None of the Above(7)

I stretched out my hand. “You still coming over tonight?” We had a standing Monday study date. On good nights, we got an hour’s worth of work done before going down to the basement and making out on the sofa bed.

For a split second, my hand hovered in space, alone. Then Sam’s hand tightened over mine. He pulled me to him and he planted a kiss on my forehead like a blessing.

“Course.”

And it was summer again.

The relief that washed through my body almost took my breath away. I held Sam close. I pressed my cheek against his chest, feeling the familiar stubble of T-shirt print cracked with old age.

We started our run, and with each step the tension in my shoulders eased. I fell into the hypnotic rhythm of our matched strides, thinking that our Homecoming night hadn’t been perfect, but so what? As long as we had ground under our feet and the wind at our backs, things were going to be okay.

When I called to make my ob-gyn appointment the next morning, the only time they had available was during my AP English class, which was a shame because it was the one class I actually enjoyed and was kind of good at. We were just about to start The Merchant of Venice, so I gave my teacher a heads-up that I’d be gone.

“You won’t miss much,” Ms. MacDowell assured me. “I’ll have one of your classmates write up some notes for you. It’s also the first day of extra-credit sign-up for acting out part of the play, though. You can give me a scene preference if you’d like.”

“No, thank you,” I said. “I’m not really an actress.” That was an understatement. Whatever talent it was that allowed other people to step out of their skin to inhabit another character, I didn’t have it.

“And congratulations on Homecoming,” Ms. MacDowell added. “Your classmates have good taste.”

I mumbled embarrassed thanks before heading to my desk, because with her hippie skirts and unshaven legs, Ms. MacDowell didn’t seem like the kind of person who cared about Homecoming. She seemed more like a person who’d start a petition against it.

So did Jessica Riley, who sat behind me. Jessica was more quirky pretty than pretty pretty: Long, aquiline nose. Bold mouth. Wavy dirty-blond hair that she didn’t bother to straighten the way every other girl in my class did. She had a style all her own—grungy T-shirt and Levi’s one day, vintage dresses the next—and her body type was super curvy, Kate Winslet instead of Kate Moss.

I was sure that part of Vee’s crankiness that morning was the injustice of the jock and the drama geek getting positions on the Court instead of her. People like us weren’t supposed to win popularity contests. The Queen should have been someone who cared about the tiara and the pictures in the Observer-Dispatch. I didn’t even know exactly what Homecoming Queens were supposed to do.

I had a vague recollection of last year’s Queen giving a speech at a pep rally or two, and had a sudden moment of panic. I turned around to Jessica, who smiled at me. “Hey,” I whispered. “Do you know if this Royal Court stuff comes with, like, responsibilities?” She, at least, was used to talking in front of crowds—she won debate tournaments in addition to acting. But I was a total dud when it came to public speaking. “Do I have to give a speech or anything?”

“Beats me. We have to show up for the Christmas parade all dressed up, but mostly we’re just figureheads.”

If we were figureheads, it was kind of sad that it had been so important to Vee to be elected, even though I understood the pressure from her parents. Her dad was a big guy around town, the type of person who had a country club membership and did things like trade in his BMW for an Audi. Her mom was a real estate agent, and though she was always super nice, when she gave me presents it always seemed as if she was trying to upgrade me. Like my sixteenth birthday, when she bought me a Lanc?me makeup kit and a pearl necklace. Aside from it being such an expensive gift that it made me feel uncomfortable, it was so not me.

Vee understood that, and even loved me for it. When we were younger, she was always over at my house, probably because when she had dinner with my family no one ever bugged her about what she was wearing, or reminded her how many carbs were in a bowl of spaghetti.

But maybe that’s why Homecoming meant so much. Because what was the point of spending your whole life trying to be High School Barbie if you weren’t even elected Queen?

After school, while I helped Vee into Faith’s car, she clutched at my arm before slumping into the front seat, drained.

“You okay?” I asked. This wasn’t like her.

“I’m fine.”

“Have you thought about using one of those rolly things to get around?” Just last month a teammate had gotten a knee scooter to help her get from class to class while her ankle injury healed.

“Why? So I can look like a twerp whose mom won’t let her get a skateboard?” Vee said bitterly.

Faith and I exchanged our “this too shall pass” look. The three of us had been through too much together to let snark get in the way of our friendship. My mom’s death, Vee’s parents’ near-divorce, Faith’s older brother’s attempted suicide.

As we drove, I wondered if I should’ve scheduled my doctor’s appointment for after class and had Vee come with me. Outside of school, with just the two of us, maybe we could sort things out. Restore the balance that Homecoming had disrupted. Because in the end, that’s all I wanted with Vee. With Sam.