You Should See Me in a Crown(61)
“Roberta, please.”
“No ‘please.’ Either these girls are free to go, and free to continue to express their affection how they see fit, or I swear to you I will start spilling everything I’ve ever seen and never complained about. And you’ll have to worry about a lot more than the damn ACLU.”
Principal Wilson looks terrified, but Madame Simoné stands strong. I have no idea what secrets she holds, what she’s kept to herself over the years, but Wilson’s face tells me everything I need to know. He visibly deflates.
“You two still can’t go as dates to prom.” He turns to us and his face is hard again. “Rules still matter at my school.”
And it sounds like he’s saying it more for himself than for us, but it’s enough for me. I let out a breath that I didn’t realize I was even holding, and Amanda does the same. Gabi smiles smugly and turns on her heel, exiting as easily as she entered. Before I think to do otherwise, I dart out into the hallway after her.
“So, what?” I grab her arm and turn her around to face me. She doesn’t look surprised, almost like she knew I would come after her, and that pisses me off a little. I’m not the same predictable Liz whose moves she’s successfully predicted for the last twelve years. “You just breeze in and save the day and then take off without speaking to me?”
“You’ve made it clear you don’t want to speak to me, Liz!” she shouts, but doesn’t pull her arm away. “You have a new best friend in Jordan and a new girlfriend in Amanda—you don’t need me anymore.”
And the way she says it, resigned, without bite, is what makes me soften. I drop my hand from her bicep. “G, that’s not true. You know that’s not true.”
When a tear slips down her cheek, I almost reach out to wipe it away for her, like she would for me. But I know her well enough to know that she’d prefer I pretend not to even notice.
“Whatever.” She wipes at her eyes quickly. “Everything is messed up anyway. You’re right to have dumped me.” She looks up and tries to blink away the tears. I open my mouth to speak, but she waves her hand to stop me.
“Good luck, okay?” She turns and rushes in the opposite direction and doesn’t leave me so much as a chance to say thank you. Or I love you. Or I miss you.
So I say nothing. Nothing at all.
I roll over at the sound of my alarm, and I am convinced that I’m living inside a nightmare that never ends. I can’t imagine going back to school and facing the wolves again.
The rest of the day yesterday was the worst I’d ever had. I couldn’t go anywhere without feeling eyes on me. I kept my head down in the hallways, turned my phone off so I wouldn’t have to face any of the calls or texts from Jordan and Amanda and Britt and Stone. I just couldn’t handle their sympathy, their attempts to make me feel better.
I won’t feel better until all this is over.
When I finally climb out of bed and get dressed, I walk into the kitchen, where Robbie is watching Cosmos on his phone at the table while scooping handfuls of Grandad’s Shredded Wheat straight out of the box and into his mouth. He crunches so loudly, I have to shush him.
“You’re going to wake Granny up with all that noise.” I take a bowl out of the cabinet, grab the milk from the fridge, and put them on the table in front of him. “And use a bowl, Ro. Act like you got some kind of sense.”
He grunts but looks up and addresses me with his mouth full. He smiles, little bits of Shredded Wheat escaping his mouth in the process.
“Big day today, sis. You excited?”
Friday, the day we find out who made court. The day we find out whether or not this whole roller coaster ride has been worth it. I wouldn’t even be going to school if it weren’t for the prom court candidates’ mandatory appearance at the pep rally this afternoon.
My eyes are puffy and my head is pounding, but I have to show up. It’s the Lighty Way.
“Tell me I don’t have to do this,” I groan. “I’m begging you to put me out of my misery.”
All the prom court candidates are expected to do a choreographed dance to “Whoomp! (There It Is)” that one of the show choir kids is going to teach us during homeroom. A few days ago after school, we even recorded a little video of us mouthing along to the words around the school that’ll play in the background as we dance onstage.
I’m not sure how any of that is going to help the boys’ basketball team win 3A state finals tomorrow, but whatever.
Robbie rocks back on the hind legs of his chair with a laugh.
“We were robbed of rhythm and athleticism at birth,” he says. “We should sue.”
I sigh and lean against the counter. I take a bite of the browning banana that Granny left out for me for breakfast, but I barely even taste it. Robbie stands up, sort of unfolds his long limbs as he walks over to me, and throws an arm around my neck. I lean into him, grateful.
“You remember when I was six and we were playing Beetlejuice at Bryant House?” Beetlejuice was this stupid game where we’d make our voices extra creepy and chase one another around, like a Halloween-themed tag you could play year-round. I’m not even sure who came up with it. “The time I fell and bumped my head on the wood surrounding the sandbox?”
Of course I remember. Ro was such a clumsy kid back then. I learned to look out for him, always, before I even understood his diagnosis. I knew to protect him before I knew what I was really protecting him from.