You Should See Me in a Crown(49)
My face isn’t pressed to the glass, wondering what’s going on inside with all my classmates. I’m right here, right in the center of it all. I’m not just The Black Girl or The Girl with the Dead Mother or The Poor Girl. I’m Liz Lighty, and I’m all of that, but suddenly, that doesn’t seem like such a bad thing.
I’m cracking up at some story Jordan is telling about how he and Jaxon accidentally switched cleats at practice one time (which absolutely should not be as funny as it is), when I see Amanda out of the corner of my eye. Amanda, my Amanda, and the random girl with the hair—who probably, by the way, doesn’t even belong at this party—head inside the house, laughing at something between the two of them.
When I look down at my phone, I realize it’s well past eleven. I’m suddenly indignant that she still hasn’t said a single word to me. I asked her to not act like we’re girlfriends in public, but I didn’t ask her to pretend I don’t even exist. Every good feeling I was collecting immediately evaporates and is replaced by the burn and bitterness that accompanies rejection. It’s like every bit of rationale for staying away from her all night disappears, and all I can think to do is follow them. I’m out of my seat and halfway there when—
“Where are you going?” Suddenly Gabi’s hand is tight around my wrist, holding me in place. I’d lost track of her before, but now I wonder how I ever could have lost her. Her presence in front of me is so big. “You need to keep mingling. I’m going to try and get the theater troupe president to endorse you. You could have the show choir kids tied up by the end of the night if you sweet-talk Chrissy Shelley about getting into AMDA.”
“You can do that, G. But I’m not interested, okay?” Gabi is a force of nature, but she’s been wrong more times over the course of this campaign than I can count. The clothes, the tricks, using people as just a means to an end—it’s all messed up. It makes me think of Amanda, the only person at this party I really want to talk to right now but have been avoiding to toe the line. I pull my arm out of her grip calmly but firmly. “I have something else I need to do right now.”
When I make my way into the kitchen, I see Amanda and Perfect Hair near the fridge, their heads close together like they’re sharing a secret. I get this feeling in my gut like I’ve eaten something expired, like I can’t trust it to just calm down and stay settled.
“Liz!” Amanda waves me over. It’s the first time all night she’s said my name. “Come here really quick. You have to meet Kam.”
Amanda reaches for my hand as I approach, and I shove it into my pocket quickly. I try not to look at her face as it falls. I can feel disappointment radiating off her, and I hate myself for it. I have to be realistic. No matter how badly I wanted her to talk to me, being physical is too risky. There are too many eyes around. Too many people waiting for something juicy to happen that they can put on Campbell Confidential, consequences to the people involved be damned.
“I wanted to introduce you to Kam. She’s from Park Meade.” Perfect Hair—Kam—holds out her hand for me to shake. And damn my Midwestern manners, I take it even though I don’t want to. “Kam, this is my—”
“Hi, Kam, I’m sorry. Will you give the two of us a second?” I cut in before Amanda can finish her sentence. I’m suddenly even angrier in a way I don’t think I’ve ever been angry before.
I’m cutting through the living room fast, trying to get to the front door, and my stomach swoops a little as I go. I’m not even entirely sure Amanda is behind me until we’re out on the front porch, which, now that the party is in full swing, is completely empty.
“So, Kam from Park Meade, huh? She seems nice. Is she your type?” I cross my arms. I feel petty and ridiculous, but I can’t stop myself. It’s like my brain has a brain of its own.
“My type is— Whoa. Wait a minute. Are you … jealous?” She cocks her head to the side. “You can’t possibly be jealous, right? I’m following your lead here.”
“That was before you didn’t talk to me all night and then deigned to introduce me to your new friend.”
I feel petulant, childish. But I’m annoyed. This is all so annoying.
“Well, this feels very pot calling the kettle black,” she mumbles.
“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.”
She sighs. “I don’t want to fight with you.”
“This isn’t a fight. We’re not fighting. I just want to know what you mean.”
“You barely want to be seen with me in public, meanwhile you and Jordan are all over each other tonight.” Her voice is low but quick. “I just don’t know what you want from me anymore. I’m okay with not being the poster children for healthy, transparent queer teenage relationships, but I have to know what we’re doing. It’s like your best friend is doing everything she can to—”
“Gabi doesn’t have anything to do with—”
“—keep me from you. And you and Jordan keep getting closer and closer—”
“Me and Jordan used to be really close. That’s not really—”
“And meanwhile, you snatch your hand away from me in public like I have some sort of communicable disease when I dare to interact with you! Which is what you just said you wanted me to do!”