League of Strays

by Schulman, L. B.

  That wasn’t true. Mom would do cartwheels if she knew I had a boyfriend. Especially one like Kade. Good posture? Check. Good-looking? Check. Polite? Check.

  “Screw your mother,” Kade said. He pressed my face between his hands and squeezed a little too hard. I couldn’t turn my head. Then he scooped down, his mouth traveling up my neck to my earlobe. I felt the sharp pinch of his teeth and shuddered from the pain. Somehow, I managed to free my hand. I rubbed my ear until the sting went away.

  Kade lifted himself onto his elbows and gave me the kind of smile that destroys any seed of anger before it has the chance to grow. “I can hardly stand being around you, Charlie. You really know how to drive a guy crazy.”

  He rolled partially off me as if it were the most difficult thing he’d ever had to do. I inhaled, feeling the sweet rush of air in my lungs. His hand slid under my shirt, tracing a figure eight on my stomach.

  A few weeks earlier, the sum of my romantic experience consisted of a soggy six-second kiss from Jake Saunders in the back of the bus during an eighth-grade orchestra trip. Now, Kade slithered down to my belly button, making slow circles with his tongue. I fought for air like a nonswimmer trying to stay above water.

  “Kade, I really should—”

  “Should, should, should,” he said, flipping onto his back. “Shoulds should be wiped off the face of the planet.”

  The world swirled around me as I staggered to my feet. “Really, I have to go.”

  “I know. I get it, OK?” he snapped.

  My reluctance seemed childish, even to me. I was seventeen. But I didn’t think I was afraid to have sex, I just wasn’t ready for Kade. The insight left me confused and more than a little irritated with myself.

  “Kade, I’m sorry … I …”

  “Just forget it, Charlotte.” He jumped up and started to walk away from me.

  I scrambled to my feet, following him down the path to his motorcycle. He handed me my helmet. I took my position behind him and rested my cheek against his scratchy denim jacket. Gravel shot out from the back tire as we sped off.

  A block from my house, Kade dropped me off. With a parting nod, he gunned the engine and roared away. I stood there, watching him get smaller and smaller until there was nothing left.

  “Charlotte Brody, you’re in serious trouble,” I said to myself.

  I walked home, careful to avoid the cracks in the sidewalk like I used to do when I was six years old.

  OUR NEXT LEAGUE MEETING TOOK PLACE AT A RUSTIC CAFÉ on the edge of town, a forty-five-minute walk from school.

  Nora and I were the first to arrive, followed by Kade and Richie. We sat at a circular table crammed with every condiment known to man. After we ordered, Kade looked at me. “So what do we know about Tiffany Miller?”

  I felt a tug in my stomach. “I thought you said Wanda was next?”

  “Change of plans.” Kade turned to Richie for an answer.

  “Popular. Beautiful. Ambitious,” Richie rattled off.

  “Manipulative,” Nora said. “Slutty. Bitchy.”

  “Don’t we want to wait for Zoe?” I asked. “She said she’d meet us here.”

  Kade glanced out the window. “She can catch up. Back to Tiffany.” He rested his chin on a thumb, tracing a finger back and forth above his lip. “Vice president of the cheerleading association, co-captain of the swim team, part-time clerk at the Beauty Emporium … Charlie?”

  “Prom queen wannabe?”

  “Right. Good one. How could we forget her deepest ambition?”

  I couldn’t keep my eyes off his finger. He caught my gaze and smiled. My cheeks flamed.

  “Tiffany’s the kind of person who steps on other people’s heads to climb the social ladder,” said Nora. “I’ve never understood how popular and cruel can go together.”

  Kade tipped his chair back against the wall. He extended his legs, which didn’t fit under the table. “Any ideas?”

  “Tabasco sauce in her mascara?” Nora suggested.

  The bell above the door jingled. Our heads turned in unison. Zoe stood there, hair hanging in strips, an open umbrella at her side. I looked past her, to the wall of rain outside the window. It was going to be a long walk home.

  “You’re late.” Kade drained his espresso, then pitched the empty paper cup into the nearby trash can. He eyed the tiny puddles dripping from the spokes of Zoe’s umbrella.

  “Yeah, well, my mom was too sick to drive home from the movies, and her car was out of gas, so I had to take the bus to pick her up.” She snapped the umbrella shut. “And then I had to walk all the way”—she looked at the log cabin walls, the remaining tower of biscuits and gravy that Kade and Richie had shared, the collection of tin coffee cups fixed to the wall—“here.”

  “You’re always around for your mother, aren’t you?” Kade asked. It didn’t sound like a compliment.

  “We were just talking about Tiffany,” Richie got in before Zoe had the chance to sling a comeback. “We’re going to do something to embarrass her, like she did to Charlotte at All-State.”

  Kade turned back, Zoe seemingly forgotten. “Good, Rich, good.”

  I looked away, thinking about the story I’d told. Yes, Tiffany had been mean, but nowhere near as cruel as I’d led them to believe. I looked at Kade and wondered if the truth would even matter now.

  “Girls like her need to be brought down a few notches,” Richie said.

  Kade scooted to the edge of his chair, interested. Bolstered by the attention, Richie went on. “Maybe we can shake her confidence. You know, like in public.”

  “That stuff happened a while ago,” I said, forcing the words out. “I’ve been thinking, maybe we should skip my turn.”

  “How can you say that after she ruined your chances for All-State?” Nora asked. She reached across the table to swipe Kade’s toast. “It should be someplace where we can watch, that’s what I think.”

  Kade bolted up in his chair. “The prom parade! It heads down Jefferson and turns onto Main Street.”

  The annual Kennedy High parade was this Saturday, April 28th—one week before prom. I looked down at my cranberry muffin, which I’d unconsciously mangled. The crumbs rolled off my fingers and onto the floor. “Isn’t that kind of soon? You know, to plan and everything?”

  Kade dismissed my concern with a wave.

  “How come you always know so much?” Nora asked him, ruffling his hair.

  I bit the fleshy inside of my lip. Now that she knew about Kade and me—and I knew how she felt about him—every touch was suspect.

  Kade scooted away. Nora was too clueless to realize that he didn’t like anyone messing with his hair. “They pass under my apartment every year,” he said, repairing a spike. “It’s a lot of obnoxious honking and waving from daddies’ sports cars. I lock myself in the bathroom and try not to barf.”

  For the next ten minutes, they outlined ideas with a disconcerting amount of detail. “If we use the roof on the apartment at the corner, Reid can’t tie it back to me,” Kade said. Then he added, “Or you guys.”

  The new plan was based on his favorite horror novel by Stephen King, named for its main character, Carrie—an unpopular girl who becomes a school joke when she’s elected prom queen. While she stands onstage, wearing a tiara and smiling, some of her classmates douse her in pigs’ blood. Thankfully, we didn’t have to slaughter a harmless farm animal—not when you could buy red paint on clearance at Grodin’s Hardware.

  Kade called his plan “Carrie’s Revenge,” because this time, it was the popular girl who was going to get it.

  “Tiffany deserves payback, Charlie,” Kade said, reading the hesitation in my eyes. Under the table, his warm hand cupped my knee.

  I nodded, but I couldn’t help but wonder, does she really?

  KENNEDY HIGH WAS THE LAST PLACE I WANTED TO BE ON the Friday before the prom parade. The weather had finally changed, and all that sunshine was drying up my motivation. My grades were less than optimal, but with only seven weeks le
ft, it would take too much of an effort to fix them.

  Tiffany Miller declared that spring was here to stay by making her annual switch from Uggs to sandals with straps that crossed up her aerobicized calves. As I watched her glide through the cafeteria, rousing the male population from hibernation, I didn’t know whether to be impressed or disgusted.

  Nearby, the prom committee pecked at their salads while twisting sheets of colored tissue paper together. They hauled two trash bags, fat with paper flowers, out to the parking lot.

  Kade said our plan would be a great show for all the people who hated Tiffany as much as we did. The weird part was, as we hashed it out, I realized that I didn’t hate her.

  I cast my doubts aside and headed to speech. As I turned the corner, Mrs. Roach, the school secretary, was stationed in the middle of the hallway, interrogating Zoe. I slowed, pretending to search through a notebook for something vitally important to my academic success.

  “This isn’t open for debate,” the office ogre growled. “Mr. Reid wants to see you a.s.a.p.”

  “Sorry, no can do. Big test today,” Zoe said.

  “Right now.” Roach took off.

  Zoe exhaled an audible sigh and strode after her.

  They passed by Richie, who flattened himself against a classroom door and stared at Zoe with deer-caught-in-the-headlight eyes. She glanced at him and planted a hand on her hip. The sign for “something sucks.”

  Don’t panic, I told myself. But I couldn’t come up with a single reason why Zoe would be called into Mr. Reid’s office other than her involvement with the League. At least I could trust Zoe’s loyalty; I knew that now. She’d waited a long time for her chance with Wanda, too. I didn’t think she’d jeopardize it by turning us in before she’d had her turn.

  Richie scuttled off to class, but I ducked into the supply closet across from the office and opened the door a crack so I could watch for Zoe. She emerged fifteen minutes later, not at all surprised by my sudden appearance. She tilted her head toward the stairwell.

  When we were alone, she plunked down on a step. “Whew, that was close. I added a little zinger to my latte an hour ago. I was afraid he could smell it on my breath.”

  I stared at her. But all I said was, “Is that why he called you in?”

  “No. They found my dog tag on the gym office floor.”

  “Dog tag?”

  “You know, the kind they wore in Vietnam? You can order personalized ones on the Internet.”

  I stopped breathing mid-exhale. “Your name was on it?”

  She shook her head. “I went for the motivational saying instead. Walt Whitman: ‘Whatever satisfies the soul is truth.’ Pretty cool huh?”

  “I don’t get it. How did they connect the tag to you if your name wasn’t on it?”

  “Apparently, Tags Express keeps records, you know, in case the police ever come calling.”

  The stairs buckled. I reached for the railing.

  “I’ve got everything under control, Charlotte.”

  “But Reid’s got proof you were there.” I sat down beside her, sinking my chin into my hands.

  “I told him I lost it in gym class.”

  “Did he believe you?”

  “Who cares? It’s all he’s got, and it ain’t much.”

  “Where’s the dog tag?” I asked. “Did he give it back?”

  “He says I can have it when he solves the case.”

  Maybe Zoe wasn’t concerned, but I felt sick. We sat there, steeped in silence. Finally, I stood up. “This is the third time I’ve been late for speech. I’m going to get detention.”

  “Tell Ricker you have killer cramps and wink at him,” she advised, saluting me with a scrap of blue paper. “Think I’ll take advantage of this late pass and grab some fries at McDonald’s. Want anything?”

  I shook my head. She descended the stairs and left.

  I was going to get detention, anyway, and there were only ten minutes left of class, so I parked myself in front of the trophy case and waited. Kade would know what to do. When the bell rang, I pressed my back to the glass to keep from being trampled. He stalked by me without a glance. I reached for his elbow, but he jerked away, reversing directions. He was moving fast, against traffic. I ran behind him to the practice rooms.

  He yanked the curtain across the glass door and swept a music stand to the side. It teetered like the pendulum of a grandfather clock. I reached out, steadying it.

  “I have to tell you—” I began.

  “Zoe, right? Richie texted me.”

  “Mr. Reid has her dog tag. They found it in the gym office. He said—”

  “Listen, Charlie. Until you know otherwise, treat threats like bluffs.”

  “But can’t they link us to the … ?” I fumbled for the word, not liking the options. Vandalism? Arson? Crime?

  “They didn’t see her actually drop it,” he said, impatient with my fear. “She could’ve lost it anytime.” He turned his back to me, a hand on the door. “In the future, if you want to talk to me, leave a note in my locker. I don’t appreciate you waiting for me at the busiest intersection in Kennedy High.”

  With a muffled thud, the heavy door shut behind him.

  THE CROWD CHEERED AS THE SHINY CONVERTIBLES, COVered with paper flower garlands, inched down the street. Prom princesses waving in slow motion; the breeze flipping flat-ironed hair into their smiling mouths. I bet they grinned in the bathroom mirror to train their jaw muscles for the job.

  I stood at my assigned post, waiting for my cell phone to launch into the “William Tell Overture.” Two minutes later, trumpets sounded. “Hello?”

  “Just saw Tiffany,” Richie reported. “The boyfriend’s driving.”

  “On Main Street, one minute and counting,” I heard Zoe say in the background.

  I was practically spitting distance from Kade, but I followed instructions and typed the text.

  It’s time.

  My finger wavered over the Send button. I looked up to find him watching me, an eyebrow raised. I nodded once, then sent it.

  He passed his apartment and headed for the building at the end of the block. Thanks to a wad of duct tape inserted in the locking mechanism, the door opened without a hitch. When he disappeared inside, I counted to fifty, then followed him. The spiral staircase, winding up six flights, reeked of urine.

  Out on the roof, Nora perched on the half-wall border of an urban garden, her Hawaiian flip-flops resting on two gallons of paint.

  “Nice day for a parade, huh?” she said.

  I wished it were raining.

  Stop it, Charlotte, I told myself, Tiffany deserves this. Think about the spitballs in your hair, the ink-stained clothes, the insults.

  It dawned on me that my failure at All-State auditions had been more my fault than hers. I could have just blown off her stupid comment. I could have walked into the audition room, confident in my preparation. I could have tuned out everything but the music, and it would have all turned out differently.

  “There she is!” Nora squealed, pointing.

  The Kennedy High Marching Band blasted out “A Natural Woman.” A string of cars followed the tuba player. Tiffany’s yellow convertible was fourth in line. She waved to the spectators on her left, then turned to acknowledge the crowd on the right.

  Using a pair of kitchen scissors, Kade pried the tops off the paint cans. He and Nora hovered by the edge of the roof. They held a gallon of Royal Red, waiting for their cue.

  I knew this one act could stamp the “happily ever after” out of Tiffany Miller’s fairy-tale existence. At least the high school version. It was powerful and unsettling to know before anyone else that someone’s life was about to change.

  “OK, I don’t think—” I started.

  Kade and Nora only heard the “OK.” I cringed as cans of paint tipped forward, bleeding red ribbons down the side of the building. Without waiting to see the outcome, we sprinted down the stairs to the ground floor and flew out the door. Kade squeezed our hands
before blending into the chaos.

  I hid behind a telephone pole so Tiffany couldn’t see me. But she wasn’t looking, anyway. Her manicured hand slid over the bodice of her dress, smearing red paint into pink satin. Her boyfriend swerved the car to the side and twisted around, gawking at her. The paint dribbled down the sides of her car, and Mrs. Horton, the digital arts teacher, dashed over and tried to remove it with a wad of Kleenex.

  The prom princesses craned their necks around, each with a pastel cell phone pressed to an ear. Their plastic smiles were gone, replaced by genuine expressions of pleasure. I couldn’t believe that I’d ever envied Tiffany her entourage. These girls weren’t anyone’s friends.

  Nora leaned against a stop sign, smirking with satisfaction. Richie and Zoe watched the scene unfold from the convenience store. Kade was supposed to be in front of the Laundromat, but I couldn’t see him anywhere.

  The crowd was surrounding Tiffany’s car when I heard a piercing scream. I abandoned my post and stepped toward the yellow Volkswagen. Tiffany was as still as a portrait, clutching the shiny pink dress to her chest. All I could do was stare at the spaghetti straps of her gown. Cut.

  I found Kade at his apartment door, the curved handle of the scissors poking out of his back pocket. Something black was clutched in his fist.

  “What happened?” I whispered to the man beside me, keeping my eyes on Kade.

  “Some guy in a ski mask gave us all a show.” I could hear the smile in his voice without even looking. “He ran off before anyone could stop him.”

  Snickers from the crowd swelled to laughter. I closed my eyes, the only way I could think to give Tiffany her privacy. How could Kade do that? Nora’s words echoed in my ear: You might not know Kade Harlin as well as you think.

  If I asked him why he’d done this, he’d say he’d done it for me. But that wasn’t the truth. It was for him.