You Should See Me in a Crown(19)

I laugh. I can’t help it. This girl just keeps talking herself further into a hole. “I have to say I wasn’t expecting the cilantro. But I totally called the lopsided wig.” I pat the side of my hair like I would if I was wearing weave. I realize that it’s the first thing I’ve been able to say since she walked into the room. “I can’t believe you noticed.”

She smiles back, obviously relieved. Something tells me this girl has chased away her fair share of new people thanks to her lack of a filter.

“What I mean is, your sweater. My aunt Ida has a really wide selection of cardigans.” She shakes her head. “That probably doesn’t make it any better, huh?”

“Not really.”

“I ramble when I’m nervous. It’s ugly. One time I told my English teacher that she reminded me of my childhood dentist because every time she came near me, I could smell that eerie doctor-y smell, and I was overwhelmed with the urge to cry, because it gave me flashbacks to getting my braces tightened when I was in middle school.”

This girl is weird. Like, really weird. But I laugh anyway, because it’s a weird that I understand.

“Maybe we should work on the piece before I put my foot in my mouth again?”

I nod. “That sounds like a good plan.”

I stand by as I walk her through what the music sounds like with the entire ensemble. The places where she has a little more creative liberty to play around with a measure or two, though the sheet music may not have it marked. She’s good. Like, really good. She’s catching on to the arrangement way quicker than I expected, and it looks almost effortless. The way she plays, the ease of her hands and the subtle way she keeps time by moving her lips along with the beat, has me lost in a new, fresh version of the song.

I arranged it, technically, but with her playing, it sounds like something I haven’t heard before. I feel a little guilty about it, but I send up a moment of gratitude to the gods above about Kevin’s broken appendages.

I don’t even realize that we’ve been here for over an hour until my phone starts ringing. It’s Granny calling, no doubt reminding me that she needs me to get home early tonight to make dinner because she’s leaving for her shift at the nursing home a little earlier than usual.

She doesn’t usually miss family mealtime, but we’re not really in a place for her to turn down extra hours.

“Oh, wow.” I look down at the time on my phone and slide it back into my pocket quickly. “I’m sorry to take off, but I have to get home.”

She sets her sticks down on the snare and stretches her arms above her head like she’s just finished a workout.

“That was sick!” She grins and links her fingers together behind her head. “You’re like a mad scientist or something. I’ve never gotten the hang of a piece that fast.”

I close my sheet music folder and slide it into my backpack. I’m smiling down at the carpet.

“A mad scientist with a mean old-lady-sweater collection.”

I’m gonna have to have a talk with Gabi about the clothes she sent over.

“Please don’t hold that against me! I’d hate to have lost my first friend before we’ve even made it into each others’ ‘close friends’ list on Instagram.”

“Instagram, huh?” She’s grabbing her stuff too, but she’s not nearly as careful as I am about putting things into her bag. I can see old loose-leaf paper and a half-opened French workbook poking out of the top. It’s not even my bag, and I’m stressed about its current state of disarray. “You mean the welcome committee didn’t take your phone the minute you walked through the door and automatically download Campbell Confidential? CC is the gold star of social media around here.”

She laughs, and it’s not what I expect. The rest of her is so bold, but her laugh is a small thing, a little twinkle of a sound she tries to contain behind her hand.

“There actually was a girl! She works in the front office. She has very blond hair, these teeth that look like they should be in a Colgate commercial …”

“Quinn Bukowski.” I’ve had the same thought about her teeth before while picking up a schedule in the front office, honestly. “She’s one of the student helpers. Most of her friends are big advocates for the app—probably because it was sort of designed with them in mind.”

The pretty, the popular, the people whose lives you want to press your face up against the glass of and watch from the outside.

“Yeah! That’s her! She was in the prom meeting the other day, right?” She stands up and pulls her bag across her body. “I think I might have promised to vote for her when she was telling me where to find my classes because I was so mesmerized by her teeth?”

“If everyone were that easy to persuade”—she follows me to the door, and I flip the lights off behind us—“then that would suck all the pain and suffering—err, uh, fun—out of the process.” I roll my eyes so she knows that I’m joking, and she snorts with her laugh this time. It’s a cuter sound than should be legal, really.

“You’re really funny.”

I’m not blushing. I can’t be blushing, because Liz Lighty doesn’t blush. But my face does get a little warm.

“That’s debatable. I don’t think anyone is confusing me for senior class clown or anything.”