The Black Coats(72)

“Next year, this afternoon will look very different.” Oh no. Her dad had tears in his eyes.

“Oh, Dad . . .” She gave him a hug. “We still have a whole year until that happens.”

He took a forceful bite of his apple. “I know. Imagining you in a graduation gown just gets me.”

“Bill.” Her mother sat down next to him and rubbed his arm lovingly. “We don’t have to be sad about that, because we are just going to go to college with Thea. We’re going to be roommates. Our girl just doesn’t know it yet.”

“I’m leaving.” Thea couldn’t help but be taken in by this happy scene. “I love you guys.”

As Thea slammed the screen door her mom called out, “Tell Drew and Adam congratulations!”

If Drew is even talking to me, she thought. She was anxious to see his face, to reassure him that everything would be okay—somehow. As she started her car, a drip of sweat making its way down her forehead, she glimpsed the bag on the front seat. Inside was her Black Coats uniform, and draped over the passenger seat was her black coat. She felt a twinge of sadness but pushed it away. The Monarchs killed people. They had tried to kill Drew’s dad. Her time with the Black Coats had to be through. She pulled out of her driveway and turned up the volume on whatever pop song was on the radio, hoping to drown out her thoughts.

Roosevelt High School was packed, so Thea had to park in the farthest reaches of the parking lot. Already late, she slipped off her heeled sandals and ran barefoot on the hot pavement, passing by the Angel of the Waters statue, its eyes blacked out with a new line of graffiti. She was almost past the statue when she stopped abruptly. On the side of the statue, a glaringly precise piece of graffiti stood out among the others.

A black monarch butterfly.

Thea’s chest seized. Had it always been there and she never noticed it? It was possible. The entire base of the statue was a haven for graffiti. She turned away from it and began running again, hoping that the rhythm of her legs and the sound of the ground underneath them would push the rising dread out of her chest. Maybe it had always been there, the Black Coats marking their territory. She tried to quiet the panicked voice in her head. They’re not here. Everything is fine.

As she neared the stadium, memories flashed into her mind of early-morning practices—the sun barely creeping over the horizon, everything a foggy lapis blue. Natalie in her sweats, stretching at the starting line, her eyes fixed before her, determination etched across her strong forehead. Thea in awe of her cousin’s strength. It’s a shame, she thought as she made her way through the turnstiles and into the packed bleachers, that sometimes even the strongest women are not strong enough to endure the wickedness of average men.

She found a seat in the last row of bleachers, trying to find Drew on the field. God, she really needed to kiss him already.

The valedictorian was already speaking, but where was Drew? Thea craned her neck, unable to distinguish him in the sea of black-robed graduates. She leafed through the program and found his name, along with his graduation quote:

INJUSTICE ANYWHERE IS A THREAT TO JUSTICE EVERYWHERE.

—MARTIN LUTHER KING JR.

Thea shivered under the blazing heat of the sun.

Thanks, Drew, she thought, for the reminder. A few rows ahead of her she could see the back of Adam Porter’s head, his chin lifted in pride as he awaited his son’s graduation. Hopefully she could avoid him. The sun beat down on the crowd. The valedictorian wrapped up his speech to a loud cheer, and the graduates began to march one after another in an endless parade. The vice principal reminded everyone to hold their cheers until the very end, but that never worked. Parents would not be silenced when it came to pride in their children. Thea’s parents, she knew, would be very loud.

Thea checked her phone as the names were rattled off.

“Kela Jacob . . . Mark Jensen . . . Ralphie Jurgen . . .”

She had one missed call from Bea. A picture of her cheery face popped up on Thea’s phone. She would get back to her later.

As she looked at her phone she was aware of a slight movement nearby but assumed it was the couple sitting next to her. When she finally looked up, there was no one there, but there was a black envelope sitting beside her. How in the hell? Thea whipped her head around and shot to her feet. In front of her was only the enormous crowd, no sign of anything amiss, but she turned around just in time to see a flash of a black coat disappear behind the bleachers. She ripped open the note written on the same paper that had once invited her to the Black Coats: soft yellows and velvet blacks, marked with knives and butterflies. Please be nothing, she thought. She stopped breathing when she read the words, written in lilting calligraphy.

Being a traitor has consequences.

Over the speakers, the names of those walking for their diplomas echoed in the background. “Tracy Paul . . . Kevin Pook . . . Craig Pooley . . .”

Oh God. Thea couldn’t breathe as she read the words on the page.

Do you know why we are called Monarchs, Thea? Monarchs drink poisonous milkweed, and in their unique system it creates a poison capable of killing any predator. And those beautiful wings they are known for? That’s where they store their poison. It’s their trap.

“Drew Porter . . .”

Thea’s head jerked up toward the stage. No one moved. The principal leaned again into the microphone. “Drew Porter.”