Wing Jones(59)

Eliza wrinkles her nose. “She likes heels,” she says, gnawing on a hangnail. “Not that it matters. We couldn’t go to prom together anyway.”

“Why not?” I say, pausing at a pair of red-and-gold Riveos. I recognize them. They match the pair on my feet. The ones Aaron bought me. The price tag nearly makes me fall over.

“Because Heather Parker and her mother and their whole Southern confederacy of idiots would come down on us and cause a goddamn riot. I don’t want to deal with that. I don’t want Annie to deal with that.” Eliza picks up a hot-pink-and-bright-orange shoe. “I like this color combination.”

“So if you aren’t going to prom, why are we looking for dresses?”

“We’re looking at shoes right now,” she says, and I roll my eyes and take the pink sneaker out of her hand and put it back on the shelf.

“We’ll still go. Just not together. Won’t dance together, not the way I want us to dance together. Won’t take pictures. We’ll just be two friends hanging out together at prom.”

I frown. “Then why go at all?”

“I don’t want to miss out on my prom just because of what some people think. Maybe … maybe if things were different. Someday we’re gonna move to New York or San Francisco or somewhere like that and then it won’t matter.”

I raise my eyebrows, both of them, since I don’t know how to raise just one. “You sound like Marcus and Monica.”

“Oh yeah, where they gonna go?” Eliza swallows audibly. “I mean, where were they gonna go? I mean, where are they gonna go when he wakes up? You know what I mean,” she says, eyes screaming Sorry! and the shape of her mouth shouting This is awkward!

“Somewhere together,” I say. “I think that’s all they care about.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Eliza sighs. “Come on, let’s get to Trumpet before I change my mind and decide I’d rather have a new pair of Riveos instead of a prom dress.”

“I’d rather have a new pair of Riveos,” I mumble. Then a poster by the door catches my eye. It’s drenched in hot pink and bright yellow, like the shoe Eliza was just holding up.

DO YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES TO BE THE NEW RIVEO RUNNING GIRL?

Underneath is a silhouette of a girl with a high ponytail, crouching at a starting line. On her feet are a pair of yellow Riveos. I go closer, wanting to see what that little print at the bottom says.

They’re looking for a high school girl to be the face and the feet of their new brand to get more girls running.

“I don’t get it.” Eliza has slipped up next to me and is reading over my shoulder. “Are they looking for a runner to sponsor or for a model?”

“I think it’s a way to get around the fact that high school students can’t have sponsors,” I say, because I know this from Marcus. “If they accept sponsorships from companies, they forfeit being able to compete at the collegiate level.”

“Listen to you, all fancy. ‘Collegiate level,’” says Eliza, laughing.

I’ve been hearing about competing at the “collegiate level” since Marcus picked up a ball. I just never imagined it would be something I’d have to think about.

I reread the small print, and then read it again. Riveo has found a nifty little loophole. They don’t say that they’re specifically targeting athletes, but the “audition” is the only kind of audition I would ever consider: a race.

The deadline to sign up is next month, and the race that’ll determine the winner and the new Riveo Running Girl is the month after that.

They don’t spell out the details about what being the Riveo Running Girl would mean, but I know what it means.

Money.

It isn’t till we’re in Trumpet Gowns, elbow-deep in taffeta gowns, that Eliza says what I’m thinking.

“You know you’ve got to go for it, right, Wing?”

Eliza is clutching a tangerine dress to her chest. I talked her out of hot pink. Sunshine colors look good on her. Any color would look good against her dark brown skin, but I think yellow looks the best.

“Don’t you wanna go for it?” I say.

Eliza shrugs. “Wing, you need this a lot more than me. Look, I know y’all got some serious money problems right now with Marcus in the hospital. And this Riveo thing, there’s gotta be good money in it, right?” Her eyes are eagle bright. “Don’t you see?”

I look down at the floor, unable to meet Eliza’s bright eyes. How does she know my family needs money? Is it that obvious? We’ve never talked about it before. But I never accept Eliza’s offers to join her and the other girls for burgers after practice … or to do anything else that costs money. She must have noticed.

“I can’t go to that audition. You know I hate having people … watch me.” The thought of it makes my stomach flip.

“It’s not that kind of audition.” Eliza pulls the tangerine dress over her head. “And you are gonna have to get over that particular little issue soon anyway, or did you not notice that our track meets are starting to be real popular?”

It’s true. More and more people have started coming to our races to watch us run.

Coming to watch me run.

“It is too an audition,” I say, ignoring the second part of her statement as I help tug the dress down over her shoulders.