You Should See Me in a Crown(74)
“Hello, Rachel,” Emme says, cool as ice. “Lovely dress. Red has always been your color.”
“Like Satan himself. Very appropriate,” I mumble, because I’ve never been as nice as Emme.
“I heard that, Liz,” Rachel seethes. “And give it a rest, Emme. You don’t get to disappear to rehab and come back playing the princess.”
Claire walks over, embarrassment dotting her features. I wonder where Quinn and Lucy are and if they’re watching their old friend completely unravel at the snack table, of all places.
“Emme, Liz, hey.” Claire attempts a smile for the two of us before turning her attention to Rachel. “Rach, seriously, let’s go outside for some air. I hear some freshman is crying by the Cinnabon because her senior boyfriend just broke up with her.”
Claire tries to tug Rachel toward the door, but she’s immovable. Hate can really make a mountain out of a person.
“I’m not going anywhere, Claire. I want to know why these two are so chummy all of a sudden.” She narrows her eyes at Emme. “You go away and come back playing for the other team, huh, Em?”
Rachel is talking too loud, and now people are paying attention. The girls who were whispering before are back, arms crossed, and ready to CC Live a showdown between the former queen and the reigning dictator who took her place. I’m not sure what my role is in that metaphor, but something tells me it’s nothing good.
Quinn walks up with Lucy, Jaxon in tow holding her purse. I see now what Jordan meant about not knowing Quinn had the capacity to look so angry.
“What is your problem, Rachel? Gawd!”
“Yeah, this is beneath even you, Rach.” Lucy purses her lips and rolls her eyes, half bored with the whole thing, as usual.
Rachel looks around, clearly unsure what to do with not being the one whose side everyone is automatically on.
Her fists curl at her sides and she rounds on me, reaching for my hair. My reflexes are normally trash, but tonight they’re quick enough to grab her wrist before it connects. It’s not even hard—I’m barely touching her—but she immediately bursts into tears.
“You stole this from me! You ruined everything!” Her mascara is running, and I let go of her, jumping back like she burned me. “You’re not even—you’re not even supposed to be here!”
I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. I don’t know what I would have said even if it did.
“I think you’re the one who shouldn’t be here, Miss Collins,” Principal Wilson’s voice booms from behind her. I’m not sure when he got here or how much he saw, but something tells me that Mr. K and his satisfied smile by the door have something to do with it.
And as Principal Wilson escorts her out the door, I don’t know who starts it, but there’s scattered applause around us, loud enough to hear over the still-pulsing music. I don’t know the song, but I know the sound. And it’s every bit the soundtrack I’ve been waiting for.
The next two hours are surprisingly uneventful, given how things started. Uneventful but perfect. They’re playing more music that I only vaguely recognize because of Jordan and Robbie, and the beat is sort of giving the whole room a pulse.
I mean, there’s a lot of white people in here, so the movements lack a certain type of finesse, but it’s still good. Jordan, Emme, Amanda, and I have formed a dance circle, and eventually Britt, Stone, and Gabi find their way over and jump around with us for a while. And I’m happy to be here. I’m genuinely, unabashedly happy to be in this place with these people on this night.
Britt, G, and Stone insist on getting pictures together, so we snap some selfies and then do a group photo with the professional photographer, making sure that they’re extra corny. We line up in height order and do that thing where we put our hands on one another’s waists, and we laugh so hard we can barely get a picture where the four of us are even looking at the camera.
“I’m gonna miss you weirdos.” Britt throws her arm over my shoulders as we walk back to the dance floor.
“I’ll send you to Pennington with sage, Lizzie. For you to cleanse the space,” Stone offers. She leans her head against my shoulder and wraps her two arms around the one of mine. “And to remember me by.”
“This isn’t the end, guys! We have more than a month until graduation!” I shout over the music, in part because it’s true and also because if I think about it too hard, I might get more emotional than I want to get while standing next to a couple of juniors who have their tongues so far down each others’ throats it looks like it might be a legitimate health hazard.
“Okay, ladies, let’s move. They’re announcing queen in five!” Gabi shoos us back to the dance floor.
We rush back to dancing, and Amanda is right where I left her. She smiles at me and links our hands together between us. I’m not sure if anyone notices, but I find that I don’t care. We deserve our small moments too.
“You ready?” She whispers into my ear.
With you, always, I think.
“As I’ll ever be,” I say.
They turn down the music as Madame Simoné clears her throat into the mic. She looks good tonight, in all black and a cute little beret. I have a feeling she had everything to do with this theme choice.
Behind her sits a table with a huge, Miss America–esque tiara for the queen and a much more modest gold crown for the king.