“The power of the people,” Dee muses. She links arms with me, and her strength pulses through me. Then I let go of her and bend down and pick up a rock that’s wedged between the metal rungs that make up the bridge. And I heave it into the water, throwing it as far and as hard as I can. It makes a tiny, impotent splash.

“We can’t stop, Dee.”

Chapter 22

22

Episode 72 00:00

Hello, film nerds. Today we are going deep. Payback. Vengeance. Revenge. Those films that make you put your fist in the air and yell at the top of your lungs, “Yes! Take that!” Those movies that take us on a journey of justice, that give a voice to the voiceless and show how they can raise their weapons and take what’s theirs.

A few days later, I lie in bed listening to music. An album Lottie turned me onto. Lottie. She’s still part of me, part of the inside-out of me. Half of me would love to get even for the way she tripped the wire that brought the school down on me, for the way she abandoned me; the other half just wants to lie around listening to records and make up. Last year, we gave each other necklaces, each with half a broken heart, that say BEST FRIENDS when you put them together and make a whole. My half, the part that says ST and ENDS, is in a tangle of knots at the bottom of my jewelry box along with all the things I know about her: that she used to be so scared of the dark that she slept with all the lights on, that when she first got her period she didn’t know how to use a tampon so I had to teach her, that she has back acne, that she took forever to learn to ride a bike, that she is smart and solitary, that she is secretive and quiet. Dee says Lottie started it all, that none of it would have happened and none of them would have turned on me if she hadn’t, and maybe she’s right. She says that Lottie has more than she deserves.

She has a loving home, a family, even if it’s changing. I miss that. I miss playing checkers with my dad, years ago, or watching an entire movie with my mom.

I don’t have a comfy home anymore, not like Lottie, not like stupid Paige and Breanne. I wish I could move in with Pete, move to his new house, help him decorate his place, become his daughter. I think of all the other people doing the jobs or pranks or whatever; I wonder what they are trying to protect and stand up for. About how many of us lie in bed and feel absolutely, desperately, alone.