You Should See Me in a Crown(67)
He nods. “Yup. Quinn told Madame Simoné everything: how Rachel had been plotting on you since the start, once it looked like you had a chance of winning. Word on the street is yesterday’s stunt was a long time in the making.”
“How do you know that?”
“Since you skipped out on lunch yesterday, you missed Quinn screaming at Rachel in the hallway. It was pretty ugly.” He shakes his head and laughs. “I didn’t even know the girl had it in her. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen Quinn without a smile on her face.”
“This is such a mess.”
“Okay, but.” He chews sloppily, and a little bit of tomato juice ends up on his chin. I reach over with a napkin and wipe it off like it’s second nature. Weird how that happens, how you can feel so close to somebody in such a short period of time. He smiles, mouth still sort of full. “You haven’t even heard the best part.”
“Slow down before you choke.”
“Fine. Look.” He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He crumples the wrapper and drops it in the bag. He sticks his tongue out, and I swear sometimes this boy reminds me so much of my little brother, it’s eerie. “Clean plate club. Now listen! So about yesterday—”
“I don’t really want to talk about yesterday,” I interrupt softly.
“Have I ever steered you wrong?” Jordan raises his eyebrows at me like he already knows the answer. He begins pulling out his phone when I shake my head with an added eye roll for good measure. “Exactly.” He hands his phone to me. “Now watch this.”
Every post on Jordan’s screen has the same thumbnail image, and to my surprise, it’s not of the flag or my reaction. It’s the crown from my posters.
“Jordan …”
He nods at the screen. “Go ahead. The whole feed is full of #EffYourFairyTale. At least three—no four—times as many as after the mural.”
And he’s right. The difference between then and now though, is the fact that none of the posts are in opposition to what I’m saying or asking questions about what it means. Almost all the captions look the same:
LOVE IS LOVE
Homophobia is for idiots
Get someone who looks at you like Mack looks at Liz! #RelationshipGoals #JusticeForMighty
Even Jaxon Price posted something. There’s a picture with his middle finger dominating the frame, but the caption is simple, with no punctuation: screw haters liz is the realest
Even Jordan has posted something. A picture of a picture, one of me and him smiling broadly with our arms around each other after a band concert in eighth grade, with the caption: The first to my second. The best there is.
My jaw is practically on the ground when I turn back to Jordan. He stands up suddenly and extends his hand to me.
“Jordan …” I start, words failing me, my eyes prickling with tears for, like, the thousandth time today.
“Wait! Before you say something ridiculous like ‘I don’t deserve this!’ ” He pitches his voice higher to imitate me as he pulls me to my feet. “I have something for you.”
“You already bought me dinner, you seriously didn’t need to do anything else—”
“One of these days, Lighty”—he smiles that smile where he crinkles his nose a little and pulls me toward the door—“you’re going to learn to trust me.”
But that’s just the thing. I already do trust Jordan—entirely, wholeheartedly. And maybe I’ve trusted him since the first day he sat next to me in middle school band, since he smiled at me and called me the second to his first, to the moment he brought me dinner while my brother was in the hospital without me having to ask him.
It’s why I loved him so much all those years ago, because he’s sometimes vulnerable and always honest, and the warmth I feel for him in this moment is proof of every good thought I’ve ever had about him. Flaws and fears and mistakes all, he is every bit the friend I need him to be right now.
I see Gabi silhouetted in the window of the passenger seat of Jordan’s Range Rover as soon as I step into the parking lot.
“Talk to your friend, Lighty.” He nudges me forward but remains near the door. He jerks his head toward the lobby. “I gotta go talk to one very special, very snappy short nurse about scoring some free pudding.”
When I knock on the driver’s-side window, Gabi practically jumps out of her skin. She closes her eyes briefly, gathering herself, before unlocking the doors. When I hop in, a wave of relief crashes over me. Despite everything, I’m glad she’s here.
“Hi,” I say quietly.
“Hi,” she replies, turning her body in the seat to face me fully. She’s wearing a black wool sweater with sleeves long enough to pull down over her hands. “I heard about Robbie. Is he okay? Are you okay?”
“He’s going to bounce back,” I say. I fold and unfold my hands in my lap. I pluck at a stray thread on my jeans. Seeing Robbie in the hospital, realizing how close I am at any time to losing him, puts things in perspective. “I hate fighting with you, you know.”
“I do too.” She looks out the windshield briefly, like she can’t stand to look at me as she admits it. “I know it’s not an excuse, but my dad officially moved out a few weeks ago. Mom has been a mess.” She looks back at me with her lips downturned. “I think they’re finally getting a divorce.”