You Should See Me in a Crown(7)
Stone looks to the ceiling, and I think for a moment she might be asleep with her eyes open. Until she speaks.
“I’ve consulted my star chart, and yes, Liz, I can do this for you.”
I shake my head. I don’t know how this runaway train started chugging along so quickly, but I have to stop it before I get knocked completely off track.
“Thank you, Stone, seriously but—”
“Perfect! It’s settled, then. Stone, come with me. I’ll explain—we have some work to do.” She doesn’t look up from her phone, but she doesn’t have to. Stone is already grabbing for her own phone to get to work. “And Liz”—she looks me up and down—“we’ll need to revamp your look soon. The grunge aesthetic does not a prom queen make.”
I glance down at my outfit, and frown. Melody doesn’t have a dress code—pretty much all we do is sell sheet music to middle-aged men looking to learn how to play Beatles songs on their acoustic guitars, and that doesn’t require a ball gown—so I’m wearing a variation of what I always wear: a white V-neck T-shirt, black skinny jeans with holes in the kneecaps, and high-top black Chucks. Sometimes I switch the game up and opt for a cool thrifted logo tee from the ’80s or ’90s, but for the most part, this is it. Simple and to the point.
But Gabi has been like this since we discovered her mom’s massive stack of old issues of Vogue in the basement when we were eight—and she’s had one foot out of Indiana since then. Fashion is her everything. It’s why she’s already such a talented designer that she got accepted early into the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York for the fall. When G knows what she wants, nothing keeps her from getting it.
I look over at Britt and raise my eyebrows in question. She holds up both her hands in surrender. “Don’t look at me, dude. I missed the memo where we decided to go all debutante ball on steroids.”
Britt’s right. We’ve had a plan, practically since the day we met, that we’d all go to prom as a unit. Just the four of us, together, wearing Gabi Marino original dresses. It was simple, ideal. This was never part of that plan. Prom court is anything but simple.
“Britt, why must you be so negative? This is going to be amazing!” Gabi offers me her warmest smile. “What you need to focus on now is the fact that you are officially in the running for Campbell County High School prom queen, and these are the logistics that are going to help you win. We’re going to need some major work if we want even the slightest chance of moving you from here”—she holds her hand down near the floor and then moves it up near her face—“to here.”
Britt winces. “Are you going to get any more superficial, Marino? I just want to prepare myself now if you’re going to be firing shots like this for the next five weeks.”
Gabi ignores her and smiles at me instead. It’s bright and reassuring, the one she uses when she feels confident and needs me to feel it too.
“Don’t you worry about a thing, Lizzie,” she says. She holds out her hand and wiggles her fingers expectantly. “If you would hand over your Declaration of Intent, please. I’ll take care of those signatures.”
I reach into my backpack and give it to her hesitantly. This is really happening.
“You’ve made the right decision, Lizzie.” She slips the paper into her purse and places both her hands on my shoulders, and although she’s so much shorter than me, it somehow makes me feel like we’re on completely even footing. “Call me tonight, okay? If you go into the prom court kickoff meeting tomorrow without me prepping you on what to expect, it’ll be like seasoning yourself and stepping directly into a lion’s mouth.”
She shakes her head sadly as she slips her black, cat-eye sunglasses down from her hair and adjusts them over her eyes. She grabs her purse from the counter and slides it up onto her shoulder. Like always, her movements are elegant, graceful, and completely sure.
“My God, imagine the carnage.”
And just like that, I’m Campbell County High School’s newest prom queen contender.
I’m running late for the prom campaign orientation meeting Sunday afternoon, speed-walking through the empty hallways of the school. I’m mentally running through the checklist of instructions from Gabi on how to handle this meeting and thinking about the candidates that she has projected will be in attendance, people I need to consider making an alliance with early in the game, how I’m going to look Jordan in the eye after so many years of avoiding being in the same room with him, and—
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and the message couldn’t have come at a better time. G’s best-friend telepathy strikes again.
I head inside the auditorium and find a seat in the back. From where I’m sitting, behind everyone else, it looks like there are about fifty people present, an almost even split of guys and girls. All the people I expected to see are here.
There’s Lucy Ivanov and Claire Adams, two members of the pom squad (which is remarkably different from and definitely superior to the cheerleading team, and don’t you forget it) seated near the front, red-and-white sparkly bows in their high ponytails to match their perfectly pressed pom uniforms. I can also see our local catalog model and eternally peppy ray of sunshine, Quinn Bukowski’s bright blond head sitting near Jaxon Price, one of the football guys, giggling as he whispers something into her ear. I don’t even bother trying to ID everyone, because it’s pretty clear: All of Campbell’s elite, Jordan Jennings among them, are scattered throughout the first few rows. And there’s Rachel Collins, our class president and the PomBots’ fearless leader next to her boyfriend and varsity basketball captain, Derek Lawson, seated directly behind them.