KALYN

WHAT AM I expecting, a picket line? The citizens of Samsboro, huddled outside Jefferson High, waving pitchforks and preaching the best ways to burn redneck witches?

All that greets us is the usual line of cars dropping kids off, the usual bodies kicking dust in the student parking lot. Mom parks our van in a spot marked VICE PRINCIPAL. Then the actual VP pulls up behind us. He thinks there’s been a mistake, but Mom hollers about having a wheelchair user in the van. The VP starts off kind, telling her there are handicapped parking spots closer to the building. Mom tells him to go park there, since he’s handicapped himself if he thinks it’s in any way appropriate to call someone else handicapped (the hypocrisy here’s a delicate work of Mom Art).

I’m on the defensive, and Mom isn’t helping. I duck down, trying to hustle Grandma out as quick as possible while fifty-odd stares burn the back of my neck. I fight the itch to pivot and burn all rubberneckers with my laser eyes.

I get Grandma’s chair unhooked and feel a hand brush my back. I whip round, ready to smack the bungee hook into my attacker’s face—­

Sarah looks at me like I’ve just shot her puppy. “Whoa, Rose!”

“What do you want?” There’s no sugar left in me.

“I came to see if you needed help.”

“So you haven’t heard the news.” Kalyn’s been pulled too far back for too long. She’s a branch snapping back into place with a whip crack.

“Claire caught fire,” Grandma informs Sarah.

I snort despite myself, clambering into the van. “Go away, Sarah.”

Sarah’s wiping her hands down her jeans. “Sorry; I’ve got lotion on. Now just tell me where to grab, please.” She stands there like a football player awaiting a pitch. I’d be laughin’ under other circumstances, but Sarah’s not seeing the whole picture. I’m a rabid cat and Sarah’s still calling me kitten.

Mom’s finally chased off the VP. She sizes Sarah up in one angry swoop. “Hey there, missy. You got cheerleading practice to get to, or what?”

“Mom—don’t.” Sarah’s still squatting like a stubborn thing. “Look, I’d say we’ll talk later, but you aren’t gonna want to, so if you could just go—”

Sarah shakes her head. “You can’t shoo me. I have six brothers.”

I can’t help but whistle. “Six?”

“Well, that’s nice, Goldilocks. Please move.” Mom puts herself between Sarah and the van. Grandma waves like royalty as we lift her. It’s plain that it bothers Sarah something fierce to stand there watching while Mom and I lower her down.

“Please, let me—”

I slam the van door to drown her out.

Sarah looks past me. There’s another bone-tired moment of suspense before I figure out she’s reading the Spence Salvage van decal. She doesn’t sound out the words, but the little flicker of understanding behind her eyes says plenty.

“See you, Sarah.” I fall in with Mom and Grandma.

Sarah grabs my hand. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I spin on her, all blades and spit. “Why the hell would I? If you could see your own stupid, perfect face right now, you wouldn’t ask me that.”

She flinches at the second adjective. Sarah does seem perfect to me, but I know she can’t be. I used to think it would be a compliment. Now the idea of anything as certain as perfection scares the living shit out of me.

“I’m not perfect. But I am your friend, Rose.” Sarah narrows cornflower eyes. “I want to understand why you lied.”

“Do me a favor? Be a doll and vote for me for homecoming court.”

“I can’t. I already voted for Rose Poplawski. Maybe you know her?”

I tear my hand away.

It’s only when we’re wheeling Grandma up the ramp to the school that I get another good look at Mom. Mom never finished high school. She never even started it. I put my hand on her back, just for a sec. She blinks four times, but the shine doesn’t go.

“Sorry you brought me?” she asks.

“Nah,” I say, and then we’re inside.

“I’m glad you came to see us today, Mrs. Spence.” One of the qualifications for being principal is that you’ve gotta loathe it a little, tiny bit.

“I’m not here for your sake,” Mom assures Principal Walton. “I’m here for Kalyn. I’m here to make sure y’all have some kind of plan for dealing with the situation.”

“The situation.”

Mom squints at her. “You’ve seen the news, right?”

“Yes. And let me assure you that WKZ did not have permission to interview students about the Ellis case. We’re considering legal action. In the meantime, they’ve pulled the interview.”

“Tell that to the internet,” I say.

Principal Walton frowns. “Kalyn, if you want to take a few days off, we can arrange for take-home work with waived absences. These are unique circumstances.”

Officer Newton, that familiar hulk of a truancy officer, must have squeezed silently into the doorway. He coughs at that.

Mom looks at me. “Kalyn?”

I’m thinking about photos in shoeboxes, about bloody shirts shoved into sheds and left to rot. I’m thinking of Gus, locked inside a box that looks like a mansion. The difference is, I’ve got a damn choice. And the easy one—staying out of the way—no matter who I am, I don’t have that in me.

I aim for wild and crooked.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Mom smirks. “You heard the lady.”

“Besides,” I add, “I’m on the freshman homecoming court honor guard ballot.”

Principal Walton’s eyes dart to Officer Newton. “About that. You taking part in the parade might not be the best idea.”

I present my pearliest smile. “Where’s your school spirit, ma’am?”

“I’m not originally from Kentucky. I can’t say I have any personal connection with the . . . events unfolding here. Yesterday was the first I heard of the trial.”

“That damn news station,” Mom snarls.

Principal Walton shakes her head. “No. I was actually eating dinner at Maverick’s. The fifties soda shop downtown? Do you know it?”

“I’m not really up for six-dollar milkshakes,” Mom says, “but I know the place.”

“I was there with a friend last night. We overheard talk and saw—we got a good sense of the mood in Samsboro. Have you been downtown since yesterday?”

“Some of us have to work.”

“Yes. I’m working right now.” My respect for Principal Walton grows from nothing to a tiny beansprout. “That doesn’t answer the question.”

“No, we haven’t been downtown.”

I think about the signs in storefront windows.

“ ‘Spences Behind Fences,’ ” I recall. “That the gist of it?”

Principal Walton nods. “People are extremely upset. And if Rose—”

“—it’s Kalyn.” Mom and I correct her in unison.

“If Kalyn wins the nomination, she’ll be seated on a float during the parade. That doesn’t seem like a good idea to me, considering the climate downtown.”

“What, you expecting an assassination attempt?” I ask.

“That’s not funny,” Officer Newton scolds, but who cares what he says.

“Some citizens will recognize Kalyn. There’s no way we can guarantee her safety if she takes part in the festivities. It’s not a risk I’m comfortable taking.”

“But you can’t guarantee my safety here at school, either.”

Officer Newton clears his throat.

“Officer Newton will accompany you to your classes today.”

I’m torn between groaning and laughing. I lock eyes with Newton, who somehow scowls and winks at the same time.

“You’re that worried? Because of a couple posters?”

Principal Walton meets me in an even stare. “I saw worse. Outside the cinema. Someone strung up a dummy with your father’s face on it. People cheered.”

We sit on that, for a second or twenty.

“Happy Halloween,” I joke. No one laughs.

“People are emotional, which makes them irrational. They shouldn’t blame you, Kalyn, but that doesn’t mean they won’t. While I believe our student body is largely conscientious, I can’t say the same is necessarily true for the adult citizens of Samsboro.”

“Preach.” Grandma hears Mom and shouts “Hallelujah!” through the open door; she’s been waiting outside under the watch of Ms. Patrick.

“Welp.” I slap my knees. “Odds are I won’t win anyhow.”

“You might, Kalyn. The ballot boxes have been open in the library for weeks. Most students have already voted.”

“Imagine a Spence winning a popularity contest.” Mom whistles. “Tell you one thing, Kalyn. If you win that title and you wanna be in that parade, you’re gonna be in it.”

Who the hell knows what I want.

“If that’s settled, I’m out of here. Grandma’s got a doctor’s appointment to get to, and I’ve gotta swing by the courthouse.” Mom stops at the door. “Kalyn?”

“Yeah?”

“I hope you get that vote, girl.” I hear Grandma trill goodbye to Ms. Patrick as she’s wheeled outside.

The bell rings. It’s just me, Principal Walton, and Officer Pits in here.

“You’re gonna rig the vote so I lose, aren’t you?”

Not even a blink. “I don’t plan to. But I do plan to have you in here again soon, once this blows over.”

“What, you like me that much?”

“You’ve got a truancy problem. That’s the next conversation we’ll be having.”

“Why not have it now? There’s a chance I’ll be assassinated today, you know.”

She shakes her head. “Get to class. And look after yourself, please.”

Officer Newton shadows me as I step into the main office. I wonder if this is how Dad feels when guards lead him in handcuffs to the visitation room. I’m not wearing shackles, but I feel their ghosts on my wrists.

The office walls muffle most of the noise outside. Students churn and swell past the windows like a babbling brook. Once I leave this room, that river will heckle and jeer.

“I told her not to rig the nomination. I want you to know that.”

I turn around. Ms. Patrick looks all teary. She’s standing behind her desk and wringing her manicured hands.

“I mean it.” She catches me eyeing her fingers and curls them into fists. “I’m the one who’ll count the votes. If you win, I’ll make sure you and everyone else know it, or there’s really no justice in this town.”

Brad leans out of his cubicle. Ms. Patrick doesn’t bother sniping at him. Her eyes are on me. I bet her nails are cutting her palms.

“It’s okay, Ms. Patrick. Really. I don’t care about the parade.”

“That’s—that’s not the point. It will be fair this time.”

“This time?”

“I will not stand by and watch another good person get railroaded.” It’s not quite a shout, but it bursts from her like a confession. “I won’t be part of it again.”

“Ms. Patrick, how long have you worked here?” I take a step closer. “Did you know my dad?”

“You have to get to class.” Her phone rings, and she’s eager to answer it. I have a dozen more questions to ask, but she’s right. Things are going to be bad enough without me being late to the slaughter. Plus, a giant pair of armpits is floating near my shoulders.

I push the door open and step into the hallway flood, letting the current whip me around. I should get big boots like Gus to anchor me. For now I’ll just have to walk.

The attack comes from above. The cafeteria balcony.

Scrambled eggs slap me in the forehead and slip down my nose. They’re followed by a shout from Officer Newton, and then a lunch tray smacks me on the crown, hard enough to make my legs crumple. I’m baptized with icy, sticky milk.

Well, I’ll be damned. The sky is falling.