You Should See Me in a Crown(32)
Mack nods and bites at her nonexistent thumbnail, clearly taking in the information. She does that, bite her thumbnail, when she’s processing new things or situations or people. I find it weirdly adorable. But, like, adorable in the type of way that will absolutely not lead to anything else between us ever because we’re just friends and I have too much other stuff on my plate right now to start worrying about cute girls and—
“Iron fist and a heart of gold, huh?” Dr. L appears behind us again, and I actually yelp this time. “I should get that copyrighted.” She puts two fingers into her mouth and lets out her infamous whistle to get everyone’s attention. “Y’all know what time it is! Who wants to hear Miss Lizzie and her friend read some stories?”
Peanut is the first to dart away from the jump rope station that she’d commandeered and join us where we’ve formed an informal circle on the floor. She climbs into my lap, where I’m sitting cross-legged, instead of finding a seat of her own.
“She’s white,” she whispers in my ear conspiratorially.
“I know she’s white, P.” I smile, amused. “There’s all kinds of people on the earth who look different than us.”
Bryant House is smack-dab in the middle of an almost entirely black neighborhood, so it’s not often we get a white person strolling through these halls. I can’t blame her for being a little curious.
Unsatisfied, she looks at Mack as she sits across the circle, currently in deep conversation with a five-year-old named Troy. “Okay, well, why’s her hair like that? She looks like that scary girl with the arrows.”
It’s worth mentioning that Peanut absolutely did not like Brave when we showed it during summer camp last year.
“She was born with that hair. Just like I was born with this hair and you were born with your beautiful curls.” I tug at one of her pigtails, and it immediately bounces back into place. “Why are you so nosy anyway?”
“I dunno.” She shrugs. “I like her. She smells good, and she said she liked my shirt.”
And listen, an endorsement from Peanut Parker goes a long way in my book.
When everyone is finally nestled into their spots, Dr. L hands Mack the stack of books instead of giving it to me.
Dr. L never so much as asked G to pour a glass of juice when she visited, so this feels something like an endorsement too. Albeit a little less passionate than Peanut’s, but still.
But Mack takes the stack and asks Troy to pick a book. He pulls out Whistle for Willie by Ezra Jack Keats. My chest gets a little tight as I listen to Mack read it, her voice fluctuating perfectly with each scene. She looks so comfortable with the book in one hand and Troy leaning against her shoulder. As she flips to the last page, Peanut leans up to whisper in my ear again.
“Miss Lizzie, why are you looking at the white girl like that?”
“Like what, P?”
She rolls her eyes and tries again. “Uh duh, like Tiana looked at Naveen?”
Because okay, Peanut didn’t buy into Brave, but she really freaking loved The Princess and the Frog. And— Oh shoot. I just got called out by a six-year-old about my ridiculously inconvenient, now-impossible-to-ignore crush.
So as Mack reads the final line and is met with an enthusiastic round of applause from her captive audience, I finally realize something major: Dr. L has to stop letting the kids watch so many Disney movies.
Jordan seems to have a way of finding me when I am at my most frazzled.
I’m powering out the front doors of the school when Jordan spots me. He’s leaning against Jaxon Price’s car, laughing with a few of the other guys from the football team.
“Yo, Lighty, wait up!” he shouts. He shakes up with his boys before walking in my direction. I look down at the time on my phone. I’m late for work because I decided to stop by and talk to Mr. K after school. I had to tell him about not getting the scholarship. It was beginning to feel too much like lying. And I couldn’t make him one of the people I’m not being completely honest with.
When he offered to do whatever he could to help, I told him that I was working on a solution and that everything would be fine. He nodded, but his face told me he didn’t quite believe that. And I couldn’t blame him. I wouldn’t believe it either. I’m not sure I believe it now.
“Where you headed?” Jordan asks once he finally reaches me. “Work? You need a ride?” He nods toward his car. “You still at the music shop? I’m getting ready to head out that way.”
I hesitate. And look over at the bike rack where my bike is locked. I would really prefer not to have to pedal all the way over to work.
“Um, yeah actually. That’d be great.”
I jog over to grab my bike, and he lifts it easily into his trunk. I hop into his passenger seat, and I’m sort of surprised by how clean the inside of the car is.
I’m jittery, unable to focus. After talking to Mr. K, a part of me feels lighter. But still, the weight of all the things I’m not saying is starting to feel almost crushing.
“Lighty, you may not be my second-in-command anymore, but something is off.” He looks over at me as we pull out of the parking lot. “You’re doing that thing you do with your eyebrow.”
“I’m fine!” I rub at my eyebrow quickly because I know exactly what he’s talking about. It’s one of those anxiety tics. My left eyebrow has a tendency to get all twitchy when I’m stressed. For instance, it got so bad last year before the SATs, my granny seriously considered having me see a doctor. “Okay, so I’m a little stressed. But nothing I can’t handle. Nothing I can’t figure out.”