The Princesses of Iowa

by M. Molly Backes

  “Hi yourself,” he said. There was a long second where we both just looked at each other. Then he reached across the gearshift and pulled me toward him, his wide hand on my back. “Come here.”

  It had been twelve weeks, but the minute he kissed me it was like no time had passed: his slightly chapped lips against mine, his tongue wandering across my bottom lip and the tips of my teeth, his fingers winding through my hair. I smiled into the kiss, loving him as much in that moment as I ever had. “Hey, princess,” he whispered.

  “Hey,” I whispered back. Even with my eyes closed, I could sense the speckled shadows fall across my face as I kissed him.

  His hand slid under my shirt and I shivered. His kisses trailed down my neck, along the line of my jaw, and his hands fumbled with the clasp of my bra. I pulled back slightly, waking as though from a trance. “Hey,” I murmured, reaching for his hand. “A little fast. . . .”

  He pressed his mouth against the side of my face, half kissing, half whispering. “We’ve gone farther than this before.”

  “Yeah,” I said, waking up a little more fully. “But not since last spring. Can we just take it slow?”

  Jake buried his face in my shoulder and traced his lips across the hint of skin at the top of my collar. “I missed you so much, Paige.”

  “I missed you, too, Jake.” For a scary second, the words didn’t sound true, so I repeated them until they did. “I missed you so much.”

  School started the day after Labor Day, and it was cold. I stood at the mirror in the bathroom I shared with my sister, carefully wiping the mascara wand on the inside of the tube so it wouldn’t clump. Lacey and Nikki and I were planning to meet outside the school, just as we always did, to make our grand entrance into senior year together. That is, Nikki and I were planning to — I hadn’t actually talked to Lacey, but I was sure she would join us. Walking in together on the first day was a tradition going back to middle school. Jake’s words played in my head. She got crippled and you got to go to Paris. His voice was the bass line beneath Lacey’s treble, laughing as Nikki told a story about their summer. Oh, Paige doesn’t care about that. She was in Paris.

  The mascara wand slipped and stabbed me under the eye. I sighed, reaching for a tissue. I actually hadn’t talked to Lacey at all since the barbeque, but it had been only a week, and I’d been gone for most of it, in Chicago with my mother for our annual girls’ shopping trip and then fishing at Lake McBride with my father. When I was little, we used to go on family trips all the time, fishing or hiking or canoeing, but as I got older, my social life and his job both began to take more and more time, until we rarely saw each other at all. I agreed to fish with him before school started because I had a strange feeling that this might be my last chance. And anyway, I like my dad, and spending the day out on the boat was peaceful — and great for my tan. Plus, I caught a fish.

  As soon as school got started, everything would be back to normal. I was sure of it. I capped the mascara, dropped it into a drawer, and gave myself one last layer of lip gloss before leaving the bathroom. It was 7:30, and I hadn’t even heard Miranda yet. I wondered if she was still asleep. In my bedroom behind me, the TV chattered on about the unusual weather. “This,” the cheery weatherman informed me, “is the coldest it has ever been on this day in September, as long as the University of Iowa has been keeping track! Brrrr! So all you gardeners better bring in your begonias, and for all you kids getting ready for your first day of school today . . . take a jacket!”

  “Ha,” I said, clicking him off and heading out the door. But then I paused and turned back, reaching in my closet for a sweater. School didn’t start until 8:05, but I was supposed to meet Lacey and Nikki in the parking lot at 7:40. My mother stopped me on my way to the front door. “Is that what you’re wearing, Paige?”

  I glanced down at my outfit, a short white skirt with a pale-yellow top and bright-orange heels. The girls and I were coordinating but not matching for the first day back. “Does it look bad?”

  She tilted her head. “I don’t know. I can’t see it under that granny sweater.”

  We’d had an uneasy truce since I’d been back: if I didn’t mention my awful summer, she wouldn’t bring up my awful spring. Instead, she’d put all her energy into helping me get ready for my senior year, when I’d be homecoming queen, just like she’d been, clear evidence of our family’s success. I’d sit atop the parade float and wave away any damage to our reputation with a swoop of my scepter.

  “I just bought this sweater,” I said. Outside the front window, the leaves of the ash tree shivered in the early morning air.

  “I bought it,” she corrected, “and it’s supposed to go with that striped V-neck, not with this.” She softened. “Honey, you have only one chance to make a first impression, and Lacey and Nikki won’t be wearing sweaters. We’ve been planning this year for a long time.” She reached over and whisked a minuscule speck of dust from my shoulder.

  I brushed at my sweater self-consciously. “It’s freezing out, Mom.”

  “I know, sweetheart, but people will be looking to you to set an example for the rest of the school. The way people see you today will stay in their minds all the way through to homecoming. And after last spring, you can’t afford to have a single hair out of place.” So much for the tacit agreement. Automatically, she glanced at herself in the hall mirror, lightly touching the tip of her finger to the corner of her lip to fix some tiny imperfection in her lipstick. “Anyway,” she said brightly, “you won’t be outside; you’ll be inside!”

  “What if I take it off when I get to school?”

  There was a clatter on the stairs behind us, and my mother’s eyes jumped to my sister’s feet stomping down the stairs. Her steel-toe boots came first, followed by long black corduroy pants, a merlot-colored tank top, and a black hoodie. Before my mother could say anything, Miranda said, “Let me guess: ‘Is that what you’re wearing? All that black?’”

  My mother pursed her lips. “Miranda —”

  “It’s Mirror,” she said, and pushed past me into the chilly morning. “Better hurry up, princess.”

  “So,” my mother said, turning back to me. “You’re not really going to wear the sweater?”

  Twenty minutes later, I stood in the parking lot, rubbing my bare arms to stay warm. Where were they? I’d been standing there since 7:40, but it was five to eight and people were giving me strange looks as they hurried past me toward the school. Most of them were wearing sweaters and jackets.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Nikki came hurtling out of nowhere and plowed into me, nearly knocking me over. Had she always been this clumsy? I couldn’t remember. “You look so great, Paige! I’m sorry I’m late!”

  “Where’s Lacey?” I asked.

  Nikki bit her lip. “She’s inside already. She didn’t want to do the grand entrance thing with the cane.”

  “I’ve been standing here for like fifteen minutes already and I am freezing, and Lacey was inside the whole time?”

  Nikki grabbed my arm. “I know. I’m sorry! But Lacey was just so . . . She thought people would laugh at her, so I helped her. . . .”

  I pulled out of her grasp and started walking toward the school. “Great. Thanks for letting me know, you guys. So much for our grand entrance.”

  “Wait, Paige!” There was a clopping behind me, and Nikki caught up, crooking her elbow through mine. “It’s not too late, see?” She matched her steps to mine and we headed for the front doors, arm in arm. “Welcome to senior year, bitches!” she screamed. A few people glanced at us, but mostly the crowd flowed around us, heading for lockers and classrooms and the beginning of a new year. So much for a first impression.

  Later that day, I sat in the first student council meeting of the year, listening to Lacey give orders. Even with a cane, she still had the power to make things happen. “You guys,” she said seriously, addressing a table full of the school’s most well-connected and influential kids — the student council socia
l events committee. “Homecoming is the senior class’s chance to give back to this school. WGHS has given us so many opportunities, and we can finally give something back, by helping to keep our school spirit high. It’s our job to make this year the best year ever.” Around the table, heads nodded.

  “That is so true, Lacey,” said Geneva Barrington, the junior class president. “You guys are a really great class, and what you do for homecoming this year is really going to raise the bar for our class next year.”

  I rolled my eyes. Lacey wouldn’t stand for such blatant ass kissing. She herself was the master of the subtle apple-polish, and Geneva would never gain the favor she craved if she kept sucking up so obviously. For God’s sake, the girl had made a giant bedsheet-size sign for Lacey and hung it in the room where the student council met. WELCOME BACK, LACEY! AN AMERICAN HEROIN!

  When we’d walked into the room, I had immediately looked at Lacey, waiting for her to double over in laughter and possibly make a Kurt Cobain joke. Instead, she’d clasped her hands to her heart and then waved at her eyes, Miss America–style, so her mascara wouldn’t run with her tears. I’d been shocked speechless.

  And now, Lacey was just encouraging her. “Good point, Geneva.” She tugged at her necklace, swinging the tiny cross along the chain.

  “Also,” Geneva said, “can I just take a moment to say that we all really admire your bravery and courage over the last few months? You have been such an inspiration to all of us. And you’re a true model for the whole school.” She looked around the room. “Can we get a round of applause for Lacey Lane?”

  Oh, Jesus.

  I waited for a cheesy Slow Clap, but thankfully everyone started to clap at a reasonable tempo. “Thank you all so much,” Lacey said, biting her bottom lip. “It really means a lot.”

  “We love you, Lacey!” another junior cried.

  Lacey gave her a smile, and then she turned serious. “Seniors, we have to remember that not only do we have a legacy to create, but we’re also the role models for hundreds of students in the junior, sophomore, and freshman classes. We have a duty to them to make this the best homecoming Willow Grove High School has ever seen.” More nods, more murmurs of approval. “Okay, y’all, who’s with me?”

  As always: everyone.

  After the meeting I hurried to catch up with her. “Lacey,” I said, raising my voice as much as I dared in the crowded hallway (Princesses never yell, Paige).

  She was surrounded by a gaggle of girls, sophomores who adored her and juniors who hoped to become her. “Pajama Day is kind of played out, don’t you think?” someone was asking. “What about Toga Day?”

  I tried again. “Lacey.”

  “No,” someone else said. “Dr. Coulter said no togas.”

  “Why don’t y’all keep track of all your ideas, and we’ll vote on them at our next meeting,” Lacey suggested.

  The crowd murmured its agreement and began to disperse, still discussing Spirit Week. “We should definitely do a day where we make the freshmen dress like babies! That would be so awesome!”

  “What do babies have to do with school spirit?”

  “What do togas?”

  “Hey, Lacey,” I said, still a few steps behind her. You’d think it wouldn’t be hard to catch a girl with a cane, but she was surrounded by devoted worker bees and impossible to touch.

  “Hey babe.” Jake appeared out of nowhere, winding his arm around my waist and pulling me away.

  “Hey,” I said absently, looking back at Lacey, who tossed her hair and laughed before disappearing into her fifth-period class. “Do you think she’s mad at me?” I asked. “She was kind of ignoring me back there.”

  Jake shrugged. “She has a lot on her mind right now. The whole student council thing — and organizing homecoming — it’s a big deal.”

  “I guess.”

  “Not to mention her handicap.”

  “She has a limp,” I said, before I could stop myself.

  Jake gave me his Caring, Serious Face. “Put yourself in Lacey’s shoes, Paige.”

  I looked down. “These are Lacey’s shoes.”

  He frowned. “You know what I mean. She had a hard summer.”

  “And I didn’t? I spent twelve weeks with a disgusting baby barfing on me every five minutes.”

  “In France.”

  “In a tiny, dark, hot apartment with no cell phone or Internet.”

  “In France,” Jake said again.

  “Sometimes the baby pooped all the way up its back.”

  “In France.”

  “Yes! In France! Jesus!” A kid in a long black trench coat and combat boots gave me a weird look as he walked past, and I realized I was shouting. “Jesus,” I said again, more quietly.

  “Well?” Jake asked. “That’s all I’m saying. Lacey had a hard summer, babe. Go easy on her.”

  I chewed on my bottom lip, trying to keep myself from saying more. If I kept pushing the issue, he’d keep defending her, and we’d end up fighting about nothing. Ignoring my frown, he leaned in and kissed me, crushing my teeth into my lip, and then strolled off down the hall toward the field house.

  It was cold all week. “Global warming’s really a misnomer,” our physics teacher, Mr. Berna, told us on Thursday, collecting the first real homework assignment of the year. “They should really call it ‘global temperature change’ to be accurate.”

  “At this rate, we’re going to be under three feet of snow by homecoming,” Lacey said at lunch. She perched on the edge of the picnic table, her bad leg stretched straight ahead of her, her bare arms folded inside the tent of Randy’s jacket.

  “I hope not!” Nikki said, biting the head off a baby carrot. Her new diet involved only eating things that were orange. “I wouldn’t want to wear a coat over my dress on the float. Or mittens.”

  I laughed. “Mittens?”

  “Gloves,” Lacey said. “You’d wear gloves. And you could always wear someone’s letter jacket.” She adjusted the one around her shoulders. “People have done that before.”

  “Snow might affect the game.” Chris Jensen frowned, staring up at the sky as if he could see what the weather would be like a month from now.

  Randy ripped cheerfully into one of three cheeseburgers sitting on the tray in front of him. “We could be under ten feet and still kick Newton’s ass.”

  “They’ve never beat us,” Jake agreed. “So you ladies just need to worry about looking gorgeous, and we’ll bring the victory.”

  “Yeah,” Chris said. “Just practice that wave. How does it go? Elbow, wrist . . . elbow?”

  “Elbow, elbow, wrist wrist wrist,” Nikki said. She grabbed his meaty hand and moved it back and forth like a doll’s hand, giggling.

  Lacey raised an eyebrow at Jake. “Worry? Paige and I have been working on this since middle school, right?” She flashed such an easy smile at me that I wondered if I’d imagined her distance since my return. I smiled back.

  “It’s true.”

  Randy stopped waving. “I would worry about tripping in those heely things you have to wear.”

  “You mean high heels?” Lacey rolled her eyes.

  Nikki patted him on the arm. “A true princess never worries.”

  “Guess you’re not cut out to be a princess, dude.” Jake elbowed him, and Randy immediately threw him into a headlock. A moment later, they were off the picnic table and wrestling in the grass, locked together like elk.

  Lacey said, “Okay, you’re both very studly! We get it!” She laughed. “Men!” I tried to catch her eye, share another smile, but she was gazing off across the courtyard.

  Nikki looked serious as she popped open an Orange Crush. “It would be harder to be pretty with mittens.”

  “You’ll be fine,” I told her.

  “Hey!” she said, looking up. “Lacey!”

  “Yes?”

  “I just remembered that you forgot to mention DIEDD at the student council meeting!”

  “Oh, sorry,” Lacey said, sounding
anything but. “Next time, okay?”

  “What’s DIEDD?” I asked.

  “It’s a group to raise awareness about drinking and driving,” Nikki said. “I spent the whole summer working on it. After . . . you know.”

  After last spring. After the first cracks that split into canyons between us, sending me spinning across the ocean, Nikki down the Crazy Diet Rabbit Hole, and Lacey into the Land of Crippled Martyrdom. “DIEDD?”

  Nikki nodded. “It stands for Don’t let frIEnds Drive Drunk.”

  “D . . . LF . . . DD,” I said, sounding it out.

  “The IE comes from friends,” Nikki said.

  Jake covered his mouth with a hand, turning away and coughing. Lacey tugged on her necklace, staring off into space. “Um,” I said. “That’s not really how acronyms work.”

  “There’s a double meaning,” Nikki explained. “Because it stands for Don’t let frIEnds Drive Drunk, but it spells DIEDD, because if you drive drunk, you could have DIED. Like we could have DIED.”

  It was still ridiculous, but I no longer felt like laughing. “Oh. A double meaning. Yeah, I get it now.”

  “It’s really important,” Nikki said. “Lacey, don’t forget to remind me to remember it at the next meeting, okay?”

  Lacey stood, grabbing her half-eaten apple. “The bell’s about to ring.”

  “Laceeeeeeey . . .”

  She sighed. “Fine! But I’m not explaining your acronym.”

  By the second week of school, Jake and I had a routine. Every day, he was there when the bell rang, waiting to walk me to the English hallway. Every day, he’d wind his arm through mine and steer me through the crowded hallways, waving and calling to his friends as we walked. And every day, Jake’s friends waited until the last possible minute to walk into the classroom, preferring instead to stand outside and harass people.

  Chris Jensen saw me and called, “Ten! Definitely a ten!”

  Jake pretended to misjudge the distance and walked into Randy, catching him with an elbow. “Oh sorry, dude, didn’t see you there!”