Unsurprisingly, seeing the supplies for the Bash does nothing to help with having any ideas, and I spend the next several hours trying not to melt in a puddle of anxiety as I plan out the Bash.

I try to think about what Shelly did last year. I know it was basically the same as the year before that but with a twist. Her theme was “Zombie Night,” so she just added in some toxic waste décor and convinced half the school to dress as zombies. I want to be mad, since she only raised so much by having a lot of friends and rich parents, but I’m jealous. There’s no way I can do the same thing.

The year before was some sort of haunting theme with a bunch of ghosts and smoke machines, but I can’t really remember it. I was only a freshman, so I just knew the three types of drinks we were selling (red punch, green punch, and Coca-Cola). I’m pretty sure it was the same decorations too. Which just means these things are several years old and are falling apart.

Maybe I can get some new decorations, I think, twisting my necklace.

But then that cuts into whatever profit I would make. And I know that if I don’t make as much or more than last year, Fraya is going to use it in her campaign for president next year.

“Stop,” Mom says, leaning over to hiss in my ear.

I realize I’m chewing on my cuticles again. I quickly drop my hand and smooth my hair as I try to look more focused. Mom caught me, which gives me the sickening feeling that she won’t let me go get a gel manicure before the Bash now. Our deal was only if I dropped this ‘childish calming tactic.’ I glare at my nails, like they’re the ones who caused this.

Mom is PTA Vice President, so we are sitting towards the front of the room. I glance around, but I’m the only student actually here. Even Fraya got a pass from attending, but Mom was running late and needed someone to drive so she could finish putting on her makeup in the car.

I wonder if I can just get up and wander around. We’re in the school library, so I’m sure I could just go read quietly somewhere.

The door opens so hard that it smacks against the wall. I jump and look towards the entrance. It’s the girl from the principal’s office, I realize. She’s back in her ripped jeans, and her flannel shirt is tied around her waist. She has a tank top on, showing off surprisingly fit arms.

“Good evening,” she says casually, like she was the one who called the meeting tonight.

“Rebecca.”

I’m pretty sure it’s her mom who says this. She’s standing up from her seat near the back of the room.

“Ms. Greene,” Principal Crowe says in a tired tone.

That’s strange. I could have sworn her mom was called Mrs. Adams today, I think, glancing back at the girl. She sees me, and I immediately look away.

“Don’t mind me,” she says, walking to the front of the room. “I just had to drop something off.”

She is holding a large stack of paper. She walks over to the news bulletin board in the front of the room. It’s where the clubs usually advertise or school announcements are posted sometimes. She pulls out a small hammer from her back pocket, and I hear a steady pounding sound. Principal Crowe and the girl’s mom rush up.

“What are you doing?” Principal Crowe demands.

The girl steps away, and I can see the papers she posted. In bold letters, it reads “The 95 Theses or Disputation on the School Dress Code.” I wonder if she’s actually written 95 different things on the dress code. I make a note to read it when everyone else is gone.

“I was just exercising my right to protest,” the girl says. “You told me it had to be outside of school hours.” She puts the hammer in her back pocket. “Sorry for the nail. I’m pretty sure a thumb tack won’t hold this.”

“Ms. Greene, I have tried being patient with you,” Principal Crowe says, her voice raising.

Mom leans over.

“Do you know that girl?” she asks.

I shake my head.

“Is she Kate Adams’s kid?” Mom continues with furrowed brows. “I thought she only had two boys. They’re both in elementary school. Hmm, I guess that’s why she showed up tonight.”

Mom’s look is one of disapproval, but I know she just hates Mrs. Adams because of that one time Mom made some mandu (Korean dumplings)for a book club they both belonged to years ago and Mrs. Adams said it was too spicy without even trying it. Then asked if Asian food was supposed to smell like that. I was in fourth grade when it happened, but Mom will still refuse to pull into the H-E-B parking lot if she sees a Range Rover that looks like Mrs. Adams’s. I honestly admire (and fear) her ability to hold a grudge, and I wonder if I should warn Mrs. Adams to run.

“I heard it’s a kid from another marriage,” a woman whispers, leaning forward, eager to get Mom’s attention. I think she’s Iz’s mom, but I can’t be sure. Her voice has the same stage-whisper tone as Iz. And the same hunger for spreading gossip. “I ran into Kate at the store the other day when she was on the phone. The girl’s father up and left the country, dropping off the girl on the way to… was it France? Or Italy?” The woman shakes her head.

The girl is looking at us, and I know she can hear Mom and the other woman talking. I pull out my phone and pretend to be busy.

“I didn’t even know she was married before,” Mom says with a clicking of her tongue as she looks the girl up and down, like someone just brought in a smelly cheese.

I really wish they’d stop talking.

“Suspended?” Mrs. Adams’s shriek brings our attention to her. “Rebecca’s suspended?”

“I have no other choice,” Principal Crowe says, shaking her head. “She’s shown a blatant disregard for the rules of the school, and I’m worried about the safety of the other students.”

“Do you think I’ll be nailing them up here next?” the girl asks with a raised brow. “’Cause I’d definitely need a bigger hammer.”

“Look, Principal Crowe,” Mrs. Adams says, elbowing her daughter to quiet her. “I feel that suspension isn’t the answer. I mean, it won’t help her integrate into school or adjust to her new surroundings. She wants to leave the school, so this is really more of a reward than punishment for her.”

Something about her tone makes me think that Mrs. Adams just doesn’t want to have her daughter at home.

“Why don’t we try a different route?” she continues, glancing around. “Like… community service?”

“We’re a school, not the legal system,” Principal Crowe says. “We don’t have a community service program.”

Mrs. Adams bites her lips. I feel Mom turn around and glance over, and I wonder if this is going to be the moment where she can finally have her revenge. Maybe she’s going to ask for the punishment to be making a thousand mandu.

“Don’t the Adams have money?” Mom asks.

Iz’s mom nods with emphasis, meaning that even by her standards, it’s a sizable amount. Mom nods in satisfaction and turns back around.

“I think Mrs. Adams makes an excellent point,” she says, raising her voice. “Really, in this day and age, haven’t we learned that suspension doesn’t help the children?”

Principal Crowe looks shocked. I’m pretty sure everyone does. Mom tosses her dark waves over her shoulder, and I know she loves having all eyes on her.

“I think this is indicating a deeper problem here,” Mom continues. “This child is crying for attention and trying to find a space to belong. If we want to help her, then we have to help her create a space in our community to belong.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Mrs. Adams says with a nod of her head.

Mom turns to me. I don’t even have time to shake my head or give her a pleading look before I’m dragged into it.

“My daughter was just named head of the Halloween Bash committee,” she announces, ignoring the murmurs of congratulations. “Why don’t we put—” she glances at the girl with a questioning look.

“Rebecca,” Mrs. Adams supplies.

“Bec,” the girl mutters, glaring at her mom like this has been an age-old argument between them.

“Rebecca on the committee too, as volunteer service?” Mom suggests.

“Well, she has a creative mind,” Mrs. Adams says, gesturing to the wall. “And she’s apparently adept with a hammer.”

The parents all chuckle.

“I think it’d be a great idea for her,” Mrs. Adams says, looking at Principal Crowe. “How about it?”

“It doesn’t seem like punishment,” Principal Crowe begins.

I want to say that it sounds exactly like punishment. For me. Does Mom have a grudge against me I didn’t know about?

“Oh, and, Mrs. Adams, weren’t you talking about donating to the new school theater?” Mom adds, as if it was a side thought. “It’s so generous of you to offer to help us all out, even though it’s only your first meeting.”

Mrs. Adams’s confusion appears on her face only briefly.

“Oh, right,” she says quickly. “I would love to help out.”

Principal Crowe sighs. She gives me an almost apologetic look, but I know that upgrading the sound system outranks my comfort level in her mind. Understandable, but it still sucks.

“Ash, dear, is this okay with you?” she asks.

No. No. No! I want to scream.

I can feel everyone’s eyes on me. All parents who are going to go home and tell their kids exactly what happened tonight. Either I got pressured into bringing the school delinquent onto the biggest event committee of the year… or I cost the PTA a big donation for upgrading the school theater. I fake a smile.

“We could always use the extra help,” I force out.

“Perfect! It’s settled!” Mrs. Adams says, shooting us a big smile.

I feel like I can hear Mom’s brain whirling like a cash register as she motions for Mrs. Adams to sit next to her. The girl sits on the chair next to me.

“Hi,” I say, glancing at her. “I’m Ash.”

“Bec,” she replies shortly. “You should’ve just let me get suspended.”

I immediately feel like crawling out of my chair and hiding behind a bookshelf to avoid her glare.

“Do you like horror movies?” I try instead.

“My life is a horror movie, so, yeah, they’re relatable.”

“Oh,” I say, swallowing hard. “Which character do you find most relatable?”

“The killer, usually.”

I look over at Mom, but she’s ignoring me as she talks money with Mrs. Adams. I remember that Bec has a hammer in her pocket still.

Well, I think, at least now I know someone who knows about horror.