I tap out one quick answer.
sooooooo fun thanks for asking more tomorrow I’m sleepy! xo
Then I toss the phone on the floor, and as I slide into sleep, my mind is full of images of girls dancing together and smiling and holding hands, taking up all the space they want.
* * *
The meet up at the VFW hall changes the energy at school—and in a good way. Girls who normally don’t have much to do with each other say hi in the hallways, smiling at each other when they pass. I mean, it’s still the same in a lot of ways—I hear guys arguing about whether Emma Johnson deserved to win March Madness even though she’s still a junior, and Mitchell and his friends still tell girls to make them sandwiches and try to bump ’n’ grab—but still, there’s something about those first few days after Kiera’s event that feel different. Like we’re all just a little bit more aware. Awake.
“I wonder if whoever is making the Moxie newsletter is a senior,” Claudia says as she and I meet up with Lucy outside school before the first bell. “When they graduate, maybe it will stop.”
“Yeah, but even if it is a senior making the newsletters,” says Lucy, pulling her curls up into a ponytail, “it almost doesn’t matter. After Saturday, doesn’t it feel like Moxie could just keep happening no matter what?”
“So you don’t think Kiera started it?” Claudia asks.
Lucy shakes her head. “I don’t think so. Kiera’s flyer had a different feel to it than the newsletters. Just like my bake sale flyers had a different look. Because I didn’t make the newsletters either.”
“I think Lucy is right,” I say.
“That Kiera didn’t make the newsletters?” asks Claudia.
“Well, yeah,” I answer, “but also that it doesn’t matter who made them at all, even if they’re graduating. Because Moxie is a thing that’s everyone’s.” I glance at Claudia, hesitating, then say, “I mean, I think it belongs to girls who care about being feminists.”
Claudia doesn’t respond. Just nods, like she wants to think it over. At that moment, my phone buzzes.
Come to the front doors of the school you won’t believe it
“It’s Sara,” I say, peering down at the text. “Something’s going on around front.”
We make our way around to the front steps of East Rockport High. A crowd is gathering around the stairs that lead to two sets of large, gray metal doors. But you can barely see the doors because they’re covered in bright pink flyers. The buzz of students’ voices grows louder with each passing moment.
Sara spots us, races over with a flyer in her hand. Breathless, she hands it over and we stare.
“Holy shit,” says Lucy.
Because really, that’s all there is to say.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Of course, it’s all anyone can talk about. But weirdly, East Rockport almost feels quieter than normal. Because people are so stunned by the flyer that they are whispering, speaking in hushed voices. Not even opening their mouths so much as staring at each other with can-you-believe-it? looks on their faces.
Here and there, I catch snippets of conversation.
“Has anyone seen Mitchell?”
“Who do you think did this?”
“Do you think it’s true?”
Lucy has to leave us to head to first period, but Claudia and I walk to history class together, Claudia’s hand clutching the paper, her eyes scanning the words over and over.
“Claudia, watch out,” I say, tugging on her elbow. “You almost ran into a wall.”
“Huh?” Claudia says, looking up at me at last. “Oh. Sorry.”
“You okay?” I ask.
Claudia frowns and shakes her head. She doesn’t have to talk for me to know what she’s thinking as she stares at the flyer. This could have been me.
Claudia heads into history class, but just as I’m about to walk in, Seth comes around the corner, holding a flyer like everyone else. He leans in to kiss me, but I freeze up. I don’t feel like kissing.
“You okay?” he says, pulling back. A hurt expression crosses his face. I pretend it’s not there.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I say. “Just … that flyer. It’s disturbing.”
“I know,” he says. “You have any idea who did it?” But I shake my head no.
“You think it’s true?” he asks.
Now it’s my turn to pull back. My throat tightens up. My chest feels heavy.
“Of course it’s true,” I say. I look around and then, practically mouthing the words, I say, “I told you what he did to Claudia.”
Seth nods, like he’d forgotten all about Claudia. Maybe he has. “Yeah, of course. I mean, I know he did that. And it’s gross. But this girl”—he holds the flyer up—“she’s saying he tried to rape her.”
“I know,” I say. “And?”
“Just that that’s a really big accusation to make against a guy, that’s all.”
I don’t even know what to say. I stare at Seth. I want him to be on my side. Defending this girl with me.
“Look, I’m not saying it’s not true,” says Seth, flustered. “Just that this is a pretty big accusation and I’m just, like, surprised she put it out there like this instead of letting the school handle it.”
“But she said they didn’t listen to her, and when Claudia went to the school they told her to use winter break to forget about what happened,” I say. I can feel heat radiating off my face. I tug on the shoulder straps of my backpack and hug it closer to me. “Look, I’m going to be late.”
“Okay, fine, I was just making a point,” Seth says. “I’m not saying it didn’t happen.”
“I guess it kind of sounded like you were saying that,” I snap.
“Look, Vivian, calm down,” he says. “I’m not…”
“Let’s talk later,” I say, angry. “And don’t tell me to calm down.”
Seth steps back, like I’ve just punched him hard in the gut.
I walk into class, blinking back tears I didn’t know were threatening to spill out.
“You okay?” Claudia asks as I take my seat in front of her.
“I just got into a…” I search for a better word, but there isn’t one. “I got into a fight with Seth. He was saying he wonders if the girl who made the flyer is even telling the truth.”
Just then the bell rings, but our teacher, Mrs. Robbins, isn’t there. Everyone around us is talking about the flyers, but Claudia leans in toward me, her face concerned. “I’m sorry, Vivvy. What happened?” But I don’t get a chance to answer because suddenly Mrs. Robbins walks in with more purpose than she’s exhibited all year. Clapping her hands together, she barks at us to pay attention.
“I’ve just come from an emergency faculty meeting,” she says, acting as if an emergency faculty meeting is the equivalent of high-level nuclear disarmament talks. “Principal Wilson is about to make an announcement. All of you need to listen very carefully.” She stares at all of us, but it feels like her icy gaze lingers longer on the girls.
A few moments later, the intercom makes a tinny beep. Then Principal Wilson’s gruff voice begins talking, his twang thick with anger.
“Students of East Rockport, it has come to my attention that a flyer is making its way around the school calling for a walkout tomorrow afternoon,” he says. I imagine him standing in his office, talking into a microphone like he’s the dictator of a small country.
“Any student who walks out of this school will be suspended immediately, and I will begin the process of expulsion immediately,” he says. At this heads turn and whispers start, but Mrs. Robbins claps her hands agains and shouts, “Listen up, people!”
“Regarding the situation in the flyer itself,” continues Principal Wilson, “please know the administration is looking into the allegations. Safety for our students is a top concern, of course.” The words are so perfunctory and laughable I can’t help but turn in my seat and roll my eyes at Claudia and Sara. I don’t care if Mrs. Robbins sees.
“Now let’
s get back to learning,” he says. “Our custodial staff is in the process of removing the flyers. Any flyer found will be confiscated.”
I sit at my desk, burning with rage. He’s looking into the allegations involving his own asshole son. A visit from Martians during lunchtime is more likely.
Mrs. Robbins tries to run class, but all of us are distracted, and my mind keeps spinning in circles, thinking about both Seth and the walkout. When the bell rings, Claudia asks Sara and me if we’re going to participate on Friday.
“I think I want to do it,” I say as we maneuver through the hallway. It surprises me as soon as it’s out of my mouth. But it’s the only possible answer. The only one that makes sense.
“You’re not afraid of getting expelled?” Claudia asks, twisting up her mouth in concern.
A girl I don’t know all that well—she’s only a freshman, I think—overhears us.
“Look, Wilson can’t expel us if we all walk out,” she insists. “Moxie girls fight back, right?” I remember her from the VFW hall, and in this moment I know for sure that Moxie is out of my hands. It’s thrilling and terrifying at the same time.
Just then Claudia’s phone buzzes. She looks down and gasps.
“What?” Sara asks, alarmed.
“Check your phones,” she says. “Meg texted us.”
Wilson pulled Lucy out of first period … she never came back. He was PISSED
“Shit,” I say. “Why did she have to be so by the book and fill out that form for the bake sale?”
“But she didn’t make the flyers, right?” Sara asks.
“No, but Wilson only wants someone he can pin this on,” I say. I remember Lucy crying in her bedroom, worrying about college scholarships. My stomach knots up. “God, I hope he only brought her in to question her.”
But by English no one has spotted Lucy, and she doesn’t show up for class. Neither does Mitchell Wilson, for that matter, which causes another round of whispers. When Seth walks in, he doesn’t look at me and I don’t look at him. I swallow hard and try to ignore the ache in my throat. I bite the inside of my cheeks to keep from crying. Everything feels so fucked up.
Before Mr. Davies starts class, I text Lucy for the tenth time.
Where are you????? Please tell me you’re okay
Nothing.
Finally, at the end of the day, Lucy texts back.
I got suspended. I’m a mess.… can you please come over? But just you, ok? I can’t take a hundred million questions from everyone.
I text back right away.
I’ll get there somehow I promise
I dart through the halls looking for Claudia, hoping she borrowed her mom’s car to drive to school like she sometimes does. When I see her, I tell her what’s happened and ask if she can take me to Lucy’s. She says yes without hesitating.
As we drive to Lucy’s house, I tell Claudia that Lucy only wants me to come in.
“I hope you understand,” I say. I think back to earlier in the year. To the times when Claudia acted a little bit irritated by Lucy.
Claudia nods. “It’s okay. I get it.” She pulls up to Lucy’s grandmother’s house. “Tell her I’m sorry, though, okay?”
I smile at my best friend since forever and start to open the car door.
“Hey,” Claudia says, stopping me. I turn back to find her looking at me intently. She bites her bottom lip.
“What is it? Are you okay?”
“It’s just…,” she starts, her voice a little shaky, “I kind of feel like I want to do the walkout. I know it’s crazy, maybe. But part of me really wants to do it. Because screw Mitchell Wilson and his dad.”
My smile grows bigger, and I reach out to hug Claudia. “I think you’re a badass,” I whisper into her ear. “And a really good friend.” Her hug feels like everything good and warm and familiar.
“I love you, Viv,” she whispers back.
“I love you, too.”
When I knock on Lucy’s front door, Lucy’s grandmother greets me, her mouth turned down in a tight frown.
“I’m not sure if I should let you in,” she says. “Lucy never got in trouble at the school before. Suspended? Qué barbaridad!”
“Abuelita, please let her in!” comes Lucy’s voice from the top of the stairs, strained and tight.
Lucy’s grandmother rolls her eyes slightly and then steps back, and soon I’m in Lucy’s cluttered room. My friend is curled up on her bed, her eyes red from crying.
“I’m so fucked,” she says, reaching for a relatively clean Kleenex from the mountain of crumpled tissues spread out before her and dabs her eyes.
“Oh, Lucy, I’m so sorry,” I say, sinking onto the bed. All the guilt I felt when Lucy was sent home after the assembly about the stickers starts to build again, making me sick to my stomach. “What happened?”
In long, rushed phrases punctuated by half sobs and sniffles, Lucy tells me how she was hauled out of first period and taken directly to Principal Wilson’s office (“It’s like a shrine to the football team in there, in cases you’re wondering”) and how Principal Wilson accused her of making the flyer since the Moxie name was on it. When Lucy denied it and refused to provide any information, Principal Wilson told her he didn’t believe her.
“So he thinks you accused Mitchell of trying to rape you?” I say.
“That’s the thing,” Lucy says, sitting up, rubbing her eyes. “It was like he knew the flyer wasn’t about me—which it isn’t—but he was still accusing me of making it.”
“So you think he knows who Mitchell tried to rape?”
Lucy shrugs, takes the tissue in her hand, and squeezes it into a tight ball before throwing it off the side of her bed. “Yeah,” she says. “I mean, the flyer said the girl went and told him, so he must.”
“So now what?” I ask, frowning.
“I’m suspended tomorrow,” she says. “He’s not expelling me, but he says he’s going to contact every college I apply to next year, to let them know what I did.” I expect her to start wailing at this, but instead she just slides back against her bedroom wall and stares out numbly at the space in front of her. “I wish I knew who started Moxie,” she says. “I would ask them what the hell to do next.”
My heart starts to pound, then journey up to my throat. I open my mouth, then close it.
I can’t do it. But I have to do it.
“So I won’t be at school tomorrow,” Lucy continues. “He made sure that I wouldn’t be there for the walkout. Since he thinks I’m the leader of Moxie, I guess he assumes that if I’m absent, I’ll be less of an influence.”
Once I say it, there’s no going back.
I look down at my hands. They’re gripping Lucy’s lavender-flowered bedspread so tight the veins in my knuckles are popping out.
“I have to tell you something,” I say, and now it’s too late to stop for sure.
“What?”
I swallow hard. I take a deep breath.
“I made Moxie,” I say out loud. At last. “I made the zines. Everyone keeps calling them newsletters, but they’re zines. I made the stickers, and I started the bathrobe thing and the stars-and-the-hearts-on-the-hands thing. It was me. I got inspired by my mom’s Riot Grrrl stuff from the ’90s. The only other person who knows is Seth, but I think maybe now we’ve broken up or something, so … I don’t know. But I did it. I started it.” My throat starts to tighten up. I swallow and feel my face start to flush.
Lucy stares at me and then, slowly, her body slides off the bed until she collases into a lump on the messy floor.
“Lucy?” I say.
She looks up at me and says, slowly and deliberately, “You. Are. Shitting. Me.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I really did it.” My heart is still hammering, trying to catch up with what I’ve just done.
“But you didn’t do the flyer this morning?” she asks, concerned.
“No,” I say. “And Kiera did the VFW hall thing and you did the bake sale. I have no idea who ma
de the flyer. Or who put the stickers on Principal Wilson’s car.”
“Holy shit, Viv!” Lucy says, standing up.
“Are you mad at me?” I feel tears start to fight their way out, but I hold them back. I can’t be the one who’s upset here. Lucy should be mad at me. I lied to her so much.
“Why would I be mad at you?” She’s almost shouting. “And why am I standing up?” Then she falls back down on her bed with a flop.
“I can’t let you take the fall for this, Lucy,” I say, my voice cracking a bit. “I can’t let you get in trouble for the walkout when you didn’t even start Moxie.” I imagine turning myself in to Principal Wilson. Meemaw and Grandpa will be scandalized. I’m not sure how my mom will feel. But it’s the right thing to do. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I probably should have. The whole thing has just gotten out of control.”
Lucy sits up. “Oh, Viv, it’s okay. I mean, I guess I am a little hurt you didn’t tell me. But the truth is, Moxie was almost more powerful because it didn’t have a leader, you know? Like, I can see why you did it that way.” Then she shoots me a rueful grin. “And anyway, maybe it’s better I didn’t know. I always have had trouble keeping my big mouth shut.”
I manage a smile. It’s nice she’s taking it so well. But still.
“I need to go in to talk to Wilson,” I say. “I have to.”
“I don’t know,” she answers. “I’m already in trouble for putting my name on the form. Wilson probably won’t even believe you. And he’d rather blame some Mexican girl from the city than a nice white girl like you who’s been here all her life.”
I flop back on Lucy’s bed. There’s a tiny crack running across the ceiling. I trace it with my eyes until the tears finally come. I let them stream down my cheeks, not even trying to stop them.
“Viv?” Lucy says.
“Everything is so screwed up,” I say. “Moxie’s gotten out of hand. And now Seth and I are in a fight, and you’re in trouble, and it’s all messed up. And what does it matter? Nothing is going to change. Nothing. I should have just done what my mom always planned for me to do and kept my head down and got into college and gotten out of here.”
Moxie: A Novel Page 21
