by Lara Deloza
And yet it’s so much more than that.
What it really feels like is love.
“I’m hungry,” Erin says after a while. “Let’s go heat up some dinner.”
We put our clothes back on in the dark. I don’t know about Erin but I feel sort of . . . I don’t know. Bashful? I’ve never even let someone see me this naked before, not even Lexi.
Downstairs, Erin roots around the fridge and offers up a bunch of leftovers: pizza, freezer lasagna, some chicken noodle soup. “Or,” she says, “I could make you one of my semi-famous grilled cheese sandwiches.”
“That,” I say. “I want that.”
I sit on a stool at the breakfast counter, watching Erin slice cheese, butter bread, and put it all together in a hissing-hot skillet. She is beyond adorable. I see the small brown mole on the corner of her neck and think, I’ve kissed that mole. My tongue has been on that mole.
“Did I tell you that I am officially not going with Bobby Jablonski to Homecoming?” Erin says.
“No. What happened?”
She turns and shoots me a look that says you know exactly what happened.
“Does this mean you’re going solo?” I ask hopefully.
“No,” she said.
No? Does she mean she’s going with me?
“This kid Jake asked me,” Erin continues, her words like little knives in my heart.
“Jake Tosh?”
“Yeah,” she says. “Bobby was trying to orchestrate this weird double date with Jake and Ivy and him and me, but I know he wants to go with Ivy, so I just let him off the hook.”
This shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Erin was always clear about us needing to be a secret until after Homecoming. And I knew she was planning on going to the dance with Bobby. What’s the difference if it’s Jake instead?
“Besides,” Erin says, “it doesn’t really matter who I go with, when the person I wish I were going with is you.”
My heart doesn’t warm when she says this. In part because it totally sounds like a line Lexi would drop on someone. It just has that air of calculation to it. Of unreality.
I clear my throat. “We could go together,” I say.
“I thought we agreed to wait.”
“We did. Until after Homecoming. But the thing is, at Spencer, the vote for king and queen takes place within the first half of the dance, so that they have time to tally the votes. Once it’s closed, there’s nothing anyone can do to change it.”
Erin doesn’t respond right away. She flips the sandwiches, lays the spatula down, and turns to face me.
“It’s not about the votes,” she says. “It’s not like I’m going to win anyway.”
“But you could,” I say.
“How?”
“You could start by making a surprise killing at the Q&A tomorrow. Principal Frick approves the questions ahead of time—can’t you get them from her?”
“No,” she says. “I can’t and I won’t.”
Erin grabs two plates from the cabinet, puts one sandwich on each, cuts them on the bias, and hands one over to me. The outside of the bread is crisp and toasted perfectly. I bite in, releasing tons of hot, oozing cheese. Some of it drips down on my chin, but I don’t care. It really is the best grilled cheese sandwich I’ve ever had, and I waste no time in telling Erin this.
“You’re amazing,” I say. “And you deserve to be queen.”
Erin grins. “You’re only saying that because I let you get to third base.”
“No,” I assure her. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”
Here, I pause. Every fiber in my body wants to tell her about Lexi’s plan—about what she has in store for Ivy—but if I do that, there’s no turning back. I will be declaring my loyalty to another. And despite what just happened upstairs, I can’t shake this niggling feeling that it all seems a little too good to be true. Erin, I mean. Or, rather, Erin and me.
Is there really an Erin and me? Or is that just part of her master plan?
Is she capable of being that devious?
“What are you thinking?” Erin asks, breaking my train of thought.
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit,” she says. “I can see it on your face. There’s something you want to say. So, spill it.”
The desire to tell her everything wrestles with the part of me that’s afraid it’s all a lie. Desire is winning by a narrow margin.
“To be honest, I’m worried about what this whole competition is doing to Ivy,” I say carefully, not sure how much of Lexi’s plan to reveal. “You didn’t see her at the Puritan Party. She was . . . different. Not herself. And after everything she’s been through . . .”
Erin nods. She takes a bite of her sandwich and chews thoughtfully. “You’re a good person, Samantha Schnitt.”
This, I think, is the worst possible thing she could say to me right now. Because I am so not a good person.
I tell her, “You don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
“I’m getting to know you.”
“True.”
Erin looks at me, not saying anything, with an intensity that makes me feel more naked than when I was actually naked.
“Stop,” I tell her.
But she doesn’t stop. She barely even blinks.
It makes me squirm.
“Am I the first?” I blurt out, not even sure where the words are coming from. “Girl, I mean. Am I the first one you’ve kissed?”
“No,” Erin says. “Am I yours?”
“No.”
She nods. “Full disclosure? I did know that you were gay. Before we even met.”
“Frick told you?”
She nods again. “But she failed to mention how utterly adorable you are.”
Erin says this last thing with a disarming grin, punctuating the sentence by biting into a triangle of grilled cheese. And just like that, I know. She’s for real. This—whatever is happening between us—it’s for real, too.
“She’s setting her up,” I say. “Ivy. Alexandra’s setting her up big-time.”
The story pours out of me before I can stop myself. Lexi’s plan. Why she felt she needed a plan in the first place. The lengths to which I know she’ll go, just to make sure she secures that crown. The path of destruction she’ll leave in her wake. What I think it will do to Ivy Proctor.
“That poor girl,” Erin says when I have finished.
“I know. Ivy doesn’t deserve to be treated like this.”
“Agreed. But I wasn’t talking about Ivy.”
“Surely you don’t mean Lexi.”
“I surely do,” she responds. “I mean, yeah, she’s hard-core evil. There’s no denying that. But, like, people aren’t born that kind of evil. That’s learned behavior.”
I think about Lexi’s mom, who she was before Mr. Miles died, and who she became afterward. I think about how she’s always tried to craft Lexi in her own image, and how even Lexi’s way of rebelling—by becoming the anti-Natalie—is still pretty much a reflection of her mother.
But then I think about some of the truly terrible things that Lexi has done over the years, even before her dad passed away. I think about what she’s got in store for Ivy, and how I was prepared to help her execute the scheme, just like I always do.
Like I always did.
“It has to stop,” I say. “Lexi’s reign of terror. We can’t let her destroy Ivy Proctor all over again.”
Erin arches an eyebrow, like she’s asking me a question.
“I’m serious,” I say. “We can do it if we work together. You. Me. Sloane Fahey. Nothing would make Sloane happier than being part of a plot to take Lexi down.”
“So you want to fight evil with evil?”
I have a feeling I’m supposed to say no, but I can’t. This is Lexi we’re talking about. I swallow hard and say, “Is there any other way?”
Erin doesn’t respond at first. Instead, she chews through the last of her sandwich. Then she wipes the grilled-cheese grease from her
hands with a paper towel and sighs a weary sigh.
“Okay,” she says finally. “When do we begin?”
FORTY-TWO
Alexandra
My calves are burning from tonight’s practice, a self-directed one as Natalie was a no-show. After running through my talent repertoire—I always have five songs prepped, each from a different genre—I spent literally an hour going up and down the stairs in my new Tippy Top heels. Natalie used to have me start from the second-floor landing and head all the way down to the basement. There, I’d complete two full laps around the room, doing The Walk—only never doing it good enough for Natalie. When I’d strike my final pose, she’d launch into a blistering critique, every single one of which ended with the word “Again.”
I never complained, though. Not once. And tonight, even though Natalie was who-the-fuck-knows-where, I ran through the whole routine twice. If she ever does decide to show up to one of our lessons again, I don’t want her claiming I’d gotten lazy.
After I hear Natalie stumble in and retreat to the kitchen to pour herself a Blanton’s, I hit the shower. I stand under the steaming hot water until it starts to cool, long enough for my creamy skin to turn salmon pink. I can’t help it. It feels so good on my aching muscles.
I launch into my post-shower routine, which mostly consists of using two different body creams, a facial moisturizer, and no fewer than three hair products. Twenty minutes later, I emerge from the steamy bathroom, still wrapped in a towel, and almost run smack into Natalie. She’s clutching the cordless phone and looking beyond furious.
“What are you up to?” she asks.
“Showering?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Alexandra. I just got off the phone with Frick.”
“Can we talk about this after I get dressed?” I say.
I move past my mother and into the bedroom. To my dismay, she follows me.
“A little privacy, please?”
Natalie doesn’t move. Instead, she says, “When were you going to tell me that you dropped out of the Homecoming race?”
“It’s not what you think,” I tell her.
“Oh, I’m pretty sure it’s exactly what I think,” she says. “Frick told me you’ve been behaving erratically at school. Hanging out with that girl who tried to kill herself a couple of years ago. She says you’ve been coaching her—that you’re trying to get her elected Homecoming Queen.”
Leave it to Frick to fuck everything up. Why was she calling my mother? There has to be some rule against that, right?
“What do you care, Natalie?” I ask. “You haven’t been around for weeks.”
“You don’t understand,” she says. “First you win Homecoming. Then Miss Indiana University, then Miss Indiana, then Miss America. That’s how it has to be. That’s how you get the hell out of here.”
After everything, this is the thing that almost does me in.
I want to leave. I’ve always known that I’m too good for this life. But my dad’s death nearly destroyed Natalie. When I leave, she’ll actually be alone. Is that really what she wants?
“Fine,” I mutter.
Natalie’s eyes narrow.
“I’m watching you,” she tells me. “So get your shit together, and get it done. On Saturday, it better be your name announced, or don’t even bother coming home.”
With that, she storms out of my bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
I don’t really care about Natalie’s empty threats. But what I do care about is Frick interfering with my plan. Calling Natalie the night before the Q&A has to be a calculated move on her part. Why? Did she think my mother would cause an ugly scene? Did she think that would throw me off my game?
I can’t help but wonder what else she’s going to be lobbing my way.
Guess I’ll find out soon enough.
FORTY-THREE
Sam
The pre-Homecoming assembly used to happen in the morning, right after homeroom. But everyone would get so riled up that the teachers protested. Have it in the afternoon, they said. If you’re going to get a bunch of teenagers all jacked up, do it right before you send them home so we don’t have to deal with it.
At least, that’s what I imagined they said.
So this year, the pre-Homecoming assembly is being held during last period. On a Friday. Everyone’s loud and squirmy because the one thing standing between them and the weekend is a stupid assembly that most people couldn’t care less about.
Lexi’s cares, though. And now, so do I.
We are sitting together, near the front of the auditorium, as the king candidates take the stage. Matt and the two other football players up for king are decked out in their home uniforms, with green-and-gold jerseys and bright white pants with a green stripe running down the side. Joining them are Tyler Moses, a prepster soccer stud with swoopy, boy-band hair that always falls in his eyes, and Curtis Wilson, student council president and likely future president of the United States.
Frick is onstage, too, ready to ask them a bunch of stupid questions that supposedly will help the Spencer High student body get to know the candidates better. Only, we all know how this works: they’ll listen to the empty answers, they’ll make a lot of noise, and then the girls will vote for whomever they think is hottest, while the guys will vote for whichever one is their closest bud.
But with Erin and Ivy in the queen race, it isn’t the same old, same old Q&A. People are genuinely curious as to how Ivy will respond; there are still some students taking bets on whether or not she’ll relapse before the dance. (I may or may not be responsible for those rumors, at Lexi’s request. Another item on the list of things I now regret.)
Finally, it’s time for the queen candidates to take the stage. Ashley Chamberlain is in her cheerleading uniform. Hayley Langer is sporting a Spartan green sweater over a denim micromini and knee-high boots. Ivy’s rocking a plaid skirt in school colors, topped with a fitted turtleneck sweater. And then there’s Erin.
The wearing school colors thing isn’t a rule. It’s just something candidates typically do. Last night, we discussed the possibility of her wearing her cheerleading uniform, as would be expected. But we also talked about the need for her to stay under Lexi’s radar. The girl misses nothing. If I was going to switch sides, and start working against Lexi, I’d have to keep her distracted. Or, rather, Erin would, by waging a hell of a queen campaign.
So instead of sporting her pep squad attire, Erin’s dressed in head-to-toe white: white T-shirt tucked into white jeans over white kitten heels. Standing there, amongst a sea of green and gold, she looks like an angel. She practically glows.
Lexi is furious. She’s muttering all kinds of things under her breath, but I know her well enough to know what’s making her the most upset is that she didn’t think of it herself.
The first two questions are recycled from previous years. Erin’s responses are textbook perfect, only even better, because they come across as 100 percent genuine. Ivy’s holding her own; she’s more tentative than the other three candidates, but in a sweet, disarming way.
Then, Frick drops the third question: “Why are you proud to be a Spencer Spartan?”
Ashley talks about cheerleading (of course she does). Hayley talks about how it’s her job as an American and God-fearing Christian to have school spirit. She gets slightly more applause, but I think that’s because she managed to hike her skirt another half inch higher. And then it’s Erin’s turn.
She acknowledges her New Girl status right off the bat. “Although I haven’t been a Spartan for very long,” she says, “in the short time I’ve been here I’ve received such a warm welcome. . . .” She doesn’t talk about being a cheerleader. She doesn’t talk about America or Jesus.
Erin, sounding like the sweetest, nicest, most honest person in the whole freaking school, speaks from the heart. She talks about how difficult it was for her to leave California, pick up her life, and start over from scratch. And how, in the few weeks since she’s enrolled at S
pencer, she’s already started to feel like she’s home, only now home is here, in Spencer, Indiana.
“Corny,” Lexi whispers to me. “She totally played that the wrong way.”
But when Erin finishes by thanking everyone, and talking about how honored she is to even be considered for Homecoming Queen, she’s met with thunderous applause. Turns out, Jake Tosh is the World’s Best Hype Man. He gets the crowd totally fired up for her.
I swallow my smile. I can’t let Lexi know how pleased I am. Instead, I whisper back to her, “Don’t worry about Ivy. She’s got this.”
Lexi nods grimly, but she starts tapping one toe furiously, practically shaking the row of auditorium seats.
Ivy’s looked too nervous this whole time to perform according to Lexi’s standards, and I’m sure Erin’s stellar display isn’t helping alleviate her anxiety. When she walks up the mic, she leans forward just a touch too far, and the sound spikes dramatically, making half the kids cover up their ears.
She takes a step backward, her cheeks flaming red. Then she closes her eyes and breathes in deeply, letting the air out slowly, and finally starts again.
“There was a time when I wasn’t proud to be a Spartan,” she says, which makes Hayley smirk right there on the stage. “In fact, there was a time when you couldn’t pay me enough money to come back to this school. I hated it. I hated what it did to me. I hated the teachers for letting it happen. And I hated my classmates for thinking it was funny.”
The energy has shifted. The words Ivy’s saying are making people feel uncomfortable. Even Lexi’s squirming in her seat. If she could, I think she’d put her hands over her eyes so she wouldn’t have to watch Ivy fail so spectacularly.
But, in another heartbeat, everything changes.
“I didn’t think there was a place for me at Spencer,” she says. “Not after my . . . my . . .” Ivy closes her eyes again, takes a few deep breaths, then opens them and says, in a voice much more strong and clear and full of conviction, “Not after my attempt. But I was wrong. Spencer, it turns out, is a place where anyone can get a second chance, even the kid who went crazy in the bio lab.”