Heretics Anonymous

by Katie Henry

  I am so screwed.

  “There you are,” Dad says, clomping down the porch stairs, and I walk toward him, only to keep him as far away from Alex as possible. “Why didn’t you answer me?”

  “I didn’t hear you.” I keep my eyes down in case they’re red and my hands in my pockets in case they smell and I can’t think of anything else to do or I’d do it.

  “Oh, like hell,” he says.

  I don’t say anything, because I can feel a tickle in my throat, and if I cough, he’ll know, he’ll just know.

  Dad looks over my shoulder. “What’s he doing?”

  Alex is underneath the tree, letting the droopy branches cover his face. “It’s a willow!” he crows.

  “It’s a willow,” I repeat for Dad, as straight-faced as I can.

  “I love willows!”

  “He loves willows.”

  Dad shakes his head and focuses back on me. The tickle in my windpipe is getting worse. I clear my throat. It doesn’t help.

  “What happened tonight was completely unacceptable.”

  Thanksgiving is all about firsts. The first night Native Americans ate dinner with genocidal dicks who would later steal their land, and also the first time I have to listen to a Dad lecture while high. Not that I’m actually listening. The itch in my throat has evolved into whatever comes after an itch. A worse itch. It feels like poison ivy and mosquito bites and scratchy sweaters all rolled into one, but I can’t cough. I won’t cough. I think he’s figured out something’s up with Alex, but Alex isn’t his kid.

  “. . . but this is beyond an adjustment period, this is a full-blown attitude issue . . .”

  I’m not going to be able to hold it in. I can feel it. It wants to get out. Like a lion in a cage. Or a butterfly in a caveman’s stomach. My chest hitches.

  “. . . and if you think because I’m not in the house twenty-four/seven, I’m going to let you act this way, then . . .”

  It hitches again. I am not going to cough I am not going to cough.

  “. . . because I’m so sick of it, Michael, I’m sick of this disrespectful, immature . . .”

  There are tears streaming down my face. I am crying. I am trying so hard not to cough, my body has found another expressive outlet and that outlet is my tear ducts. If I hadn’t already put so much effort into not seeming high, I would be laughing hysterically.

  It takes me a second to notice Dad’s stopped talking. I glance up at him, and he looks taken aback. I guess by the tears.

  “I—” he stutters, and actually looks sorry for a second. “I didn’t—” He clears his throat, and I take the opportunity to cough. But only twice. Quietly.

  “So,” he continues. “We’re clear, then?”

  I nod.

  “And you’re going to work on this?”

  I nod again and swipe at my eyes with my shirtsleeve. Just to rub it in.

  Dad claps me on the shoulder. “Good.”

  He steps away from me, and I think I might actually be in the clear. The butterflies have died down. Or maybe just died. How long could they swim around in a person’s stomach acids, anyway?

  “I’m getting my keys, and then I’ll drive you to the train station,” Dad says to Alex. He looks back over at me. “Do you want to come?”

  Oh please no. I clear my throat for a full three seconds before saying, “I’ll stay.” I feel like I need a reason, so I add, “Dishes.”

  Dad nods in a way that almost looks like approval. “I’m sure your mom could use the help. I’ll be out front in five minutes, Alex.”

  He goes back into the house. I’d breathe a long sigh of relief if I didn’t think I’d start coughing again. Alex leans over our neighbor’s fence, trying and failing to hug the tree.

  “You know what’s great?” he says. “This tree.”

  “You know what’s terrible? Your weed.”

  “I want to take this tree with me. I want to put this tree in my suitcase and take it back with me.”

  This person is an adult. He can vote. He can buy beer. He can even rent a car.

  “Alex,” I remind him. “You didn’t bring a suitcase.”

  13

  THE DAY WE come back from Thanksgiving break, Eden and Max call an HA meeting. This is new—as long as I’ve been here, Lucy has set the meetings. When they tell us at lunch, Lucy looks as surprised as I am. And when we arrive that afternoon, they’re standing at the front of the room, clearly planning something.

  “Personally, I think the video went better than expected,” Eden starts off as Lucy, Avi, and I take seats on the couch and chairs. We all agree it did.

  “And that just means we have to keep the energy going,” Max says.

  “Obviously, we can’t do a big event every week—”

  “—but we don’t want the school to forget we exist.”

  “Did you guys practice this?” Avi asks.

  “No,” Eden says, at the same time Max says, “Yes.”

  Eden gives Max an exasperated look. She turns to the rest of us. “So, I propose we create a symbol—something we can leave around the school for people to find, something to remind them Heretics Anonymous is still here, gearing up for the next thing.”

  “Sure,” Lucy says. “Just the letters HA? Maybe in red?”

  “We actually have some thoughts on that,” Eden says. “Max?”

  Max jogs over to the broken whiteboard pushed up against one wall of the room, its surface gray and dusty. He pulls a whiteboard marker out of his pocket and begins drawing intersecting circles. He steps back, revealing this:

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “A five-fold,” Eden says. “It’s Celtic, it’s supposed to represent the interconnectedness of things.”

  “And there’s five rings, just like there’s five of us!” Max adds.

  “It’s pretty,” Lucy says. “It won’t be that pretty when I draw it, though.”

  “I looked for other symbols from old heretical Christian groups, but I liked the meaning of the five-fold. We’re all in this together.” Eden shakes her head. “Catholicism never felt like that, for me. It always seemed like I had to squeeze myself in, leave parts of me behind. Now, I feel like my religion wants all of me, because everything and everyone is connected—no matter what we believe.”

  Lucy’s mouth tightens. Is she thinking about the parts she has to leave behind to be a good Catholic? The parts that her own faith doesn’t want or value? Lucy with all her brilliant ideas, Lucy with all her steel and softness, Lucy who will never be a priest. I wonder if she’d really shut herself off from everything she could feel, and do, and be, for something that will probably never happen.

  I want to think she wouldn’t. I know she would.

  “It’s great,” Lucy says. “Thanks, you guys.”

  “We’re not actually done,” Eden says. “Max and I have an idea for our next big project.”

  “Has this ever happened to you?” Max says, sounding uncannily like an infomercial voiceover. “You get dressed in the morning in totally normal clothing that you like, but then—” He pauses dramatically. “They slap you with a dress code violation. Your skirt’s too short. Your shirt’s not tucked in. Your perfectly normal blazer-alternative’s not from the uniform company, which isn’t even your fault, because you’ve written multiple emails about how they should carry cloaks—”

  “We’d like to do something about the dress code,” Eden interrupts smoothly.

  I’m down. But when I look over at Avi and Lucy, they don’t look the least bit enthused. Eden presses on.

  “Little things,” she says. “Figuring out small ways to subvert the dress code and sharing them with the school. There are tons of loopholes, and it would show just how silly our uniform policies are.”

  “Works for me,” I say, but Avi and Lucy stay quiet.

  “I don’t mind the uniform,” Avi admits.

  “This is Catholic school,” Lucy adds. “They have uniforms, it’s kind of their deal.”

&nb
sp; Eden’s mouth drops. “It’s their deal that you can wear a saint medal, but I can’t wear earrings with my religious symbols on them? It’s their deal that girls have to constantly check how much skin they’re showing, and get shamed if they don’t?”

  “Eden, come on,” Lucy says.

  “It’s not fair. We shouldn’t have to look—”

  “Or act,” Max adds.

  “—like everybody else just to be taken seriously. That’s something we deserve no matter what. Everybody deserves that.”

  “I know,” Lucy says. “But is this really the best we can do? It’s just the dress code.”

  “Oh, whatever,” Eden snaps. “You only feel that way because this is how you’d dress regardless.”

  Lucy scoffs. “You think I’d wear the same outfit every day? Like a cartoon character?”

  “The dress code just seems like . . . the smallest thing,” Avi says.

  Eden throws up her hands. “The smallest— You guys are being ridiculous! This is important, it’s—”

  “No,” Max says quietly, and Eden stops. “They’re right.”

  Everyone turns to look at him.

  “It is the smallest thing,” he repeats. “We can’t even have the smallest thing.”

  Then there’s silence. Avi looks at his shoes. Lucy folds her hands.

  “I think we should do it,” I blurt out.

  “Yes, we all know you hate your tie,” Avi says.

  And then I realize it. “We should do it because it’s important to Eden and Max. It doesn’t matter why. If it’s important to one of us, it’s important to all of us. Isn’t that what our symbol means?”

  Lucy and Avi share a glance. Lucy nods. “You’re right,” she says. “We should do it.”

  Without even having to look at each other, Eden and Max share a high five.

  “Any other business?” Lucy says, looking around the room. I raise my hand.

  “I think we should add Eden’s symbol to the club manifesto,” I suggest, and everyone agrees.

  Each armed with a marker from a box of abandoned school supplies, one by one, we draw a circle at the top of the sheet. Eden’s first, with a green circle in the center. Then Avi, with gray, then Max with purple, like his cape. The circles overlap, the ink bleeding through and melding into an odd-looking brown. Lucy and I go last, her with blue, me with red, like her ribbon.

  We all stand back to look at it, five mismatched, misshapen circles that somehow transform into something that matters.

  We’ve got a symbol, and we’ve got a plan.

  Over the next week, five-fold circles begin popping up around St. Clare’s. There’s one in purple on a cafeteria table. One in my math classroom, drawn perfectly with a compass. On Tuesday, after lunch, every library computer has an HA symbol as its desktop background. Just as theology class starts on Friday, I notice one on the empty desk behind mine.

  “When did you draw that?” I ask Lucy and Avi. It had to have been them—Eden and Max have a different theology teacher. Lucy looks at Avi. He shakes his head.

  “We didn’t,” she says.

  14

  EDEN’S THE ONE who sees it.

  I’m standing with her and Max by the locker bays before first period on December 7. Max is explaining the plot of his new favorite fantasy series when Eden looks up over his shoulder and tilts her head to the side.

  “What?” I say, searching the stucco ceiling for whatever it is she’s staring at.

  “Look,” she says, and points. “There.”

  It’s a little glass dome tucked in the corner of the hallway ceiling, with a bright red light on the side.

  “What is it?” Max asks.

  “It’s a camera,” Eden says. “A security camera.”

  “I don’t remember that being there before,” I say.

  Eden frowns. “I don’t think it was.”

  “Did there used to be cameras at all?” Max asks.

  “A few by the gate, I think.” Eden shrugs. “They’re more worried about people outside St. Clare’s than people in it. Or were, I guess.”

  I bet I know what changed their minds. “Will this be a problem for . . . study group?” We have a meeting set for after school.

  Eden considers. “I don’t know. I’ll look around. Maybe tell Avi and Lucy not to go down until I check it out.”

  We have new lab groups in chemistry, and two minutes into class, I’m already sick of mine. Connor and his girlfriend, Jess, keep trying to play footsie under the table but end up kicking me. Theresa doesn’t have to do anything to annoy me besides exist.

  The morning announcements are the same as always—track-and-field tryouts are on Friday, talk to Sister Joseph Marie about attending the local March for Life, we still don’t have a football team—but at the end, instead of signing off, the student anchor hands the mic over, and Father Peter’s voice comes through the loudspeaker.

  “Good morning, all. I wanted to take a moment to address some changes to the St. Clare’s campus. You may have noticed the addition of several security cameras in the school building. These were implemented due to safety concerns and with full approval from the board of directors and the Student Communication Committee. The security of our students is my greatest concern, and these cameras are there to ensure a safe environment for the entire community.

  “St. Clare’s is known for its rigor and for the quality and discipline of its students. Certain standards have recently become relaxed. As the semester continues, staff has been instructed to enforce all dress code requirements, rules concerning academic integrity, and attendance policies. If you feel unfamiliar with any of these procedures, please consult the student handbook. I look forward to a wonderful Advent season with you all.”

  The mic clicks off, and everyone in the room whispers at once.

  “Seriously?” Jess says to Theresa, the only person in the room looking pleased. “You let them put cameras up?”

  “I didn’t let anyone do anything,” Theresa says. “The cameras were going up regardless, and the Student Communication Committee supports that decision, because there are factions within this school actively trying to destroy it.”

  “Oh my God,” Jess says.

  I stay quiet. It would be suspicious if I talked. Or is it more suspicious if I don’t talk? I don’t know.

  “Do you think they aren’t trying to destroy it?” Theresa asks.

  Jess considers this. “I think they’re trying to change the school, but that’s different.”

  “It’s not different!” Theresa says. “I like St. Clare’s the way it is. I’m at St. Clare’s because it has a good reputation, because it’s traditional. A lot of people chose this school for that reason, or at least their parents did. What would you say to them?”

  “I guess I’d say, ‘Get a grip, it was just a video’?”

  Theresa sniffs. “First it was the video. Then the vandalism. What will it be next time? Arson?”

  She stands up and stalks to the front of the room to get our lab materials.

  “Maybe that’s what makes her skin so blotchy,” Jess says. “The paranoia.”

  “Bitches are crazy,” Connor says, elbowing me in the ribs in a way I think was supposed to be friendly. “You know what I’m talking about.”

  “Um,” I say.

  “Excuse me,” Jess says. “I know you did not lump me and all women ever in with her.”

  “It’s just something people say, Jess.”

  “Yeah, well, a crazy bitch probably wouldn’t call the attendance office for you and pretend to be your mom, so maybe say something else.”

  Connor shuts up. Theresa returns with the lab materials and proceeds to do the entire lab herself. All three of us are perfectly happy to let her.

  Lucy’s waiting for me outside history, like she usually does. We go into the classroom together, like we usually do, but don’t get far before Sister Joseph Marie swoops down in front of us, blocking the way to our seats.

  “Hol
d on, Miss Peña,” she says, and Lucy stops. “Did you hear the announcement this morning, about how the staff is required to enforce all aspects of the dress code?”

  “Yes, Sister.” Lucy glances down at herself like she needs to confirm she is, in fact, wearing a uniform.

  “And do you know what the requirements are for St. Clare’s skirts?”

  “They have to be plaid, Sister?” Lucy says, right on the edge of snapping.

  “They have to be no less than three inches above the knee when kneeling.” Sister Joseph Marie gestures in the general direction of Lucy’s knee. “And that looks a little short.”

  “It’s not.” This time Lucy does snap.

  “I have to make sure.” She motions at the classroom floor. “Go ahead.”

  Lucy makes a small, disbelieving sound. It’s not until Sister Joseph Marie pulls a tape measure from her pocket that I understand what’s about to happen.

  “You want her to kneel?” I say to Sister Joseph Marie, louder than I mean to, and the room quiets. “You can’t do that.”

  “Sit down,” she says without even looking at me.

  “You can’t, that’s messed up. It’s humiliating and—”

  “Michael,” Lucy says, glancing past me at our quiet, watching classmates. “Please sit down.”

  And only because she asked, I stomp over to my seat on the aisle.

  Everyone watches as Lucy slowly, silently kneels down on the dusty classroom floor. She stares straight ahead, her mouth set and her face blank, like she’s waiting through one of the kneeling parts at Mass instead of indulging some power-tripping nun. I don’t want to watch her. It feels like someone’s pulling out my intestines bit by bit, every millisecond she kneels there, as Sister Joseph Marie crouches down to measure the gap between the floor and the hem of Lucy’s skirt.

  A girl sitting in the row to my left nudges her friend and snickers, and I glare at them both until they notice and turn away. Both of their skirts are shorter than Lucy’s.

  When I turn back, Sister Joseph Marie is putting away the tape and Lucy is awkwardly getting to her feet. Her skirt was long enough. Of course it was. Sister Joseph Marie didn’t stop Lucy because of any announcement or new rules. She did it because she doesn’t like Lucy. Someone is pulling at my insides again.