You Should See Me in a Crown(44)
“No,” I start. “You have no idea how completely un-horrible that is.”
Her fingers slip between mine in my lap, and my heart does that thing it always does around her now. Like it can’t decide whether or not to expand five sizes in my chest or, you know, bust out completely.
“You’re the best part about all of it.” She looks down at where our hands are linked. “I would deal with the long hours and the bad volunteer gigs and the diatribes by Madame Simoné all over again if it meant we would end up here.”
I stop breathing. I almost don’t know how to be with her like this, completely alone, completely vulnerable. I just know that I want to be. I just know that there’s nowhere else I’d rather be, in fact, than in this car with Amanda McCarthy as she leans forward and holds my face in her hands. I close my eyes, because it’s almost too much, looking at her and feeling her breath on my lips and smelling her shampoo as her hair brushes my cheeks.
Since we’re covered by the confined space and the near-darkness of the early evening light, it’s the only place me and Amanda have ever been allowed to be this close. And, God, are we close right now. But when her lips barely graze mine, every thought gives way to the very real sensation of this thing—of how much I needed this. Having her like this is every bit as great as I remember, probably better since we don’t have an audience.
I look at her as she pulls back, and I know my eyes must be just as wide as hers. She waits—always waiting for me to tell her what I want—until I nod once, maybe a little frantic, before her lips meet mine again. And it’s urgent, more urgent than it was the night of the concert.
When I open my mouth, everything happens so fast—the way I can feel her everywhere, the way my hands steady instead of shake where they tangle in her hair because I’ve maybe never felt so grounded before, so rooted in a moment.
“I want,” she sighs as she pulls back slightly. She’s leaning her forehead against mine. I think about kissing every one of the freckles that are sprinkled across her nose. “I want so much with you.”
That we can’t have. She won’t say it, but I know she’s thinking it.
“Come to prom with me,” I blurt out as I break away from her. I can feel the rest of my word vomit before I even open my mouth. “Sorry, I know people do promposals and stuff, and I know things are weird with us competing against each other and the fact that it’s technically against the rules, and nothing is how it should be really, but—”
“Don’t say sorry for any of that.” She shakes her head and gives me a quick peck on the cheek before easing herself back into her seat. I hadn’t even realized that she’d practically been in my lap. “I’d love to go to prom with you, Liz. We deserve good things too. No matter how we have to get them.”
I nod, sort of stunned silent by it all. I didn’t imagine that we’d be here when Amanda offered to drive me home, but I’m so glad we are.
“Can I tell you something?” she asks as she leans back against the headrest and sighs.
“You can tell me anything.”
“I don’t want to take you home yet,” she whispers. “I wish we never had to leave this car.”
“Okay.” We deserve good things too, I remind myself as I look at the clock. I have some time. No matter how we have to get them. “Then let’s stay in it for as long as we can.”
“Liz, since you skipped our strategy session last night, maybe you don’t know that Rachel is still at number one.” Gabi taps her fingernails against the tabletop. It’s lunchtime, but she hasn’t touched her plate all period. “And you’re stuck at number nine. It’s time to do something drastic.”
I was feeling good, enjoying pizza day in the cafeteria, a little high on last night and my amazing girlfriend and being able to think about something other than prom, until this very moment.
Stone sighs. “Perhaps now is the time we let Mother Universe lead us in the direction—”
“Not now, Stone!” Gabi snaps.
“Whoa,” I start. I look between Stone and Gabi and wonder what, exactly, is going on with my best friend. She never snaps at Stone. No one does. Stone’s, like, not capable of reciprocating anger. It’s like yelling at a newborn kitten. You just don’t do it. “G, relax. Maybe we need to take a break from prom talk today. I think the whole crew is a little burned out.”
It’s like she doesn’t even hear me. She just shakes her head.
“We’ve run the numbers, and the fact is that you poll better when you’re seen with Jordan,” she says. “So you need to leverage that relationship.”
“Leverage …”
“Yes, leverage. Be seen with him. Maybe make it look more than friendly.” She runs a hand through her hair in an attempt to smooth down her flyaways. Gabi Marino never has flyaways. “He had a huge crush on you in middle school.” She waves a hand around. “Rekindle that.”
I’m flustered and more than a little shell-shocked. I mean, there’s so much wrong with what she’s saying that I don’t even know where to start. On what planet did Jordan Jennings ever have a crush on me? And why on earth would Gabi ever think I could pretend to date him—when we just now got back on speaking terms—for potential votes? I want to do what it takes, but there has to be a line somewhere. There’s a bitter taste in my mouth, literally, and I’m convinced she’s officially lost it. The last of her good sense, gone.