You Should See Me in a Crown(58)
It’s not bad, as far as performances go. I even hear a couple of cries of “I love you, Liz!” that don’t sound like they belong to just Britt and Stone.
When we walk back inside, Jaxon claps me on my shoulder. “Bonfire at my place this weekend, Lighty. You coming?”
I’ve never been to one of their bonfires before, even though I’ve heard about them. People like me don’t go to the PomBots’ and the Jacket Jocks’ bonfires, but I nod before I think better of it. Jaxon whoops. “Perfect. And don’t forget, I gotta challenge you in wind sprints! Yo, Jennings, wait up!”
It’s so weird, so corny, that I don’t want to smile. But I can’t help myself. Things almost feel normal, like they’re supposed to. And for the first time in maybe ever, I feel like I deserve it.
I’m behind the register at Melody listening to the same middle-aged man plunk out the same notes on the grand piano he does every time he comes in, and I can see Amanda weaving through the cars in the parking lot on her board, heading away from the skate shop in the strip out to the parking lot. I don’t know how I missed it when she pulled in, but I suddenly know what I have to do. I shout to Kurt in the back to let him know I have to take my break early and run outside.
“Amanda!”
She doesn’t look as shocked as I think she should when she turns around. Her hair is pulled up into a topknot, and she’s wearing glasses instead of contacts. She doesn’t look surprised at all; she just looks tired.
Her hand is on her door handle when I reach her, and, honestly, all I want to do is reach out and touch her. I want to throw my arms around her neck and tell her about this past week, about having a real, honest-to-God conversation with Quinn and Lucy that didn’t make me feel like some creature from outer space. I want to tell her how much I hate not talking to Gabi but I don’t think I have it in me to forgive her. I want to tell her how sorry I am for lying, for not telling her the truth about why I’m running and what I stand to lose if things don’t work out.
But I don’t. I decide to keep it short.
“I, um. I saw you from inside.” I push my hair out of my face. I’ve been wearing it out since the party, but it’s still an adjustment. “I wanted to say hi.”
“Hey.” She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I’ve seen your new campaign—your slogan and post and everything. Congrats.”
She crosses her arms and leans against her Jeep. She’s more than a foot away from me, but the way she says “Congrats” feels like a slap in the face. I step back instinctively.
“Look, I messed up.”
“Liz, we don’t have to—”
“No, let me just say this. Things are not, um … easy for me here.” She doesn’t say anything, so I just keep going. “But that isn’t an excuse to have lied to you. It wasn’t fair.”
“You let me think you were still not out because it wasn’t safe for you here. Do you know how scared that made me for you? And then for it to’ve been about prom all along …”
She bites at her thumbnail, and the gesture is so familiar I kind of want to cry.
“I just didn’t know how to tell you the truth.” I stuff my hands into the pockets of my jeans before I do something stupid like grab her hand and coax her thumb away from her mouth. “I need that scholarship money to go to college. I can’t afford to go unless I win. And I knew I couldn’t win if we were, you know, a thing.”
I wait a beat before looking at her again.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not telling you the truth. And I’m sorry I don’t know a better way to do this.”
I glance away and swallow a lump in my throat, because I hate this. I hate that it’s still true. That despite everything, I still can’t tell people. Past the prom thing, past the Amanda thing, I’m just not ready yet.
“Hey. Liz.” The toe of her orange Vans nudges at my Chucks until I meet her eyes. “It’s cool. And I’m sorry. I guess I just got so caught up in where I was that I didn’t see how hard this has been for you. I just … I wish you would have told me.”
Amanda opens the door of her Jeep and throws her board into her back seat. When she turns back to me, her eyes are shining in a way they weren’t before. She doesn’t look happy, but she at least looks closer to the Amanda who I kissed that day in the Jeep and the Amanda who I held hands with and danced with and shouted to the ceiling with like nothing could ever stop us.
“I guess I’ll see you around?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I smile. “I’ll see you around.”
It isn’t the same, but it’s close. And close is enough for right now.
Things aren’t perfect, but I’m sort of floating by Thursday morning. Everything feels like it might be falling into place.
It’s our last week before we find out who made court, so I’m bouncing between absolute gut-churning anxiety and unexpected excitement every day. With no more Gabi to interpret the results of Stone’s algorithm, we have no way of telling where I am in terms of stats, but I feel hopeful. I feel like I stand a chance in this thing.
Me and Amanda aren’t back together, but we’re texting again. Before and after school, I spend more time looking at my phone than I ever have before. I feel like one of those people who can’t tear themselves away from Campbell Confidential. I’m afraid that if I’m not looking at my phone, I might miss something—a funny meme, a link to a new Spotify playlist, a cute selfie.