by Micol Ostow
“It’s a car,” Kevin said authoritatively. “A very fancy car.”
I pinched him. “That much I knew. Jerry Seinfeld’s Amagansett house isn’t too far from Lodgehampton; I’ve had better access to his car collection than half those comedians he takes for coffee.”
Kevin sighed. “I just can’t with you.”
The car pulled up next to the school and came to a stop, two friendly faces beaming at Kevin and me. “Reggie?” I asked. “And Archie?” Reggie was behind the wheel, and Archie was lounging shotgun, looking very comfortable with his ride. His hair was already endearingly mussed from the wind.
“Hey,” he said. “What do you think?”
“I think … it’s a cute car—with about a ten percent chance of being symptomatic of a midlife crisis or Napoleon complex.”
“Oh, Veronica, you wound me,” Reggie protested. He pushed his aviator sunglasses onto his forehead to show me his best “wounded” look.
“I’m confident you can take it,” I said. “What the hell are you guys doing behind the wheel of this little number right now?”
“This baby? This is a vintage Datsun Z,” he said, running a hand along the door lovingly.
“That explains my unfamiliarity,” I said sotto voce, turning to Kevin. “My father leans heavily toward German manufacturing.”
“Well, sure,” Kevin said. “As one does.”
“People don’t necessarily think of classic and collectibles when Mantles’ Used Car Lot comes up, but we’ve got plenty of beauts like this in the private garage. For discerning customers only, naturally.”
“Naturally,” Kevin echoed, wry.
“Anyway, my pops was generous enough to loan a few of our favorites to the Motorcade. I’m helping him take them to be detailed so they’ll all be ready in time. Your boy Archie just wanted a chance to ride something a little more baller than that beater jalopy of his.”
“That beater jalopy of his is brimming with classic Americana charm,” I retorted. “But if you two are having fun, Archie, by all means, enjoy.”
I circled around to Archie’s side of the car and leaned in for a kiss. “Call me later? This won’t go late—not that I’m going to rush you,” I quickly added in Kevin’s direction, to stave off any protests.
“Definitely,” Archie said. “Have you heard anything from Betty?”
I shook my head. “Anything new from Jughead?”
“Not yet.”
I smiled. “Well then,” I said, “I guess that means we might be free tonight.”
“Good,” he said. “I have—well, something weird happened earlier. I’ll tell you about it later.”
“Weird? Should I be worried?”
“I’m okay,” he reassured me. “It didn’t happen to me. And I’m not even sure if it’s anything to worry about. But around here, who knows?”
“Well, now I’m intrigued. You’ll have to fill me in.”
“Definitely.”
We kissed again. When we broke apart, Archie ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it even more. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed we can meet up later.”
“No crossing of fingers necessary,” I told him. “We’ll make it happen. Be careful,” I said, squeezing his hand in a final farewell.
Although the truth was: Around here, there were plenty of reasons to keep our fingers crossed.
Veronica:
B, you’ve been MIA all afternoon! Kev and I are at the school and it’s a SCENE.
Betty:
Recon with Jug. Will fill you in later.
Veronica:
Good. Because Archie said he has something “weird” to tell me later, too.
Betty:
Weird, huh? I can’t even pretend to be surprised.
Veronica:
He’s okay, he swears. Will fill you in when I get the deets.
Betty:
Def. And vice versa if I hear anything on this end.
KEVIN
“Antoinette Topaz, could you please explain to the judges why you, above all these other, most worthy competitors, deserve to win the Royal Maple title?”
Veronica and I walked into the auditorium to find the stage littered with endless clusters of chairs set up for interviewer-interviewee role-play, and—among others (was that Peaches ’N Cream I saw, quizzing an unexpectedly game Fangs Fogarty?)—Toni and Cheryl happily camped out, hard at work.
Correction: Cheryl was happily camped. Toni looked like she might be running out of patience.
I feel you, girl, I thought. Cheryl had a lot of great qualities … but she was more intense than a Barneys Warehouse sample sale (as least as Veronica had described them to me). We walked over to them to say hi, but they were deep enough into their thing that they barely registered our presence. So we hovered on the periphery while Toni gathered her thoughts together, Cheryl waiting patiently with her hands folded in her lap.
“Well,” Toni said, taking a deep breath and clearly working to project from her diaphragm, “in just the past year alone, I think I’ve shown poise and resilience. When Southside High was closed down and we students were integrated into Riverdale High, I embraced the culture and encouraged my fellow ‘Southies’ to do the same. In fact, as a Southside Serpent, I’ve had the opportunity to hone my leadership skills and my loyalty.”
“Beep!” Cheryl made a noise like a wrong-answer cue on a game show and held her arms up in a tall X. “Alas and alack, I must redirect this. Sorry, TeeTee, but we’re going to have to take that one from the top. You’re going at this one all wrong.”
Toni raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”
I was slightly surprised, too—the response had seemed pretty solid, if a little less than perfectly polished. Of course, Cheryl either didn’t notice or was totally undaunted by the sarcastic lilt to Toni’s voice.
“Indeed, ma chérie,” she said. “While you and I both know that the Southside Serpents have offered you the unparalleled, unconditional loyalty that not even blood kin could rival, the unfortunate fact remains that to many a straitlaced, small-minded Riverdale citizen, they are first and foremost a motorcycle gang. Not exactly paragons of virtue and admiration.”
“Cher,” Toni said carefully, “are you saying you think the Serpents are … trashy? Or that my Serpent affiliation is something to be ashamed of?”
“Absolutely not, my beloved!” Cheryl looked utterly shocked at the mere suggestion. “I wear my Serpent jacket with unadulterated pride. I’m only telling you what the judges might think.” She bit her lip. “Please don’t shoot the messenger.”
Veronica nudged me. “This is … taking a turn.”
“Agreed,” I whispered back. “But the question is, should we be watching? The conversation feels not only like a slow-motion train wreck but also fairly private. It’s definitely not going anywhere good.”
“Um, exactly,” Veronica said, eyes shining. “Which means that we are not going anywhere until it’s played out. I may be a reformed mean girl, but you know I do still like a little drama. Especially when it’s not mine.”
“Question asked and answered. Always here for the drama, Ronnie, and I am into it,” I said. “Honestly, I admire that about you.”
The girls were still at it, of course. Toni had folded her arms across her chest, considering what Cheryl was saying. “Okay. So what do you suggest?”
“I have ideas. But I suspect you’re not going to like them. They might be somewhat hard to hear, truthful though they may be.”
“This is gonna be good,” I breathed, clutching Veronica’s arm.
“This is an inclusive pageant, TeeTee,” Cheryl said. “A fact that can’t be overlooked. A goddess like you is the very embodiment of inclusion.”
Toni narrowed her gaze. “I’m sorry? Please, say more.”
“You’re a woman of color and you’re bisexual! You are the essence of diversity. Wouldn’t it behoove you to work that into your interview?”
Oh, Cheryl. Advocating “diversity points”? Re
presentation is vitally important, but no one wants to feel like a cultural gesture. I knew before she even opened her mouth what Toni would have to say to that.
Toni exhaled forcefully, clearly trying to stay calm. “Cheryl, I know you mean well, and maybe you’re not wrong—”
“Oh, she’s definitely not wrong,” I whispered to Veronica. “That’s not the point.”
Veronica nodded.
Cheryl whirled to us, eyes blazing. “Peanut gallery: If you insist on gawking, could you at least please have the decency to stay mum?”
I mimed zipping my lips in dramatic slow motion.
“Maybe you’re not wrong,” Toni went on, “but I’m not going to campaign to win the Royal Maple pageant on some kind of ‘token minority’ platform. I didn’t particularly want to do this thing in the first place—as you knew—but you talked me into it, made me think it could be fun. Fun. That’s all it needs to be. And exploiting my race or my sexuality feels like the opposite of casual, harmless fun to me.” Her voice cracked when she repeated the word fun for the last time. Then she stood, her chair scraping the wooden floor. The sound made us all wince.
“Toni—” Cheryl said, tears springing to her eyes. “You know I didn’t mean to insult you; it’s only that I adore you, and I want you to have every possible advantage in this competition.”
“If I have an ‘advantage’ just because of certain things about me that I didn’t even choose, then let them be … advantageous. I don’t need to straight-up exploit them.”
“Well, why not, for pity’s sake?”
“Because,” Toni said simply, “that just feels like … exploiting me.”
Ouch. I cringed, and I could see that Cheryl was reacting, as well. Her good intentions here were definitely ill-advised.
“TeeTee,” Cheryl started, reaching for her, her voice shaking.
“Just—don’t,” Toni said, pulling back. “It’s fine, I get what you were doing, what you were saying, but … but I need a minute.”
“Toni—” Veronica said as she stalked past us.
I put a hand on her forearm. “Give her a second. It’ll be okay. She just needs to have a hot minute to process.”
Then I looked in the same direction Veronica had been staring in.
I don’t know if Veronica had seen what I was seeing—she definitely seemed more concerned about Toni’s emotional state. But there wasn’t much time to think about it. My heart turned over and my pulse kicked up.
“TONI!” I called.
“Wait, Kevin, seriously?” Veronica asked, confused. “What about processing?”
“No!” I blurted. “Just—look!”
I pointed toward the doorway, where an enormous papier-mâché bulldog head loomed. It had been there for as long as I could remember, something some former students created in a burst of enthusiasm for one particular bygone homecoming. But now it was wobbling unsteadily, and I suddenly wondered exactly how long it had hung up there, and what had kept it secure all this time.
It definitely wasn’t looking very secure right now.
It’s going to fall, I thought, some small lizard-brain part of me registering the threat even before the rest of my body caught on to what was happening. Without any conscious thought, I propelled into motion, darting to the doorway and diving for Toni, shoving her out of the way just as the bulldog came crashing down. It shattered, kicking up a small dust storm of debris, clouding the air so my eyes teared up and the two of us began to cough.
“What the hell?” Toni asked, stunned.
“The bulldog—it was swinging around.” I was shaken but trying to be calm for Toni. “I mean, I’d never seen it do that before. It just—looked like it was going to land on you.” My heart was practically galloping in my chest now, thundering in my ears so loudly I was sure everyone in the room could hear it. A small crowd had gathered around, mouths agape as they pieced together what had happened.
“And it would have, surely, if not for your valiant efforts,” Cheryl said, rushing over. “Thank you, truly. You’ve more than earned your Good Samaritan points for the day.”
“Seriously, Kevin. Thanks,” Toni said, looking at me gratefully.
“Are you okay?” Cheryl asked, scanning Toni for injury.
“I’m fine,” Toni assured her. “Just—uh, a little weirded out. If you’d been a fraction of a second later …” She trailed off, looking back at me again and shaking her head.
I shuddered at the thought, but pasted on my own cheerful smile. “Well, I wasn’t,” I said brightly. “So let’s try to focus on that.”
“Hear! Hear!” Cheryl said. “Unless … you still need your minute?”
Toni gave a small smile. “Actually, I think now I need a different minute.”
Cheryl kissed her on the forehead, leaving a perfect red set of lips in her wake. She gently rubbed it off. “You can have all the minutes you want. We can practice the rest of the interview questions at home. Or not!” she added hastily, as Toni gave her a “Really, now?” head tilt.
I watched them head out. Cheryl had had a rough go of it the last few years, and I was glad to see her in a happy, healthy relationship. Toni was good for her, there was no doubt of that.
“Well,” Veronica said, “ultimately, a surprisingly happy ending for something that could have gone a whole different way.”
“Yeah,” I said, but I was distracted, still worried.
“What is it?” Veronica asked.
“It’s just … that bulldog.”
“… should be bolted to the wall, if it’s going to hang over a doorway that way,” she said, terse and imperious.
“No—Veronica, you don’t get it. Moose once told me that when he made first-string football, one of the dumb little initiation pranks he was supposed to pull for the upperclassmen was to steal that mascot.”
Veronica’s face immediately paled. “And I’m guessing he couldn’t.”
“No.” I swallowed. “It wasn’t bolted, but it might as well have been. I think his exact words were ‘That thing isn’t going anywhere unless someone a lot bigger than me wants it to.’ ”
“So if the bulldog fell …”
“It’s because someone wanted it to.”
To: Principal Weatherbee
From: Cheryl Blossom
Principal Weatherbee,
I’ll get straight to the point: I’ve just come from the school auditorium, where my beloved Antoinette Topaz and I were rehearsing for the Royal Maple pageant. As Toni tried to exit the room, she was nearly overtaken by the bulldog mascot that used to hang above the door.
I’ll repeat myself for emphasis: used to hang. Which is to say, it came loose and, as of the writing of this email, sits in a pile of shards and debris in the doorway to the auditorium.
Now, while the threat of bodily harm is in itself grounds for a hefty lawsuit, you can rest assured that I won’t be pursuing legal action on behalf of Antoinette. Nonetheless, I suggest you alert the custodial services to properly dispose of the mess. And might I suggest a thorough investigation to ensure that no other tragedies befall the student body under your watch.
Thank you,
Cheryl Blossom
To: Cheryl Blossom
From: Principal Weatherbee
Cheryl—
Thank you for your concerned email. I had heard all about the fallen mascot even before you contacted me, but the additional details were certainly useful. I assure you, we are taking this incident very seriously. If we discover any indication of foul play, appropriate measures will be taken. In the meantime, I’m glad to hear that Miss Topaz is unharmed, and I urge you and all your fellow students to be vigilant until we’ve confirmed beyond a doubt that the accident in the auditorium was an isolated incident.
All best,
Principal Weatherbee
To: [list—all Vixens FULL]
From: Cheryl Blossom
Dearest Vixens—
It pains me that I should have to write you with su
ch dire and alarming news, but you should know that my beloved paramour, Toni Topaz, was the victim of a vicious and not-at-all amusing prank this afternoon. While preparing for her Royal Maple interview, Toni was nearly crushed by a falling mascot in the auditorium. Were it not for the heroic efforts of Kevin Keller, I shudder to think the injuries my darling might have sustained.
While Principal Weatherbee assures me that the administration is looking into the incident, I have my doubts. He isn’t convinced that the act was one of deliberate sabotage.
I say: Watch your backs.
CHERYL
“They had to wrench you from my womb with forceps.”
That was my ogress mother’s constant refrain. It was a gothic bedtime story of sorts at Thornhill, an elegiac meditation on the myriad ways in which I’d disappointed her simply with the burden of my existence. Simply by not being my brother Jason, the über-Blossom and heir apparent, their radiant, ruby-ringleted baby boy. We were twins, yes—but make no mistake: In our parents’ eyes, we were never equal.
As if I had asked for this wretched pedigree. I knew, intrinsically, why they preferred Jason. In the secret places I dared not speak by daylight, I felt the same.
And indeed, the joke, it seemed, was on them, pouring their very beating hearts and lifeblood into grooming Jason, coddling him and melding him and coaxing him into a facsimile of themselves. Never pausing to consider that, as the very best of their essences, he might yearn for more, might actually turn his back on this blighted birthright.
Not willing to entertain that outcome, even if the alternative was as finite as death.
Ha, ha.
And now? Our operatic tumble from grace was finally complete. Jason was gone, Daddy was gone (possibly the one thing he did right, after everything went so gruesomely wrong with JJ), and the only steady beat forward was Mother’s continued echo: You are a monster. You are unlovable.
That’s what she told me. With enough conviction and enough consistency that it was hard—near impossible, really—to shut her out.
