The Weight of Blood (19)

“But we could invite the press to cover it.” Wendy beamed. “To really show the world that everything is fine here!”

“Are you insane? There’s no way anybody would go for that!”

“Actually, I think that’s a good idea.”

They all turned to the unfamiliar voice. Regina Ray stood behind them, her braids in a tight bun, with a near-empty tray, clearly on her way to the trash.

“Excuse me,” Jules sassed. “Uh, I don’t think we were talking to you.”

Regina rolled her eyes. “You weren’t. But you were talking about combining proms. And since I’m chair of our prom, I’m in the position to bring this proposal to the table.”

“What’s in it for you?” Charlotte asked, skeptical.

She laughed. “A chance for our school to not look ridiculous and maybe shame some of your white-trash kinfolk along the way. Besides, more people at prom means more ticket money for prom means a better prom.”

“Money,” Jules scoffed. “Of course.”

Regina cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowing, and Wendy quickly stood up to face her. “Do you think everyone will go for it?”

Regina shrugged. “Don’t see why not. None of us are down with looking like we stuck in the 1950s.”

Wendy squealed with delight, the plan was perfect. It would clean up the school’s image, paint her a saint for thinking of the idea (which would look great on a résumé), and they’d have so much good press that people would forget all about the whole Maddy business.

And the best part of all . . . she’d be able to go to the prom with Kenny. A dream come true.

Kayleigh joined, gushing over the possibilities. Charlotte sat baffled by the prospect as Jules jumped to her feet.

“Hold on!” she shouted, bringing the cafeteria to a standstill. “Y’all can’t just make these types of decisions by y’all’s selves. It’s everyone’s prom, not just yours!”

“Okay, fine, then,” Regina countered. “Let’s vote on it. Graduating seniors only. We either have an all-together prom or do the usual.”

All together, Wendy mused. She liked the sound of that.

Jules grabbed Wendy’s arm, pulling her away. “This is crazy! No one is gonna go for it.”

Wendy looked at the Black kids’ table, Regina already there, spreading the word, and held her best friend’s hand.

“We gotta try, Jules.”

Kenny stuffed his face full of potato salad while he listened to his mother recount her run-in with a guy who broke his collarbone driving a four-wheeler. Kenny could eat an entire tray of his mother’s baked ziti, barbecue chicken, and greens and would still ask for seconds. The moment he walked through the door and smelled her cornbread, his mouth watered.

“Slow down, baby,” Mrs. Scott said with a chuckle.

“Bruh, no one’s gonna steal your plate,” Kali laughed.

He looked up, appreciating the familiar scene: his parents at the heads of the table, Kali sitting across from him, cups full of ice water, and platters of delicious food in the center. There would only be a few more nights like this, with just the four of them, before he left for training camp midsummer. Everything in his life was about to change at warp speed, and as much as they had prepared for the moment, he found himself wanting time to slow down, to sit longer in his seat.

The Scotts had moved from the East Side to their West Side home right before he’d entered middle school. Their new neighbors weren’t excited to see them. But once Kenny started showing real promise, Christmas party invitations began flooding in, his father welcomed to the country club for eighteen holes, and his mother a beloved member of the women’s book club. Mrs. Scott often bragged that her baby was going to buy her a new house once he went pro. Kenny couldn’t imagine a Thanksgiving anywhere but in the home he’d grown to love.

“Didn’t you eat lunch today?” Mr. Scott asked, regarding his son’s plate with a low level of disgust.

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled. But that was hours ago, before his father added on a practice session with a personal trainer who’d made him run suicide drills on the field. He had worked up a mighty appetite since.

“Better schedule another visit with that nutritionist,” Mr. Scott chided. “Now’s not the time to start slacking off. And after dinner, I have some new tapes for us to review. Auburn. A scout friend of mine sent them over.”

Kenny held in a groan. Despite being a five-star recruit and committing to Alabama, his father tried to hold some sense of control over Kenny’s athletic career. Yes, his relentless determination to the game had brought them far, even Kenny had to admit that. But it felt as if they were still preparing for a finish line that they’d already crossed, and for once he would have liked a break.

Across from him, Kali’s eyes ping-ponged between them. “Well, Daddy, are you going to ask me about my day?”

Mr. Scott frowned at her, momentarily confused, as if he’d forgotten she was there. “Oh. Uh, yes. How was your day?”

“Great,” she said, a bit too cheery. “The school approved the Black Student Union’s Poetry Night. We’re going to hold it in the library, and some parents are donating refreshments.”

Mr. Scott’s mouth formed a tight line. “Well. Sorry I won’t be able to make it.”