You Should See Me in a Crown(17)
“Trenches? You make this sound like we’re going to war.”
He scrunched up his nose like he was getting ready to sneeze and the diamond stud in his nose glinted in the art room’s fluorescent light. Jordan is the only jock I know who could pull off a nose ring and have nobody say anything shady about it. But also, when you’re hot enough to’ve been a Riverdale cast member in another life, and your dad played for the Colts for eight years, you can kind of do whatever you want.
“I think if you haven’t figured out that this race is a little bit like going to battle, then you definitely have to pull your nose out of your sheet music,” he said, his elbow nudging mine. “Don’t worry, I’ll be your personal Uncle Iroh, offering sage advice along the way.”
“I’m sorry, did you just make an Avatar: The Last Airbender reference to me?”
“Of course I did! It’s only the greatest animated television series about love, friendship, identity, and goodness triumphing over the ever-present force of evil in the history of television.” He rubbed his chin like he was deep in thought. “You’re very Book One Prince Zuko—all honor and determination and stuff. You could use some guidance from an old pro to ease you into Book Three Prince Zuko: more relaxed, more open to adventure, better hair.”
My shoulders stiffened at the mention of “better hair,” and Jordan immediately backpedaled.
“I’m just saying, we gotta make the best of an otherwise not-great situation. So we might as well come out the other side with more than just a plastic crown.”
I didn’t bother mentioning that if we won, we would come out with a scholarship. And at that point, who cares about the plastic crown?
“If you think it sucks, why do you do it?” I asked, grabbing some empty glue sticks and dropping them into the garbage. I knew I was moving quickly, but I didn’t really have time to waste cleaning out closets all afternoon. I still had at least an hour of homework left when I got home, and if my grades slid and Pennington revoked my acceptance altogether, all this would have been for nothing.
“Because it’s who I am,” he said simply, a little resigned. “Comes with the Jennings territory. My mom’s been on the planning committee for eight years now, so I’m pretty sure she would actually murder me if I didn’t run.”
He stopped for a second before turning to me with a smirk.
“Besides, Lighty, didn’t you know? Prom is the”—Jordan twirled his imaginary handlebar mustache like we were in old-timey London or something—“social event of the season.”
I laughed, some of the tension I’d been holding in my shoulders all day slipping away.
It was nice how friendly Jordan was being, but I tried not to let myself get caught up in it. Just because you’re free to be one person in private doesn’t mean anything when it comes to the person you are in public. I know that better than anybody.
“Seriously, Jordan, you mean to tell me that your mom has been on the alumni planning committee for the past eight years? That’s, like, a med-school level of commitment.” I shook my head as he tested out some markers on a piece of old construction paper to see if they were dried out or not.
“Yeah.” He frowned a bit and scratched the back of his neck. “She and my dad are … dedicated.”
“How are they doing?” I asked. I knew what he meant, even if he didn’t say it. They were worse than dedicated; they were downright obsessive, like a lot of parents in Campbell.
“They’re them. You know.” He shrugged and then cleared his throat. “I can’t wait for them to take off for the weekend in a few weeks though! It’s going to be just like House Party. Me and you can reprise our roles as Kid ’n Play.”
And then, without giving me a chance to prepare, he stepped back and brought his foot up, just like Kid ’n Play from the movie. He just sort of let his knee suspend there for a minute while he looked at me expectantly.
It was stupid. It was so stupid to do it, but I’ve known that routine like the back of my hand since I was eight. The House Party movies are hilarious, each of them about these two friends who keep getting themselves into trouble. They’re super goofy—all colorful ’90s outfits and old-school slang—but watching the first one, at the very least, is like a mandate of black culture. Robbie and I had been obsessed as kids, and I guess old habits die hard.
So when I lifted my foot to his, and then stepped back to do it again, it was like muscle memory. I narrowed my eyes like he was really inconveniencing me, but I followed his lead without complaint. And then it was like we weren’t in some classroom tucked in the back of the art wing at Campbell County High School. We were back on that stage in our middle school talent show, listening to ’90s hip-hop, moving like this was just something we did in our free time. Jordan was so good at it, and although I’ve never considered myself a dancer, I knew it well enough to hit those moves like a pro.
I was full-on, hands-on-my-knees cracking up by the time we finished.
And that’s when I heard the applause. The Prom Projectioners had their phones trained in our direction from the entrance to the classroom, and I instantly wanted to crawl out of my skin.
Jordan stood up straight immediately to smooth his black T-shirt out, and he turned back to the closet like he hadn’t been goofing around with me only a few seconds before. It was like as soon as we had an audience, I didn’t exist. Just like he’d done that day freshman year.