Jo gazed out over the crowd, which had continued to grow while she, Claude, and Nessa were chatting. There were giddy little girls wearing shirts emblazoned with glittery unicorns and surly teens rocking red lip gloss and eyeliner. Every variety of girl was represented. Rich girls, poor girls, good girls, badasses. It was the makings of a formidable army. She would teach them everything. She would make them invincible. This was the generation that would finally turn the tables. Maybe when their own daughters were born, they wouldn’t need to spend their days fighting fear.
Jo looked over at Nessa. “Looks like I may have my hands full for the rest of the day. You want to get in touch with Josh Gibbon like we talked about?”
“The podcast guy?” Claude asked. “Aren’t you done with him after that Newsnight debacle?”
“I’d love to be done with him,” Jo said. “But he’s still the only person in the media who’s likely to return our calls.”
“I’ll reach out to him,” Nessa said. “You two go have fun.”
“Thanks, babe.” Jo gave Nessa a hug and hurried outside to meet her army. “You ladies ready to kick some butt?” she shouted out at the crowd, and a cheer went up from the girls and their mothers. “Then let’s go take over the town!”
As Jo led her army to the park, cars slowed and drivers stared. Jo hoped they all got a good look. Consider yourselves warned, motherfuckers, she thought.
Nessa called Josh Gibbon right away, but he didn’t answer the phone and his voice mail was full. She made five more attempts that evening from Franklin’s house. Josh wasn’t responding to Nessa’s urgent texts or emails, either. Please! her last text to him read. I have news!
The next morning, Nessa sipped coffee while she watched the sunrise from Franklin’s deck. With her hopes in check, she opened her messages. There were six from Jo, two from her daughters, and one from Josh Gibbon.
I’m in town. I have news too. Are you at home?
Nessa’s squeal of excitement brought Franklin out to the deck in his boxers. “Lemme guess. You heard from Gibbon?”
“Mmmhmm.” Nessa was already typing. When can we meet?
“It’s six fifteen in the morning,” Franklin noted, settling into a chair beside her with a cup of coffee in his hand. “Gibbon strikes me as the kind of guy who doesn’t get up before noon.”
Nessa had just set the phone aside when a chime proved Franklin wrong.
About to head back to Brooklyn. Stop by your house before I go?
Just give me fifteen. Nessa wrote back.
“I gotta get dressed and get home!” Nessa launched herself out of the lounge chair and toward the sliding glass doors. “Josh is coming over before he heads back to the city.”
“He’s here in town?” Franklin asked. “I thought he didn’t want anything to do with Mattauk anymore.”
“I don’t know what he’s doing here, but he says he’s got news.”
Franklin started to rise from his seat. “I’ll come with you.”
“No, stay here and enjoy your coffee,” Nessa told him. “The kid’s skittish enough as it is. I show up with a posse, he might not talk at all.”
“I still don’t understand. Why’s he want to see you? Why not Jo?”
It was a fair question, but Nessa felt annoyed by the unspoken assumption that seemed to accompany it. “’Cause I’m the one who’s been texting him—and Jo is scary.” Nessa scrunched up her face. “You think I can’t handle this on my own?”
“I think you can handle just about anything,” Franklin assured her. “But I’m trained to be cautious. You’ll let me know what he tells you?”