She Drives Me Crazy(70)



“Oh my god!” everyone says at once.

“Only problem is, what rhymes with ‘associates’?” Gunther asks.

“Invertebrates,” Kevin says seriously.

“Okay, let’s worry about that later,” Danielle says. She turns to Irene. “You said yes, right?”

“I got up and spelled it out.” Irene pretends she has pom-poms in her hands. “Y-E-S!”

“God, you have a heinous sense of humor,” I tell her while our friends crack up.

“But here’s the bigger news,” Irene says, leaning into me. “She said even if I can’t get a cheer scholarship to Benson, that we can still work something out. I can help in the office this summer while her receptionist is on a cruise to Majorca. I’m going to Benson no matter what.”

“Irene, that’s amazing!” Honey-Belle squeals.

“So I’m dropping out of SAOY,” Irene continues with a shrug. “I don’t need it anymore. I don’t care. Besides, I want Danielle to win.” She looks seriously at her. “I need you to beat Charlotte.”

Danielle stands at attention. “It would be my honor.”



* * *



The day Danielle wins Student Athlete of the Year is the Friday before my eighteenth birthday weekend. Our principal announces her win during a special ceremony in the gym, with Danielle, Charlotte, and the remaining two candidates seated behind him. No one is surprised to hear Danielle’s name called, but nearly all of us are surprised when Charlotte throws her chair off the stage in a fit of rage. Even her friend Symphony can’t calm her down. In the end, Mrs. Scuttlebaum has to bodily drag her to the nurse’s office. That’s how we find out that Scuttlebaum used to be a professional rodeo cowgirl.

Danielle’s SAOY victory isn’t as ground-shaking as her buzzer-beater against Candlehawk, but everyone is still thrilled for her. Kevin gives her a dozen red roses. Honey-Belle makes her a flower crown. Gunther secretly cuts off the Fighting Reindeer’s tail for Danielle to save as a keepsake.

All in all, the end of that school day is pretty anticlimactic. We’re happy, but it’s a comfortable kind of happy. Tonight, the six of us are having birthday dinner with my family, and then we’re going to the Munny for a triple date to see Sixteen Candles. Irene has already made us promise to debrief about the problematic parts afterward. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Kevin and Danielle so excited. They literally made notecards so they wouldn’t forget any of their discussion points. Danielle says they made out in his car first, then took turns trading highlighters. They’re disgusting.

It’s a beautiful March day when we break free of the senior locker hall and wind our way to the parking lot. Irene hasn’t joined us yet; she told Honey-Belle she had to email the Benson cheerleading coach first. It’s weird to hear college names dropped into every conversation now. Irene talks about Benson all day long. Kevin has already gotten into Morehouse. Gunther has his sights set on Kennesaw State, and Danielle got into Vanderbilt. I’m still planning on Georgia State; I can picture myself down in the city. The only one of us who doesn’t mention college much is Honey-Belle, but that’s because she wants to take a gap year. She’s thinking about becoming a doula. Gunther had to look that one up when she told him about it.

We’re strolling lazily toward the parking lot, Danielle and Kevin holding hands, Gunther and Honey-Belle wrapping their arms over each other’s shoulders. It’s not the group I would have expected to finish out my senior year with. It’s better.

The early spring weather is gentle and calm. Golden sun on our hair, birds chirping timidly. The marquee has read PROM NEXT MONTH all week, but someone messed with it so it now reads PROM SEX MONTH.

There’s a steady beat of music coming from the parking lot. We turn the corner and head to our cars, and suddenly the music is blaring. A thumping drumbeat. A lone figure standing by my Jetta—

It’s Irene, hoisting an old-school boom box above her head, wearing a trench coat over her cheer uniform. So much cuter than John Cusack. I laugh with my whole heart, because what else can I do?

My friends don’t look surprised: They hang back and watch me approach her.

Irene grins, bites her lip. She dials the volume down and sets the boom box on the roof of my car. That’s when I realize she’s not even playing the right song. It’s not “In Your Eyes.” It’s the Fine Young Cannibals song we listened to during our first week carpooling together.

I grin and press into her. “Why the song change?”

She rolls her eyes. “Because the other one is so fucking cheesy. ‘She Drives Me Crazy’ is much more our vibe.”

“Where did you even get this boom box?”

“Balthazar’s Antiques. Five bucks. The guy had to show me how to use it.”

“Incredible,” I say, threading our fingers together. “But aren’t you allergic to romantic performances?”

Irene smirks. She raises that eyebrow, the one with the scar I love so much. “Not when they’re done for their own sake. And not when it’s your birthday weekend. Besides, I can’t let you outdo me.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, leaning into her.

She kisses me. Our friends start to whoop in the background.

“You’re something else,” I tell her.

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