Ivy was with me on the night of the school play. I sent Rose Groban a text: Break a leg! Simple but thoughtful. And then Ivy and I hurried to meet the others and cause a major car accident.
We were both giggly. Giddy. We both agreed it was going to be a hoot, a total riot. Neither one of us thought we could get in trouble. We drove in her mom’s SUV, the radio blasting, Ivy thumping the dashboard with one hand as she drove. Me with my knees up on the glove compartment, so casual and relaxed.
We were a couple of blocks from school when Ivy broke the mood with a question. “Did you ever get around to breaking up with Keith?”
I nodded. “Well, yeah.” Ivy sped up to make it through a yellow light. “What made you think of him?”
She drove with one hand, tugged at her hair with the other. “I was just thinking how much he would not approve of what we’re doing. The poor guy. He—”
“We don’t have to worry about Keith anymore,” I said. “I am out of the No Fun zone. I caught up with him at his job. You know, at his uncle’s hardware store? And I just told him point-blank that it’s over.”
“Whoa.” Ivy kept her eyes straight ahead as we pulled onto Division Street. “He probably guessed it was coming, right?”
“I’m not sure.” I poked her with my elbow. “Watch out for that guy on the bike.”
“I see him. What do you mean you’re not sure?”
“Well, I think I saw tears in his eyes,” I said.
Ivy’s mouth dropped open. “OMG. He cried?”
“No. Just teared up,” I said. “And went kind of pale. And then his lips got real tight. You know. Like he was holding himself in.”
“And what did he say?”
“He didn’t say a word. Just turned around and walked to the back of the store.”
“The strong, silent type,” Ivy said, slowing to let a woman with a baby stroller cross. “Do you think you broke his heart?”
“Who knows?” I replied. Her questions were starting to annoy me. Why did she have to know every detail? Did she have a thing for Keith? Not very likely. Ivy was always telling me to dump him.
“Keith is the most bottled-up person I ever knew,” I said. “It was impossible to know what he was thinking.”
“Well, he cared about you,” Ivy said. “A lot.”
“How do you know?” I snapped.
“Because he called me. To talk about you. He was worried you were going to break up with him.”
“Enough about Keith,” I said. I lowered my legs and sat up straight. “We’re almost there. We’ve got to time this perfectly, right?”
The play’s curtain was at eight. We planned to stage the accident at exactly seven fifteen. On a Saturday night there was a lot of traffic on Division Street. We had to make it look real. And we knew we’d have only one chance.
We had three cars. Ivy’s, Jeremy’s, and Jack’s. Jack wasn’t bringing the pickup truck. He’d borrowed an SUV from his cousin. Manny was riding with Jeremy. He was our photographer, and it was his job to get everything on video.
We planned to put the video on Snapchat and maybe Facebook, too. And we’d already set up our Shadyside Shade YouTube channel. It was ready for uploading.
Of course, we would do that later, after we backed up traffic till eight o’clock and made sure the high school auditorium was empty for Rose and her play.
You have to give us credit. We went for it.
As for the police? Well . . . we just didn’t think they would take it seriously. Maybe we weren’t thinking clearly. Maybe we didn’t want to think about any consequences that would spoil our fun.
Ivy and I both took deep breaths as she inched the car closer to the intersection. My heart was thudding so hard in my chest, I could barely breathe. Please let this go right. Please let this go as we planned. I gripped the dashboard with both hands as if we really were going to crash.
But, of course, we didn’t. I could see Jack’s SUV coming toward us on the other side of Division Street. He was driving into the sunlight, so his windshield was covered in gold. And Jeremy’s car was in place. Manny was waving at us from the passenger seat. And—talk about perfect timing—there was a sudden break in the traffic. No one in view for at least a block or two.
We edged our cars into the intersection. Ivy let out an excited squeal. “I can’t believe we are doing this!” she cried, gripping the wheel with both hands, leaning forward in anticipation until her face was almost at the windshield. “This is so stupid, Poppy. This is so stupid!”
Her car bumped Jack’s SUV. Head-on. Just a tap of bumpers. And then Jeremy’s car slid in from the side until it bumped our back door on my side. A thump that made Ivy and me jump, harder than we expected.
And there we were, the three cars pressed together in the middle of the intersection. I scrambled out of the car and left my door open. My legs were shaking. I had to grab the side of the car to steady myself.
Ivy jumped out, squealing, pumping her fists in the air.
“You’re not supposed to look happy!” Manny screamed. “You were just in an accident. Stop celebrating, Ivy!” He was already standing on the roof of Jack’s SUV, his phone raised, recording the “terrible, tragic” accident.
“Looking good!” Jack said, strutting around the three cars. He pulled open the driver’s door on Jeremy’s car. Then he raised the hood. He grinned at me. “Look upset, everyone. Come on. Let’s see some acting.”
“Here come the cars,” Jeremy said, pointing. And yes, a stream of cars was heading toward us from each direction. We stood looking at our cars, shaking our heads, muttering to ourselves as if we didn’t know how this had happened and didn’t know what to do next.
The horns started. Cars began to back up. A silver oil truck rolled up behind Ivy’s car. It had nowhere to go. I glimpsed Manny on the car roof, videoing everything, moving his phone from one car to another, and capturing our distraught, confused faces.
A man in a blue work uniform climbed out of his car and hurried over to us. “Can I help?” he asked me.
I just shook my head.
The driver of the oil truck joined him, an old guy with a Chicago Cubs cap tilted over his forehead. The two of them muttered to each other, shaking their heads.
I heard sirens in the distance, growing louder. I turned and saw the backup of cars. It stretched for blocks now. No one could get past us. No one could turn around. And, of course, no one could get to the high school.
I had one surprise I hadn’t told anyone about. My great idea for making our accident look like a real wreck.
I waited till no one was watching. Then I opened the trunk of Ivy’s car and pulled out my surprise: a smoke machine I’d taken from the Drama Club supply cabinet.
A crowd had gathered around us. And the police sirens were louder now.
I cradled the machine in my arms and slid to the side of Ivy’s car. I slipped it onto the back seat. I glanced around, suddenly panting like a dog, unable to catch my breath. Was I really doing this?
I glimpsed Manny on the roof of Jack’s SUV. He had his phone aimed at Jack’s car. So far, no one had seen me.
I pulled open the compartment between the two front seats and plugged in the smoke machine.
Then I turned the machine on. Backed out of the car. Left the door open. Stepped back . . . back.
A few seconds later, wisps of black smoke floated from Ivy’s car. I heard screams and startled cries.
“Look out!” a woman screamed. “Get back! Get back!”
“The car could blow!” another woman cried.
“Smoke! Help! Smoke! It’s going to explode!”
People were wide-eyed with fright, backing away. I couldn’t keep a grin off my face. I hoped no one could see how pleased I was with my little smoke trick.
Ivy and I backed away, our eyes on the billowing black smoke. I squeezed Ivy’s hand. I wanted to celebrate. We had pulled this crazy stunt off. The Shadyside Shade were in business, and we were going to be stars.
I thought of Rose in the auditorium, standing in a nearly empty theater, wondering why no one had come. I thought of all the attention we were about to get, thousands of views online. Thousands.
I was thinking only good things when flames shot up from Ivy’s back seat. The black smoke billowed even higher, and the bright yellow-orange flames leaped from the car.
Ivy’s car.
I was still squeezing her hand as we watched, paralyzed, watched the flames grow wider, watched Ivy’s car burn.
