You Should See Me in a Crown(30)
“Us?” My eyebrows shoot up. “Yeah, sorry, but last time I checked it was my face on these buttons and on the posters and on the bumper stickers you’re having the Lucas make.” I can feel myself getting more frustrated. “I’m the one who has to do all”—I wave my hand around at everything from the poster with my face on it on the wall next to us to my ridiculous country club–esque outfit—“this.”
“Lizzie, please.” She sighs, her small hand resting on my arm. I hate when she uses my nickname like that, like I’m some sort of toddler who needs to be placated. “You know what I mean. I’m just saying, I want me and you to do everything we can to give you the best shot at winning.”
“Well, if you wanna help so bad, you carry this ridiculous box.” I shove the box back into her hands as we approach the band room.
Melly and her friend Katherine Evans, our best cellist, rush up to us before we can even walk in.
“Lizwenevergetbandgeeksonthese!” Melly comes up to me holding out her phone. My poster is the wallpaper on her lock screen. The sight throws me off for a second, and Gabi elbows me in the ribs, like, See, I told you so. “You’refamous!”
Gabi loves that Melly and Katherine have become two of my biggest supporters. The two have practically made me a trending topic in the nerd circles thanks to how much they’ve been talking about me. I appreciate it—I really, seriously do—but I guess I’m still not used to having attention trained on me, especially not attention that I’ve purposely invited on myself.
Katherine lowers her voice like she’s sharing some forbidden information. “This makes us look almost cool.”
“You guys are already cool.” I nudge them inside the band room and laugh when they both roll their eyes. “But feel free to grab a button. We have a fully obnoxious amount.”
I direct that last part at Gabi, but she’s pretending not to hear me as she goes to the back of the room to grab her clarinet. When we step into the room, the band is in that sweet spot right before practice, where everyone has gotten done with their catching up and is tuning their instruments, adjusting their music stands, and getting into rehearsal mode. It’s one of my favorite moments of practice days.
She hands me another button as we sit down.
“I still think this is overkill, G. I already have this face on twenty-four seven.” I gesture to my head. “What do I need to wear two for?” I roll my eyes and pin it to my shirt anyway. My fight is half-hearted. As long as we’re getting ready to play, none of this other stuff matters.
“All right, group!” Mr. K waves a hand in the air to draw all the attention in his direction. “Let’s do this.”
I set my music on the stand in front of me and breathe deep, my nerves settling instantly. And for a second, buttons, prom, overbearing best friends are forgotten. Because this, right here, always makes sense.
“Okay, one-for-one. You ask me something, and I’ll ask you something,” Mack says as we set up some tables in the Commons. There’s an entire stack of them on a cart that we’re expected to unload before our volunteer shift is over.
Some of the groups for the show-choir competition will start arriving tomorrow night, and the school is gradually transforming into something even worse than Prom Wasteland: Jazz Hand Junction. On top of the already-ridiculous layer of campaign posters and flyers with prom court candidates lining the walls and the lockers, we now have to deal with music note decals and glittery handmade signs welcoming groups with names like Park Meade High School Panache and Valley Glen Vocal Velocity. I’m getting nauseated just looking at it.
“Hmm, sounds dangerous. What if you ask me something I don’t want to answer?” My arms feel especially Jell-O-y as we unfold the legs of the plastic table and tilt it upright. “Nobody needs to know that I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die.”
“Okay, ten points for the Johnny Cash reference.” She laughs.
I decide to start. “How do you feel about Campbell now that you’ve been here for a grand total of three weeks?”
“Sometimes I can see why my mom and dad liked this place so much. Other times I’m not sure how anyone can breathe in this town.”
I sit on the table and close my eyes for a second. If there’s one thing I understand, it’s feeling stifled by the place we live and the people who live here. But I also understand the other part, the part of Campbell that is charming and beautiful, though I feel it less often.
“What about you?” she asks when I don’t respond. She looks at me and bites her thumbnail. “I know it must be tough being one of the only black students at Campbell. And it doesn’t help that Racist Regina George, Rachel Collins, has it out for you.”
Instead of answering her question, I ask one of my own. “You’ve noticed that?”
“Of course I have. I notice a lot about you.” She smiles at me softly before hauling one of the tables off the cart by herself, like she didn’t just Hurricane Mack my entire world with one sentence. “You can actually make me shut up and listen for a minute. And if you ask my dad, that’s next to impossible.”
“Hey, you wanna go somewhere else with me?” I surprise myself by asking. I press forward when she turns around to look at me, eyebrows raised. “I mean, if they want us to do community service, we might as well help the community.”