You Should See Me in a Crown(60)
“You think this is a charade?” I shout. I lean forward, and Principal Wilson recoils slightly. I can tell someone told him that Liz Lighty was a good girl, a quiet girl. Someone who would take this in stride. But I’m not her anymore, not entirely anyway. “You think I wanted someone to do this to me? For what?”
I know the answer, but I can’t help but say it anyway. I’m so tired of the way this place treats people who are different, tired of feeling like I exist in the margins of my own life. I deserve better than that.
“Edward,” Madame Simoné cuts in, her voice devoid of any French accent, “you and I both know that these girls have done nothing wrong. Goodness gracious, Calliope Vincent and Tatum McGee practically copulated on the floor of the culinary-arts classroom during the Bake-Off last year and didn’t receive so much as a slap on the wrist!”
“And you and I both know that what is or is not stated in the rules has nothing to do with it, Roberta,” he responds, clearly short on patience. He places both hands on his desk and speaks slowly. “They’re already circulating a petition calling for Elizabeth’s removal. This is out of my hands.”
I can feel the tears threatening to spill over, and I just want to leave. I want to go home, be alone with my music, and forget any of this happened. It’s not fair. None of this has ever been fair.
Amanda looks at me, her eyes tender and more than a little sad. She grabs my hand and rubs her thumb in soothing circles over mine.
“Excuse me. Principal Wilson?”
We all turn to the voice that accompanied the knock at the door.
I just want to hug Gabi when I see her. We may not be on good terms right now, but it’s hard to unlearn all those years of leaning on someone else when you need it the most. Prom or no prom, you can’t change the history that we have together. How she looked out for me after my mom died—I’ll never forget the ways she saved me.
“Gabrielle, you really have no reason to be in here right—”
She cuts him off and pushes her way into the room. “Yeah, well, there’s something you need to see.” She looks over and offers me a sad sort of nod before stoically dropping her phone down on Mr. Wilson’s desk.
“Miss Marino, this is very inappropriate. I’m dealing with students right now.”
“Two students whom I might remind you have done nothing wrong.” Gabi places her hands on her hips. “I know you’re one hundred years old, but even you must be able to recognize a viral sensation when you see one.”
Amanda snorts, and Mr. Wilson shoots her a dirty look.
“Miss Marino, what’s the meaning of this?”
Gabi picks up the phone and turns it around to face him.
“The meaning of this, Mr. Wilson, is that since you called these two in here thirty minutes ago, the #JusticeForMighty”—to Amanda and me—“that’s your ’ship name, by the way. I didn’t come up with it, but I sort of think it works”—and back to Mr. Wilson—“that hashtag has gained almost a thousand posts on Campbell Confidential, and the numbers are still climbing. All your students are talking about the obstruction of justice, the blatant homophobia, that is occurring at your institution. This could turn into a case for the American Civil Liberties Union faster than you can blink.”
I joked about Gabi becoming a lawyer, but I hadn’t seriously considered it until now. Looking at the way Mr. Wilson shrinks in his seat as he looks at her phone makes it more obvious to me than ever how voracious this girl can be when she gets an idea in her head. It’s incredible what she can do when she uses her powers for good and not evil.
Madame Simoné speaks up first. “Edward, be realistic. Does Campbell really need this kind of press? Over prom, of all things?”
“You know how seriously these parents take prom, especially prom court.” He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. He looks up at G. “You’re right, Miss Marino. This is bad, but not as bad as it could be.”
“So what does that mean for us?” Amanda asks, her hand finding mine in my lap and squeezing. “For Liz?”
“It sounds to me,” Madame Simoné starts, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. She smiles at us softly. “As though you two girls are free to go. Right, Edward?”
“Well, not exactly. There are still policies to discuss—”
“There’s nothing to discuss!” I’ve only ever seen Madame Simoné raise her voice one other time, and that was out of pure shock during the bake sale debacle. We all snap our eyes in her direction, and even Gabi looks impressed. “I’ve had enough. I believe in the sanctity of the institution of prom and how it can make us our best selves. And year after year I have watched as good, deserving young people don’t enter the race because of how they’ll be received. And I won’t let it happen again.”
I’ve never heard anyone in the administration say anything like this. The very abuse that the Jennings men have avoided by being athletes, by providing some type of entertainment to the people of Campbell, people like me or even Amanda experience full force. It’s the weight, the impact, of being different in a town that hasn’t learned how to hold us close and refuses to treat every part of us with as much care as we deserve.
“Elizabeth, we are going to get to the bottom of this. Je promets.”