‘Oh, how wonderful!’ Grandpa exclaims.
‘Girls, it is just so special that you do that,’ enthuses Grandma.
I give one mirthless laugh at the irony of being asked to volunteer.
‘I’d love to,’ I say firmly. There’s no making up for what I’ve done. I’m not stupid enough to think I’ll ever find redemption. But still, it’s better to do something positive than nothing at all. ‘Thank you so much for inviting me.’
‘Excellent,’ Mila says as her face lights up. ‘I knew you’d be into this. You’ve probably done a lot of volunteer work in New York.’
I shrug and look away. ‘Some,’ I say. ‘Not nearly as much as I should have.’
‘We can’t go,’ Jinka said. ‘There’s no way we can blow off my mom.’
Scarlet looked at me. Egging me on. She rolled over on my bed and snapped her gum pointedly.
‘Hold on,’ I said. I went over to my desk and sat down. ‘Let’s think this through.’
‘There’s nothing to think about. We promised my mom weeks ago that we would volunteer this Saturday at the soup kitchen with her.’ Jinka shrugged. ‘There’s no way we can back out now.’
‘Backing out to go to a party would be terrible. But not if someone needed our help more,’ I said, smiling.
‘What are you talking about?’ Ivy asked. ‘Noah doesn’t need our help throwing a party. He does it every year when school starts.’
I shook my head and started over. Better to paint a picture than to just say what colours are in it. ‘Imagine there was a new girl at school this year. Shy. Underprivileged.’
I looked around. Ivy was still confused, but Olive and Jinka were starting to get it. Scarlet got it, of course, because I had already told her what I thought we needed to better our junior year of high school. And she had agreed with me.
‘This girl has no friends yet,’ I continued. ‘She’s just moved here from India, and she needs a group of nice girls to take her to a beginning-of-the-year party or she won’t make any friends. She’s poor, but she’s so sweet. Smart and pretty,’ I said, looking at Jinka. ‘But she needs to borrow clothes.’
‘Oh, that’s good,’ said Scarlet.
‘Her parents don’t speak any English,’ I said.
‘That’s even better,’ Scarlet chimed in. ‘My parents are terrified of running into one of our housekeepers because she can’t speak English.’
I nodded. ‘Our parents have to have a reason other than that they’re poor to never try to meet this imaginary family.’
‘Oh, definitely. If it was just that they were poor, my mom would feel like she had to throw them a parade probably,’ Jinka said.
We set it up carefully. We preyed on our parents’ classism. Their racism. The Five of us absolved ourselves of both of these things. Jinka was African-American. Our best male friend, Noah, was Korean – adopted at birth, but still ethnically Korean. We were careful that our parties always had a visually pleasing mix of every colour, like a soda commercial. We told ourselves there was no way we were racist. And although none of us were friends with a poor person, we couldn’t be classist, either, because that wasn’t our fault. We’d totally be friends with poor people if we knew any.
I remember feeling a twinge of guilt, and I stopped for a moment. One look at Jinka’s excited face and whatever guilt I felt disappeared.
‘Her name will be Ali Bhatti. Our alibi,’ I said.
While my four former friends squealed with excitement, I took out my journal and started writing down the details.
The details. That’s where the devil lives.
20 JULY
This rifle kicks like a mule.
I’m not about to complain, though. Taylor already suggested that we switch out the 7mm for the .243, but I’m being stubborn.
‘The .243 has less kick,’ Taylor says again after I miss the target he’s set up on the edge of the woods by his house.
‘I just want to see if I can do it,’ I reply, and I take another shot. My arm is numb, but I hit the target.