Over the past couple of weeks, Dee has spearheaded about a stunt per week on someone tapped as a bully, a bitch, a bastard who needs to be taken down a few notches. Taught a lesson. Her excitement is contagious. I’m helping her now, and so are the others. I’ll be honest. It is exhilarating. It’s a rush. It quenches something we have all been thirsting for. Justice. We’ve all been there. Bullied, touched, harassed, tormented. Some more than others. It fills a need we have to be vindicated. It is thrilling, and as soon as one is finished, we want to do another. Sometimes they’re universal pranks that could be for or from anyone; other times they are more personal. Burning bags of shit in doorways that need to be stomped out. Keying cars with a personal message of vengeance. Some people frown upon doing any actual acts of mischief or pranks, but they are always game to hear about them afterward.

Some people, though, are all in.

Just last week, Dee showed up on my front porch with four dozen eggs in her backpack, which she gleefully showed me after I opened the door.

“What’s with the eggs?” I said, joining Dee outside.

“It is more of a traditional prank, I admit, but it is so satisfying,” she replied, a glint in her eye. I had to admit, I was itching to give it a try.

“That’s a lot of eggs; who else is coming?”

“Ava, Antar, the usual. Plus, I think they’re bringing a couple of people.”

“Okay,” I said. “Who’s the target?”

This time it was a girl named Justine. Justine is tall, beautiful, and a complete snob. She quite literally thinks she’s better than everyone, and it’s not hard to see why, I guess, if you’re into perfection. She’s the captain of the Cheer Squad, which is what they call cheerleaders here. Her squad is full of Justine clones, and she has a reputation for cutting anyone who doesn’t fit the physical requirements she has decided on. In fact, there’s a rumor that during tryouts, she and one of her henchwomen rate girls according to their height, waist size, legs, and boobs. This year, a large, curvy, confident girl named Beth started her own cheer team called CheerFull, and has accepted anyone who wants to dance, or bang pom-poms around, or whatever cheerleaders do. Justine has been dragging them online. Something about the purity of tradition or some bullshit.

“Good enough for me,” I said, taking a box of eggs out of the bag. “Let’s go.”

*   *   *

“I love this!” Antar screeched as he launched an egg at Justine’s house half an hour later.

“We don’t have enough eggs!” Ava called, using up the last of hers on the front door. She rooted around on the ground and picked up a rock.