to have coiled tighter.
“I trust Grace—” Carly began.
“I do too,” Maggie interrupted.
“I trust Grace,” Carly repeated, shooting Maggie a warning look to hold her tongue. “But anyone can be wrong. So tomorrow I’m going to do a little investigating. Kerry has PE with me, and I know some of her friends. I’ll get to the truth before Grace does anything. Before we do anything.” Her fingernails clicked out a drumroll on the tabletop. It almost seemed like a comical insert to the black-and-white gangster movie I’d envisioned earlier. “Does that make you feel more comfortable, Jane?”
I already wanted to believe in Carly. Always. So I had no trouble accepting whatever she came up with. But even Jane, whose tension with Carly was almost a tangible thing, appeared persuaded. The strain in her ice-blue eyes melted away. Carly could do that if you let her and didn’t know better. And if Jane’s concerns were assuaged, mine would be as well.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Jane said. “You should really replace that light bulb, Maggie. It’s giving me a headache.”
“I know. I was just going to say that,” I laughed, harder and more falsely than was appropriate.
Maggie got up and flipped the light switch, darkening the room but lightening my mood. It was good to have us together again—a family. The Kitty Committee on solid ground. It was like seeing your parents present a united and cheerful front after a terrible argument—something I’d only witnessed once in my life and hoped never to see again. Carly was smart. Smart in more ways than just school-smart. Carly knew things about people. She could get them to talk about things they might not even want to talk about. She could get to the truth, whatever it was. And maybe Kerry hadn’t told. Maybe it was Mrs. Gossage. Maybe I wouldn’t have to do anything after all, and we could find a fun way to prove our allegiance to each other. Our oath to the Kitty Committee.
“In the meantime, let’s go over everything that happened,” Carly said to Maggie. “Tell me every last detail, and whatever you don’t remember, Grace can fill in.”
The investigation began like a court procedure. Maggie was the witness taking the stand. Carly was the prosecuting attorney. Jane was ready to jump in with an objection if it was necessary. I was the witness waiting in the wings, waiting to be called to the stand when Maggie’s memory failed her.
Maggie recounted the story, beginning with the moment we walked into History until the moment she lay her head on the table and fell asleep. I eagerly filled in every detail I could remember after that, even the ones that didn’t seem relevant. After a while, Jane seemed to lose interest and got up to visit the bathroom, content to leave the investigation in Carly’s capable hands, now that she had extracted a promise that the truth would prevail. When Maggie got to the part about sitting in Mr. Sutherland’s office, she didn’t hold back, concluding with, “I really don’t know how you can stand him, Carly. He’s a such a pervy old man.”
Carly didn’t brush off Maggie’s concerns the way I thought she might. Instead, she asked, and Maggie told about the bra-strap grope. Carly claimed she had felt the same sort of squeamishness about Mr. Sutherland but could never put her finger on exactly what it was about him that bothered her so much. Still, he was an amazing SAT tutor, and her practice-test scores had improved dramatically, so she would just have to put up with his creepiness for the time being. He was tutoring Tim LeClerc too, and there was no way Carly was going to drop Sutherland and let that scumbag Tim outscore her on the SAT.
Maggie was quick to state that it was never her intention to suggest Carly should give up her private tutoring sessions with Sutherland. She could definitely appreciate that sometimes people had to put up with bullshit to get what they wanted. We were all walking on eggshells with each other.
The Kitty Committee didn’t start the day we drew up its constitution or even the night at Lake Tahoe when we recited its rules for the benefit of Jane. The Kitty Committee began that day in Maggie’s kitchen with three of us unwittingly embarking on the path which would lead to the conviction of Kerry for the crime of Maggie’s shame. That was the day the Kitty Committee truly came into its own, displaying its sharp claws for the rest of the world to feel.