Tracy Flick Can't Win (Tracy Flick #2) (57)
“Not bad,” he said. “Uneventful.”
He hated lying to her. The trip had been way too eventful already, and he still had to get through the fucking ceremony. He wanted to tell Paige about what had happened yesterday—the blackout he’d suffered after going to Reggie’s house—but it would have to wait until he got home, because it wasn’t the kind of bomb you could drop on someone over the phone. He was dreading it, though, because he knew it would scare her, and she had enough problems in her life already.
“I wish I was there,” she told him. “I bet you look really handsome in your suit.”
“I’m actually wearing my high school game jersey. A replica anyway. It’s a gift from the rich guy.”
“You should bring it home.” Her voice was softer now, a little sultry. “I’ll wear it to bed if you want me to.”
This was not the first time a woman had made this offer to Vito. He didn’t understand the appeal, didn’t have the slightest interest in fucking anyone in a football jersey, not even Paige, but he figured that could wait for later too.
“Whatever you want,” he said. They were at the high school. He could see a crowd gathered by the side entrance. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I can’t wait,” she told him. “Take a selfie for me, okay? I want to see what you look like in your uniform.”
* * *
It got dark while Glenn waited. One limo after another pulled up to the red carpet—actually, there were only two Town Cars, they just made multiple trips—but it was always somebody else who stepped out. The bald Superintendent. The Barky guy and his family. The Assistant Principal, who looked a little manic. A couple of high school kids. Front Desk Diane, who must have been close to fifty now, and her father, who looked a little out of it.
But then another limo arrived, and this time it was Vito, wearing his old football jersey, number twelve, and everybody started going crazy, calling out his name and telling him they loved him, and the asshole didn’t even have the courtesy to wave hello, because he was too busy taking a fucking selfie, gazing up at his phone with his most soulful and manly expression.
He took several photos from slightly different angles, and when he was finally satisfied, he put his phone away and started walking down the carpet, moving with the easy glide of an athlete, nodding and smiling at the crowd.
Glenn’s heart was pounding in his ears, so loud that he almost forgot his plan, which was to confront Vito and show him Carl’s picture in the yearbook.
Remember him? Glenn was going to say. I want you to look at his face.
That was the first thing he needed to do, and he almost did it. He pushed right up to the velvet rope and called Vito’s name, and Vito turned and looked right at him, a quizzical half smile on his face, like he was wondering if they knew each other. But before Glenn could call him over, he was jostled from behind, hard enough that he dropped the yearbook. It was the cheerleader ladies who did it, shoving past him as they ducked under the rope, giggling at their own audacity.
They surrounded Vito and greeted him with a cheer, shaking their pom-poms and spelling out the letters of his name—Give me a V, all that stupid bullshit—and then they pranced around him in their little skirts and saddle shoes as he walked into the building. The lady cop didn’t seem to mind; she just grinned, as if the cheerleaders had every right to ignore the barrier that everyone else had to respect, and Glenn didn’t do anything, either. He just stood there dumbstruck, like a useless freshman in the cafeteria, too weak and scared to stand up for his own brother.
- 31 - Tracy Flick
I wore a black cocktail dress to the ceremony, along with sheer black stockings, and black shoes with high heels. The dress was short and sleeveless, and I looked good in it, if I may say so myself.
“Dr. Flick.” Buzz gave me a tight fake smile as I entered the Green Room, which was really just the Band Room. “Nice to see you.”
“Big crowd out there,” Kyle said. “Really good energy.”
I wasn’t fooled by their politeness. I was a dead woman walking and we all knew it. You couldn’t curse out the Superintendent and call the Board President a lying backstabber and expect to keep your job, not that I even wanted to. I had no interest in being Larry Holleran’s little helper. Someone else was going to have to clean up his mess this time.
I said hello to Lily and Nate—they were all dressed up for the occasion, cheerfully oblivious to the adult intrigue—and waved to Jack, who gave me a subtle nod of commiseration. He’d taken the day off, so we hadn’t been able to talk in person, but he’d texted me in the afternoon, after speaking to Buzz. He wanted me to know how upset he was on my behalf, and to assure me that he hadn’t been in on the conspiracy. It’s crazy, he wrote. You’re twice as good as Larry and they know it. I appreciated his support, not that it made any difference. Jack was a lame duck, no longer a factor in anyone’s calculations, and now I was one too.
I sat down on a piano bench and pretended to review my notes, wondering why I’d even bothered to show up. It would have served them right if I’d stayed home, left them in the lurch at the last minute, but I was too proud and stubborn for that. I said I’d be there, and I always kept my word, so there I was. I would get up on that stage, and I would be the smiling Master of Ceremonies, and I would perform that task the same way I’d performed a thousand other important tasks during my tenure at GMHS, with quiet competence and unstinting professionalism, and I wouldn’t let my personal feelings get in the way. I owed that to myself, not to anyone else.