Tuesday: We Are the World Day
Celebrate your cultural heritage! And don’t forget to stop by the bake sale table hosted by the band boosters.
Wednesday: Sci-Fi Day
Use the Force or join the dark side! This is the last day to buy tickets to the homecoming formal. $50 each or $90 per couple.
Thursday: Dynamic Duos Day
Flaunt your fabulous with your bestie! Be sure to vote for homecoming court, and don’t miss Cheer v. Poms powder-puff football at 5 p.m.! Tickets are $10.
Friday: JLHS Spirit Day
Bust out the purple and gray, White Wolves! Show us your school spirit! Varsity football against Corona High starts at 7 p.m. (JV at 4:30 p.m.). We’ll crown the court at halftime, so come prepared to pay homage to this year’s royalty!
Saturday
Hey, early birds, come cheer on the runners at our home cross-country meet at 6 a.m. Girls volleyball faces off with Jurupa Valley Prep at 11 a.m. Homecoming formal is 8–11 p.m. at the Mission.
8 Spirit Week Is the Actual Worst
Monday morning, I retrieve the crumpled flyer from the bottom of my locker, tearing it almost in half as I yank it out from under the textbooks. This would have been good to have over the weekend. But it’s fine. I cobbled together outfits for today with intel gleaned from Scarlett.
My hair is cherry-Kool-Aid red, the ends dip-dyed Tang orange. I teased the waves into a wild mane of fire. I’m in black from my fingertips to my toes. Somewhere in this school, Vindhya is wearing a full-length lavender traveling cloak and a wispy crown Hope made from craft wire a few years go. I dug the ensemble out of Hope’s closet on Saturday and took them to Vindhya’s house. Not to brag, but she looks exactly like Arwen from The Lord of the Rings.
This is a BFD. I need to make sure Vindhya gets noticed this week if she’s going to be a queen by Saturday. Sean is taking care of Thursday, and she can rock cultural heritage day without any help from me. When I dropped off the Arwen costume, she showed me the rainbow of kurtas hanging in her closet. Friday is a no-brainer. So that just leaves Wednesday.
Sci-Fi Day. The Universe hates me. I smash the flyer into a ball to punish it for crossing me. But I can’t afford any more screwups, so I smooth it out again and slide it into my backpack.
“What’s your deal, Charity?” Scarlett’s voice behind me is accusatory.
Well, crap, what else did I do wrong?
I wipe the scowl off my face and turn toward her with spirit-week-worthy enthusiasm, hoping to smooth over the problem, whatever it is. She and Gwen are rocking an Amazons of Paradise Island look. My stomach sinks. I must have missed the memo that the Poms were coordinating our costumes today. That’s a huge infraction, because group identification is the heart and soul of spirit week.
Her hands go to her mini-skirt-armor-clad hips. “Why did you blow us off?”
“I, uh—”
Barely sparing me a glance before returning to her phone screen, Gwen mutters, “Who even are you? Lava Girl?”
“She’s Katniss Everdeen. The girl on fire,” Sean announces as he arrives. He’s wearing a ruffled shirt, a cape, and a delicate black eye mask. He has a small red flower pinned to his collar.
“The Scarlet Pimpernel. You sexy beast.” We trade European air-kisses, just like in the movie.
Scarlett looks ready to go to war.
Sean glances between us, registers my predicament, and—God bless him—comes to my rescue. He turns his most charming smile on Scarlett with a sweeping gesture toward both her and Gwen. “Ladies, you’re gorgeous. And fierce. Please don’t hurt me.”
Gwen’s eyes flick up and back to her phone, the corner of her mouth ticking upward. Scarlett breaks into a full-on smile, though.
Leveraging the better vibes, Sean deftly changes the subject. “Speaking of fierce, have you seen Vindhya Chandramouli yet?”
“What? No. Tell me.” Scarlett’s FOMO kicks in instantly.
“Words cannot describe it. You need to experience it.” He leans in conspiratorially. “She was last seen in the courtyard.”
“Let’s check it out.” Scarlett takes Gwen’s arm and guides her away.
I breathe a sigh of relief as I watch them leave. “That was almost bad.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Now you owe me.”
“I mean, I could take them,” I hedge, because fairy godmothers don’t need help and we definitely don’t owe anyone anything. “They aren’t actual Amazon warriors.”
“Yeah, but Scarlett could still end you—socially speaking.”
“Anyway…” I reach back into my locker, fishing around for nothing in particular.
“Anyway,” Sean parrots, blessedly dropping the “you owe me” issue. “Vindhya’s Arwen costume is killing. Did you come up with it together?”
Honestly, it never even occurred to me to ask her. I’m used to doing things for people, not with people. All I say is “Ah, no. Just me.”
I close my locker. As I twist the face of the lock to secure it, a male form lands against the locker next to mine. I register a white T-shirt and jeans and glance up to the face of Surya Agrawal. He’s one of the three-sport jocks and the captain of the swim team—top of the food chain for the male population at JLHS. His hair is slicked back. I’m guessing he’s repping The Outsiders.
He croons, “Charity?” The word weighs three hundred pounds.
I sigh.
From behind me, Sean quips, “This is turning a little too Riverdale for me. See you later, Charity.” Before he’s taken six steps, he’s surrounded by half the volleyball team—all dressed as characters from Alice in Wonderland.
“Charity,” Surya says again. “Will you go with me to the homecoming dance?”
He’s all puppy eyes and pleading eyebrows. I would feel sorry for him if I thought this were real. Instead I say remorselessly, “Aw, Surya. I can’t. Because you asked me all wrong. I mean, no flowers, no giant poster made of candy bars, no bad poetry… You didn’t even get on one knee or hold a stereo over your head outside my window.”
“But will you, though?”
“Really, no.”
He grimaces. “Man. You’re cold.”
I grin. “What’s the pool this year?”
The past three years, the jocks have egged each other on to ask me to the milestone events—homecoming, prom, spring sports banquet… that sort of thing. It started when I was a freshman because I was a new addition to the Poms squad, friendly, decently good-looking, and upheld an “always say no” policy about dating (or really any relationships). You know how it is—everyone wants what they can’t have. So now they always ask, and I always make up some random reason to turn them all down. And the colder I am, the higher the stakes have gotten for the betting pool. I could spend all my time pissed about objectification and overinflated male egos, but really, what’s the point? I choose to take it as a compliment.
Surya groans. “Come on. I’m asking for real.”
“Sure you are.” No he’s not. “And I’m saying no for real.” Because even if he was, the fairy godmother can’t date. I’m here to lend a helping hand, not to get dragged into the drama. I smile to soften the blow. “But let’s just imagine for a moment that I had said yes. What’s the take this year?”