You Should See Me in a Crown(41)
“Can I ask you something crazy?” She pulls back, and her hands are still on both my cheeks. She is smiling this heart-stopping smile, and I’m convinced that this is how I die. Kissing Amanda McCarthy on a sidewalk in front of a pizza place. I nod anyway, because honestly, if I’m gonna die, I want to die having said yes to her as many times as I can. “Do you want to be my girlfriend?”
I don’t even answer her. I can’t. My lips find hers before I can even get the words out. It’s hurried and excited and a little messy, but just like a great arrangement of the right song, the beauty is in the imperfections.
Rachel is a human good-PR tornado from Monday through Wednesday to make sure she remains on top of the prom court food chain. She manages to recruit all the PomBots—even girls who have their own campaigns to worry about, like Quinn and Claire and Lucy—to help her atone by passing out hot-pink miniature footballs that say CONSENT IS SEXY as people walk into school.
“It’s for charity, Liz!” Quinn titters as I try to maneuver to first period. She shoves a ball into my hand with surprising strength. “I know what you’re thinking: Is it overkill for the Collinses to donate a thousand dollars to the ASPCA after all the ticket sales from the powder-puff already went to them? But the answer is no! We have to do what we can for those poor, defenseless animals.”
That most certainly was not what I was thinking. But Quinn deserves points for her boundless positivity.
I mean, really. The messaging doesn’t even make sense, even though I do support it. It’s just, like, why on a football? And what does it have to do with the charity from the game on Saturday? Rachel Collins never fails to both shock and disappoint.
On Tuesday, her massive banner in the Commons has somehow gotten even bigger but has a different photo. This time, instead of whatever department-store glamour shot she had before, there’s an image of her holding three tiny dachshund puppies. Puppies! With no caption!
Wednesday she stops into half the upperclassmen homerooms to drop off collection boxes for a canned food drive she made up called: (Non)Perishables for Prom. So although part of me is still flying high from my date with Amanda over the weekend, Rachel is impossible to ignore. It’s like my sympathy bump from the game no longer matters. Because in just three days, Rachel has managed to use her resources to convince everyone that she is somehow a magically good person even though she nearly concussed me not even four days prior.
It’s truly amazing.
By Wednesday afternoon, she’s back at her number one spot, and I can’t help but wonder what it’s going to take to make someone like her fall out of favor enough to give me a chance to ever catch up. I’m down to ninth, and the more I yo-yo between getting to the zone where I might make court or not, the worse my stomach hurts when I think about prom. It’s a different game when no one thinks you stand a chance, but when all eyes are suddenly on you as some sort of underdog story, things suddenly feel more intense.
I’m trying to remember my deep breathing exercises at my locker when—
“It’s been three days, and I can’t believe you’re still holding out on me, Lighty.”
I somehow link up with Jordan at least once each day, and he seems to be able to talk about anything—his family, his college plans, the weird rash he recently got from switching to a new brand of deodorant—anything but his girlfriend, Emme, who the rest of us still haven’t seen or heard from in weeks. The rumors about her are still swirling, though, but despite my curiosity, I refuse to ask what happened.
“Looking good, Lighty!” Some guy with shaggy blond hair and a scraggly White Jesus beard that I’ve never spoken to but had one class with sophomore year walks by and holds his hand up for a high five. It’s so fast, I bring my hand up to his before I even know what’s happening. “Woo!”
I look at his backpack as he walks away like that was a totally normal thing to do. A button with my face is right next to his Green Day patch.
I laugh, a little nervous. Like I said, it doesn’t stop being weird.
“You have to tell your coach to give you more breaks during practice. I think the lack of proper oxygen intake is affecting your brain,” I say, turning back to Jordan and dropping my AP Lit textbook into my backpack. This is my one day of the week free from prom duties, and I can’t wait to get to band rehearsal. A few prom-free hours is going to do my heart good, I can feel it.
Gabi has gone into full-blown Campaign Monster-Manager—Monsterger—mode. She insists on upping our strategy, wants me to be seen with Jordan more often, and had additional flyers with my face all over them plastered everywhere. As if I’m not already swamped with all my volunteer events, she wants me to give a speech at the next student council meeting stating my qualifications for queen, and to broker peace between the Manga Club and the Anime Club so that I can get their collective endorsement.
I’m willing to do a lot for this race, but it’s going to take some definite mental fortitude to make that last one work.
I smirk at Jordan and start down the hallway.
“The minute I have anything interesting to share, you’ll be the … Well, you’ll be the last to know.”
The final bell rang five minutes ago, which means the halls are still full of people running to the buses and the parking lot.
“You wound me!” He clutches his chest and walks backward next to me. It never stops making me nervous when he does that. Jordan lowers his voice as we round a corner. “You weren’t going to tell me that you went on a hot date this weekend?”