You Should See Me in a Crown(43)
We don’t have to play dirty; we just have to play different.
“Jordan, I need a little time to work out an idea”—I look down at my phone to check the clock—“but when I’m ready, if I asked you to help me make sure that no one like Rachel wins this year, would you?”
“You know what?” His nose crinkles up as he smiles. “I thought you’d never ask.”
I know that for most people, walking down the hallway with someone they like is not a big deal. I know it’s a totally normal, healthy part of growing up. It’s something that people write songs and diary entries and Campbell Confidential posts about. It’s supposed to be easy.
Amanda and I could just be friends, friendly competitors, gently bumping into each other’s shoulders as we walk down the hallway and toward the parking lot. If anyone saw us, this wouldn’t be Campbell Confidential worthy—it wouldn’t even be conversation worthy. So I try not to think about the way her knuckles are brushing mine and the way my entire body feels a little electric at the fact that my girlfriend—my girlfriend—is right here. That she’s real. That, even if this is not the way I want this to be, it is happening.
“You want me to give you a ride home?” she asks as we approach my locker. We had a check-in meeting with Madame Simoné tonight given that the end of the race is quickly approaching. She reminded us that crunch time is upon us and that everything—our scores, our scholarships, our ability to make court—hinges on what happens in the next couple of weeks. The thought, as usual, made my stomach ache.
But I nod at Amanda, shoving those feelings somewhere I can’t reach.
“Cool.” Her smile is shy. “Is it too much too soon to say that I want to be alone with you again?”
She lowers her voice a little and bites her thumb. “This low-key thing is harder than I thought it would be, especially when I already know what it’s like to kiss you.”
And whoa. If I wasn’t already feeling off-kilter, that just did it.
We haven’t had time to be alone together since the concert on Sunday, and I’d be lying if I hadn’t been thinking the same exact thing. But we barely even see each other outside of class. I’ve spent nearly all my time bouncing between rehearsal and homework and my job and prom events, and the only time we get to talk is via text. We write back and forth in all my open windows of time. Most nights that’s usually right before my head hits the pillow, and only for a few minutes, but they’re easily becoming the best minutes of my day.
With no hesitation, I pull out my phone to fire off a text to Gabi and let her know that I can’t make it to our scheduled strategy session tonight. That I’m doing some opposition research of my own instead. Which isn’t, you know, a complete lie.
Her response comes quickly.
I see Jordan standing near the door to the parking lot. He’s out of earshot, talking to Jaxon and Harry, but he catches my eye with a questioning, raised eyebrow. His look tells me to throw bros before hoes out the window and just go for it. Or, that’s what I intuit from it anyway.
When I wave him off, he grins and does this weird body-roll thing that is definitely also a sign for something, but I’d rather not even think about that right now. I gesture for him to stop, because Jaxon Price is literally standing right there and even though he’s not the brightest crayon in the box, I don’t want him to put two and two together. But I also laugh, because Jordan is a hilarious, overgrown child.
Amanda has an amused expression when I finally answer her.
“Yeah, yes, sorry. Er, um, I’d like that.” Jordan’s shimmying like Shakira in my peripheral vision, and I shake my head, attempting to clear the image from my recent memory. I grab her hand without thinking and pull her in the direction of the parking lot. “Oh my God, can we just go? Let’s just go.”
When we step outside, I reluctantly let go of her hand. The parking lot is mostly empty by the time we reach it, but I feel like it’s better not to chance it. Still though, our knuckles brush as we walk, and while neither of us says anything, the moment is heavy with something unnamable.
Amanda drives the long route to my house, a way that takes us down a road lined on both sides by cornfields. Granny thinks I’m working late at Melody Music, so I have some time to kill before I need to be back home. I tell Amanda to pull over into the off-road dirt path between a line of trees and a field that will be tall with stalks of corn in a few months. It’s a tight squeeze, but it’s private—no streetlights, no prying eyes of classmates—so it’s perfect.
The sound of Kittredge fills the car as she kills the engine.
“I’ve always wanted to come out here, but I’ve never really had a reason to,” I say, not nervous exactly, but definitely trying to talk myself away from the way my stomach is Simone Biles–style front-flipping at the thought of being alone with Amanda. I look out at the way the sun is disappearing behind the farthest edge of the field and practically setting the whole thing fire, and I am reminded that there are some things in this town that will never cease to take my breath away.
“One-for-one?” she asks, and I nod.
“Do you actually like running for prom queen?” she says, and I have to admit I’m a little surprised. I wasn’t expecting that. “I thought this experience was going to be one thing—one big, very cool thing—and it’s actually just ridiculously stressful.” She looks as me and winces. “Is that horrible?”