Chapter 5
Five
We’ve got a surprise coming your way, Monte Ville High.
TikTok caption by @CassidyandBrianMVH.
“Good morning, Monte Ville High!” Cassidy, one of our school announcers, exclaims from a TV screen mounted to the cafeteria wall.
The screen shows Cassidy and her co-host, Brian, at a desk with pages of notes scattered between them and a big photo of the Monte Ville cougar mascot on the wall behind.
Cassidy’s hands are clasped in front of her, dozens of bangles jangling on both forearms, and her blonde ponytail is kept out of her face with a yellow wrap.
I shift my attention from my lunch to the screen. Normally Cassidy and Brian are mostly ignored while they’re giving the daily news, but with Homecoming approaching, people are paying closer attention and the chatter in the lunchroom quiets down. Most of the students turn to watch the screens.
It’s a relief, honestly, to have their stares directed at something other than me. I’ve walked through the hallways today, waving, saying hi, and trying to be my normal positive self, but people have been staring, whispering, and giggling together behind their fingers.
I blink my bleary eyes to try to clear my head.
We’re only a week into school, and the pressure and gossip and early morning workouts are already wearing on me.
This morning after Mom put me through a rigorous back and bicep workout, I had to put on under-eye concealer to cover up tired purple bags above my cheeks.
My day-old nail polish is already chipping at the corners—a lime green that worked perfectly with my outfit yesterday but looks horrible with my high-waisted jeans and fitted sky blue top.
I was so tired this morning I didn’t even notice.
I barely had time to choose a perfume. (Clary sage, for vitality. It’s clearly not working.)
Suzy sits next to me with a packed bento box style lunch. She’s eating sticky rice, kimchi, a yummy looking chicken dish, and I notice with a smile that one of my cookies is tucked into a bento compartment. She also has a sandwich baggie of air-popped popcorn, an addition from her dad.
Cassidy puts on her signature bright smile. “What are we talking about today, Brian?”
Suzy sets down her chopsticks. “Are they announcing who’s running today?”
“Homecoming, bae!” Brian beams, adjusting a red bowtie that clashes with his burnt orange checkered shirt. “It’s less than a month away.”
“Yes, it is,” Cassidy’s smile becomes rigid and forced. “And I’m not your bae.”
Kayla and Dana, squeezed in on the bench across from us, giggle.
Dana resumes staring at her phone while she eats taco salad, and I hear what sounds like a hair tutorial playing.
Chelsea rolls her eyes, still not thrilled about knocking elbows with Kayla while she eats.
Nicole, whose white converse shoes are still spotless despite the drizzling rain and mud outside, sits next to me and stares at the TV screen on the wall.
“We have our runners,” Cassidy says.
Dana looks up from her phone to glance from Suzy to me, and she’s biting her lower lip like she’s trying to hide a smile.
I frown. “What?”
Suzy presses her lips together. “Just know that this is for your own good.”
I set my sandwich on the tray.
“Well, don’t keep everyone waiting,” Brian says.
Cassidy pulls out a piece of paper with a flourish.
“I’ve got the candidates right here.” She looks down and reads, “Five ladies have entered their names to run for Homecoming Queen. Our runners are . . .” Cassidy pauses for emphasis, her brilliant white teeth glittering.
“Brielle Williams, Hana Hayashi, Suzy Jeong, Beth Livingston, and Callie Carter.” Cassidy lowers the sheet, beaming.
“This is going to be an exciting match, people! I can’t wait to see what our candidates come up with. It—”
I don’t hear the rest. I stare around the cafeteria.
Some people are smiling at me and giving me thumbs up.
Others are raising eyebrows and looking skeptical.
Brielle sits in what used to be my seat, at a table with Noah, Troy, Katrina, and a few other cheerleaders and football players.
The table is congratulating Brielle, and Noah presses a kiss to her temple.
Brielle looks ridiculously happy and accepts the attention with a smile.
“Congrats, Callie,” Nicole says. “You’re brave. I wouldn’t want to be in the spotlight after . . .” She trails off, looking awkward.
I whip my head toward Suzy. “What did you do?”
Dana gives me a sheepish smile and then looks back down at her hair tutorial. Suzy just gives me one sharp nod. “I put your name in.”
“Suzy,” I hiss. But I paste a smile on and wave at the people who are giving me an encouraging thumbs up. “I told you I didn’t want to run.”
“And for the guys,” Cassidy says, “Alan Montgomery, Noah Rossi—”
Cassidy goes on to announce two more boys who are running for King, but the rest don’t even register. Noah’s running for Homecoming King. And Brielle is running for Queen.
And so am I, apparently?
I stare back at my sandwich, and the green lettuce and pale pink turkey are limp and sad looking. That’s it. I’m not risking another bite. “I told you I didn’t want to do this.”
Suzy picks up her chopsticks and eats a bite of rice. “This will be something fun we can do together. Remember, it doesn’t really matter who wins.”
We both look at Brielle, who is laughing at something Noah said, and we both know that’s not true.
The King and Queen always share a traditional dance. So if Noah won . . . and if I won . . . I shake my head to banish the image. I don’t want him back. I don’t want him back. Maybe if I repeat it to myself enough, I’ll believe it.
“I’ll take my name out of the running,” I say quietly.
Suzy turns to me and opens her mouth, but then Brian and Cassidy continue.
“But that’s not all our news, is it, Cass?” Brian asks from the screen. “No cap.”
I turn my attention back to the TV. “What else could they be announcing?”
“No, it’s not,” Cassidy says. “This year, Homecoming is going to be epic.”
“Massive.” Brian nods.
“There’s been a slight change in the Homecoming rules,” Cassidy says.
I hold my breath. Dana looks up from her hair tutorial.
“This year, to raise the stakes, the voting will be seen in real time,” Brian says.
“Voters can cast their votes anonymously online, and we’ll be able to see which candidate is ahead.
No more waiting until the day of the dance to know who’s a serious contender; we’ll be able to see the voting as it happens. No cap.”
“Brian,” Cassidy whispers through gritted teeth. “We talked about ending every sentence with ‘no cap’, remember?”
His eyes sparkle, and he adjusts his bowtie. “And to raise the stakes even more, the losers will get cream pies in the face at the Homecoming school fair.” Brian rubs his hands together with glee.
I blink. Cream pies in the face? Oh bleh. If I ran and lost, Mom would be mortified to watch me undergo that humiliation, to know that people were talking about our family’s embarrassment.
“I’m taking my name out of the running,” I say again, a little louder. “Suzy, I know you meant well, but I don’t have it in me right now. I don’t want to fight Brielle. I just want to move on.”
“Exactly. You want to move on,” Suzy says, gesturing with her chopsticks. They’re black with a red flower pattern. On screen, Brian and Cassidy sign off, and the lunchroom chatter resumes. “This is how you do it.”
Nicole, Chelsea, and the other girls at our table pick up their conversation from before, something about how Tom Sheppard mooned a car at a bonfire over the weekend. Kayla stares at them, clearly peeved that her story about sneaking a taste of wine at a Sicilian vineyard has been overshadowed.
Dana pockets her phone. “For what it’s worth, I agree with Suzy. Moping is not a good look for you, Cal.”
“I’m not moping!”
I’m totally moping. I pick at the crust on my sandwich. Could I run? Would it help me get over Noah?
I imagine myself at the dance, bedecked in a gorgeous dress, standing in front of the crowd. Cassidy places the crown on my head. Mom smiles at me from the audience. Brielle looks on with envy. Noah takes my hand and leads me to the dance floor . . .
Ugh, but the work. I’d have to campaign—make posters, hand out badges, use my social media power to ask for votes, and go up against Brielle publicly.
People would be able to see exactly how far behind I was.
People would look at my numbers and compare them to Brielle’s.
My stomach turns just thinking about it.
“I just . . . I don’t feel up to it right now,” I say, dejected.
“I know you meant well, Suze. Thanks for trying to help me feel better.”
Disappointment crosses Suzy’s face. I know she really is trying to help me feel better, but I also know that a part of her just hates Brielle and wants to see her lose.
If we both run, there’s more of a chance that the winner won’t be the jerkwad who’s made our lives miserable, or so Suzy likely thinks.
Brielle has mercilessly teased Suzy since fifth grade about everything—Suzy’s eyes, her black hair (that is perfectly straight now but was a tangled mess until Suzy learned to use a straightener), the adorable bento box lunches her mom has always packed for her.
Anything that was different about Suzy, Brielle attacked.
I look down and realize that I’ve crumpled my napkin into a tiny wad.
I glance up at Brielle and Noah one more time, and Brielle catches my eye. Her hair is curled today into gorgeous waves, and she’s wearing a hot pink tank top and gold hoop earrings. She winks.
I hold her stare for a moment before looking away. She doesn’t deserve to win.