We could be monsters together.
18
FREDDIE HAD BEEN right when he’d told me that pretty soon, everyone would move on from my drama with Lux.
The morning after Trevor’s birthday, no one looked at me funny as I passed them in the hall, I didn’t hear the words “Arts and Crafts Killer” whispered under anyone’s breath, and there weren’t any memes about me floating around. All anyone could talk about was what had happened at Trevor’s party. Well, not what had happened at the party so much as what had happened to Trevor (and his pants). Khakis are a choice on any occasion, but a particularly bad one for Trevor last night, given how obviously it darkens when wet. But hey, hindsight.
Trevor did the smart thing this morning and stayed home. But his friends still had his back, spinning the story so that the Infamous Manchester Prankster was to blame, spilling water down the front of Trevor’s pants. Some people began to doubt the photos and videos of the event, attributing the dark spot on Trevor’s pants to a shadow. But I didn’t mind all the stories coming out of the rumor mill. Even if nobody knew that it was the Mary Shelley Club who’d brought Trevor Driggs to his knees, we knew it. We were the mysterious prankster. We were the bogeyman. I grinned just thinking about it.
When a guy bumped into me in the hall and didn’t bother to apologize, I realized I could just make him the target of my Fear Test if I wanted to. The club was a game changer. The club was a mood.
And I knew I wasn’t the only one enjoying this.
I saw Felicity walking down the hall with her head held high, switching up her regular floor-gazing skulk. I passed Freddie too, who was huddled with his Film Club friends. We shared a secret smile over their heads, no words needed.
But the biggest change came from Thayer. In Women in Literature, Ms. Liu was comparing Carson McCullers to Alexandre Dumas, so the Dumb Ass jokes practically made themselves. But Thayer didn’t make a peep. Even Ms. Liu seemed surprised, occasionally sneaking looks his way when she said Dumas’s name. Thayer just sat back, all dreamy eyes and perma-smile. He didn’t need to clown around today. He’d done enough of that for a lifetime.
If Bram felt bad about what had happened to his supposed best friend, he didn’t show it. He came up to me after class and handed me a book. “This is my favorite Mary Shelley biography,” he said. It was a thick paperback, with yellowed pages and curled edges. “It could help with the term paper research.”
I thanked him, and as he walked away he didn’t shoot me a withering stare. So: progress.
Apparently, I learned at lunch, I was changed, too. At least according to Saundra, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as she sipped celery juice from a thermos. “What’s the deal with you? You’ve been, like, smiling all day.”
“I smile.”
“Not really.”
“Occasionally.”
“Rarely.”
“Stop it.” I laughed, which just proved her point.
“You’ve got a secret,” Saundra said definitively.
I shook my head. I couldn’t tell her about the Mary Shelley Club. But it also wasn’t just the club. The truth was, I didn’t know exactly why I was feeling so good. But for the first time in a long time, I was just happy. Chill. Content. And when that’s not your usual state of being, you tend to want to hold on to it, no questions asked.
I popped a french fry into my mouth and shrugged. “Still thinking about Trevor’s pee party, I guess. The guy got what he deserved.”
“I know! Trevor Driggs is such a douche canoe. I wish I was there to see it in person.”
“Mhmm.” I didn’t say anything, but it was like Saundra could read my mind.
“You weren’t there,” Saundra said skeptically. I kept chewing to avoid answering, but I was a crystal ball and Saundra was a fortune-teller. She nearly sprayed celery juice out of her nose. “You were there?”
We had tried to be discreet, but judging by how many selfies were being taken at Trevor’s house, I was sure I’d unintentionally photobombed someone’s Insta by now. There was no point in lying about not being there. Saundra would find out.
“Yeah. I just heard about it and went.”
“What the hell?” Saundra said. “And Trevor just let you in?”
I nodded. “He was distracted. Obviously.”
“Well, why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve gone with you!”
“You specifically told me on Friday afternoon that you were looking forward to bingeing Gilmore Girls.”
“That’s just something people say, Rachel; nobody actually means it!”
“Okay, I’m sorry. Next time Trevor throws a party, we’ll go together.”
Saundra scoffed and looked across the lunchroom at the popular table. “As if Trevor’s going to be throwing any more parties in this lifetime.”
The kids at Trevor’s usual table—Lux, Bram, and the other shiny, pretty people—were consorting like normal, as if there wasn’t a gaping six-foot-lacrosse-defender-shaped hole there. Saundra leaned toward me, pushing aside her plaid Williams Sonoma thermos. “Tell me everything. Did you actually see him pee himself? I heard he was crying. Was he crying and peeing? Like, at the same time? Can Trevor multitask?”
“He ran down the stairs crying that a clown was out to get him,” I said. “And his pants were wet.”
“Holy crap.”
“I think he was pretty drunk.”
A peal of laughter left Saundra’s lips. “Beautiful,” she said. “If anyone deserves public humiliation, it’s Trevor Driggs.”
I munched on another fry, if only to try to keep my grin from being too obvious.
* * *
My mom noticed a change in me, too. Our normal dinner conversation was sprinkled with inquisitive looks in my direction.
“You’re in a good mood,” she said. “Meeting new people at school?”
This was her not-so-subtle way of asking if I was sharing my toys and making friends. “Mhmm,” I said through a mouthful of the Neapolitan ice cream we were having for dessert.
“Oh, really? Did you join a club, like I suggested?”
I let the ice cream melt on my tongue. “Mhmm.”
“Which one?”
I swallowed. I needed to think quickly. “Knitting.”
“Knitting.”
I shoveled another spoonful of dessert into my mouth. “Mhmm.”
“I didn’t know there was a knitting club at school.”
Neither did I, but now there would have to be. I was mentally kicking myself; I’d probably have to buy some knitting needles and yarn just to keep up with the lie. Which would mean that I would need money. Which reminded me that I needed a job.
“Does the club need an advisor? I took a few knitting lessons once. I could probably—”
“It’s a secret knitting club,” I said too quickly. “So please forget I said anything.”
My mom licked her spoon. “I was only kidding,” she said finally. “Could you imagine me advising a club you were in?”
No. No, I could not.
“I’m glad you’re getting along better with the other students. I just heard about a student who isn’t so lucky. Do you know a boy named Trevor Driggs?”
I swallowed. “I know Trevor. Why?”
“I heard he relieved himself at a party?”
I hadn’t realized the story of a seventeen-year-old boy peeing his pants would reach the teachers’ lounge. “Yeah, I heard that, too. I think he just drank too much.”
The look on my mom’s face was equal parts sad and confused. “It’s not one of those social media challenges? Like for YouTube?”
“No, Mom, definitely not that.”
That sad look was still on Mom’s face. She picked up her glass of iced tea but stopped short of drinking it.
“That poor boy,” Mom said. “How awful.”
“He’s a jerk, Mom.”
“Rachel, have some compassion.”
I continued eating, but couldn’t taste much anymore. My mo
m’s words reverberated in my head, gnawing at that happy feeling I had had just a few hours earlier. Maybe it was true that what we’d done to Trevor was awful, but it was also true that he deserved it. Thayer had suffered daily torment at Trevor’s hands, and we’d helped Thayer level the playing field. I put a terrible person in his place. I wasn’t about to feel bad about it.
I served myself more ice cream and ate it up.
19
THE NEXT NIGHT, Mom shook an already-nuked bag of microwave popcorn in one hand and held up the TV remote in the other. “Wanna watch something?” she asked. “I think a new Gut Stab movie just came out On Demand. Gut Stab Six, I want to say.”
“Sorry,” I said. She’d stopped me on my way out, and I grabbed my jacket off the hook by the door. “I’ve got plans.”
Mom dropped her hands, the popcorn and remote flopping against her pajama pants. “Where are you going?”
“Just seeing some people.” Then I added, haltingly, “Friends.”
“Oh,” Mom said, breaking into a smile. “Saundra?”
“No.” Saundra had been begging me to go on a shopping spree with her, and although holding her bags while she wore down the chip on her credit card sounded great, Madison Avenue would have to wait. “Other people.”
“On a school night?”
“It’s a good thing you don’t care about that kind of thing!” I turned the doorknob. “The Gut Stab movies suck anyway.”
* * *
“Gut Stab Six!” Thayer bellowed. Behind him the projection screen in the Wilding study lowered slowly. “We are about to embark on what is sure to be a perfectly mediocre addition to the horror canon. New Girl, tell me you haven’t seen this one yet.”
“I haven’t seen this one yet.”
“Yes!” Thayer pumped his fist in the air and held it for a moment like he was frozen in the end credits of an ’80s film.
“None of us have seen this one,” Freddie said. “It’s kind of a special occasion.” He sat next to me on the couch and passed me a bowl of fresh popcorn, stopping to look at me for a long moment. “You look different.”
There wasn’t anything different about me. Except the lip gloss I’d applied on the subway on the way here. Saundra had given it to me one day after I complimented her on it. She’d said boys like gloss more than lipstick. I looked the tube up online and saw that it cost sixty-five dollars. It was almost too expensive to wear. I didn’t know why I was wearing it now. Or maybe I did. Maybe it had something to do with the way Freddie was looking at me.
But now I felt self-conscious. I pressed my lips together, trying to subtly smudge away sixty-five dollars. “Different?”
Freddie shook his head. “Not, like, different,” he said, flustered. “Good. Not like…” He pushed his glasses up. “You look nice.”
I smiled, and the gloss stayed put. “So what happens when none of you have seen a movie before?”
Felicity strolled over to where I was sitting and dug into my bowl. “We draw a lottery and stone the winner to death.” She took a seat on the carpet, close to Bram’s chair, and munched on her fistful of popcorn.
“Felicity!” Thayer hissed. “Hush. You’ll scare the poor girl.”
“We play a game,” Bram said distractedly. Something on his phone had his full attention and he reached over to Felicity, tapping her on the shoulder to show her whatever it was. She leaned back, her head resting on the edge of Bram’s knee so she could see what was on his screen. And then she did something I’d never seen her do before. She giggled. She stuck her tongue out at Bram, a giant pink slug breaking through two black lips. And Bram, amazingly, stuck his own tongue out at her.
The whole exchange fascinated me. I wanted to know what was on Bram’s phone, what kind of sorcery he’d just conjured to get Felicity to laugh. But mostly I wanted to know who those two people were, because I’d never met them before. Maybe that meant that one day, Bram might share a joke with me. I imagined the two of us laughing together and felt a pang of something I was too proud to call jealousy.
“We like games,” Freddie whispered, snapping me out of my reverie. “I wasn’t sure if you could tell.”
“Oh, I got it,” I whispered back.
“It’s a senior citizen’s idea of fun,” Bram said.
Thayer pulled a stack of papers out of his backpack and began to hand them out. “Bingo!”
Like, literal bingo. It looked like something Thayer had made using Microsoft Word. It was possibly the dorkiest thing I’d ever seen, and I was totally there for it. There was a five-by-five grid with each box labeled. I looked over my sheet and read them all quickly.
Villain’s not really dead
Hero falls while being chased in woods
“Let’s split up!”
No phone signal
Running upstairs???
Hiding under bed / in closet
Some boxes just had a single word, like:
SEX.
And some boxes came with little questions at the top that I had to fill in myself, like Who will die first? and Body count?, which was the middle square.
“How am I supposed to know who dies first?” I whispered to Freddie.
He held up his own sheet, which he had already started filling in. “You just guess.”
For who would die first he’d simply written The Custodian. I pulled a pen out of my bag and wrote in my own answer: The Childhood Friend.
“Rules are simple,” Thayer said as he killed the lights. “Circle a box when it happens on-screen, yell bingo when you get a line, celebrate your superiority over the rest of us, et cetera, et cetera.”
“Ready?” Bram asked the room. He clicked on the keyboard and Gut Stab Six began.
* * *
The bingo game made Gut Stab Six a lot more enjoyable than it otherwise would’ve been. But so did the fact that I was seeing it with a group of people who felt exactly the same way about it. Which was to say, we all hated it because it was trash (lousy dialogue, bad acting, every horror cliché known to man), but we also watched every minute devoutly because we loved it.
I circled one of my boxes every time there was a corresponding scene in the movie. Thayer giggled and let out a whoop! every time he circled a new box. But Freddie kept missing his. He was distracted.
It reminded me of when we’d first watched a movie together, back at the Film Forum, when we were keenly aware of each other and made sure to keep our eyes glued to the screen. But this time I kept catching Freddie sneaking glances at me.
I checked my bingo sheet, then looked up. Freddie quickly looked down at his own sheet, pretending he hadn’t just been looking at me.
“Creepy Kid,” I whispered.
“Huh?” Freddie said.
I tapped my pen against his paper. “A creepy kid just appeared.”
“Oh.” His glasses reflected the pale blue glow of the movie, hiding his eyes. He pushed them up as he circled the box on his sheet.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
I reached for some popcorn from the bowl sitting between us just as Freddie did the same. Our fingers touched, and we both jerked our hands back as though we’d touched something hot.
“Sorry,” I said quickly, and Freddie said it, too. On the floor in front of us, Felicity whipped around to shush us.
I turned back to the movie, but was distracted by Freddie. I wanted more popcorn, but I was waiting for him to go for it so I would know when the coast was clear. Out of the corner of my eye, I could tell that he was doing the same thing. He watched the movie, then watched me, then grabbed a single piece of popcorn and popped it into his mouth. He ate slowly, his razor-sharp jawline tightening as he chewed. He swallowed, which I took as my signal to take a piece of popcorn. It felt like we were on a seesaw, picking up popcorn and chewing, picking up popcorn and chewing.
We had the whole routine down pat without missing a beat, even when Thayer erupted with a new whoop! But somewhere along the line, when I dipped my fingers into the
bowl, they found Freddie’s fingers again. This time, our fingers stayed put, like they had minds of their own. Freddie’s fingers were soft and slightly slick with butter. On-screen, the blond girl and the brown-haired guy whose names no longer mattered began to take each other’s clothes off.
“Have sex?” Freddie asked.
I tore my eyes from the two gyrating figures on screen and turned to Freddie. “Like … now?”
He pulled his buttery fingers from mine and pointed down at my sheet. “Like there.”
“Oh!” I nearly choked, and I wasn’t even eating popcorn. I circled the SEX box, hoping he couldn’t see how warm my cheeks were.
“Bingo,” Freddie prompted.
“Bingo!” I said a little too loudly.
“Bingo?” Thayer asked. I showed him my sheet and he waved it around, happier for me than I was for myself. “We have a bingo here! You know what that means.”
Felicity whipped her head around, looking uncharacteristically thrilled. Thayer grabbed a handful of his popcorn and flicked it at me. Bram, weirdly, did it, too, a small smile fighting its way onto his face. Freddie laughed and half-heartedly tossed some bits of popcorn on me, too.
Then I learned why Felicity was so happy. She took her full bowl in both hands, walked right up to me, and dumped it over my head.
“It’s tradition,” she announced with a self-satisfied grin.
20
I MAY HAVE just joined the Mary Shelley Club but already I was devoted.
I’d found a pack of weirdos who liked the same things I did, and we shared a secret, which made every minute we spent together feel heightened—alive. We were doing something bad and it felt so good.
In fact, ever since the Mary Shelley Club had come into my life, I’d noticed I didn’t feel as anxious as I normally did. Memories from that terrible night on Long Island stopped storming into my mind unbidden. A club about fear was helping to rid me of mine.
The Mary Shelley Club Page 11
