“Ro, what—”
“Just read it.” He rolls his eyes and shakes the paper until I take it.
DECLARATION OF INTENT AND PETITION TO FILE is printed boldly across the top. I almost laugh.
“I’m not running for prom queen.” I fold the paper and shove it back into his hand. Now I am laughing. I seriously can’t help it. “Are you kidding me?”
“I’m serious as an inherited blood disease, big sis.” He smirks. He knows I hate it when he jokes about sickle cell like that, but because it’s law that little brothers have to be annoying, he does it anyway. “You need the money, and they’re giving money away. It seems like the perfect solution to me.”
Other schools have huge endowments for athletics or the arts, but Campbell County High School has one for prom. It’s such a big deal, our rich alums give back faithfully to ensure that we have the biggest, most elaborate spectacle of a prom season in Indiana every year. And part of that spectacle happens to be the massive scholarships they give to the prom king and queen, for what they like to call the “outstanding service and community engagement” the winners must display.
But mostly, the alums are just writing checks to one anothers’ stuck-up kids—checks in the neighborhood of ten grand. Robbie is right: It’s almost exactly what I need to make Pennington work.
“Look, this money could be enough to at least get you to Pennington, you know? You win, and Granny and Grandad keep the house.”
My stomach churns at the thought of one of my classmates getting that scholarship. All that money just for playing dress-up and picking up trash on the playground. All that money going to another Campbell County rich kid with too much time on their hands and no fear of the spotlight. It isn’t fair. None of it is fair.
I think about the speeches and the public events and how visible the prom court candidates are every year. My hands get sweaty just thinking about the posts about the hopefuls that appear on Campbell Confidential—the rumors and the polls and the drama—or posters with my face on them plastered around the hallways and the events with eyes of the entire town trained on me. There’s no way to hide when you run for prom queen; there’s no way to fly under the radar when you want that title. And I’ve never been one to break from the ensemble to go solo.
Everything about the idea is ridiculous, but I can’t stop thinking about it. I mean, I don’t come from a legacy family—one of those families where everyone has run for or won king or queen—even though we do still have my mom’s prom dress hanging up in my grandparents’ closet. It’s bad luck in Campbell to get rid of your dress.
The hallway near the front office at school has photos of every king and queen dating back to when they started this whole tradition. I think for a second about what it would be like to have my likeness plastered next to Eden Chandler’s, Emme’s older sister, the crown nestled into my tight black curls, my hair all defiance where hers is tradition. I chase away the idea as quickly as it came.
“Ro, be realistic.” I shake my head and slip down to the floor. “I’m nobody’s prom queen.”
“Pennington is important to you, right?” He sits down next to me and bumps my shoulder with his.
I nod, even though he already knows the answer to that. Pennington has always been my North Star, the place where all my missing pieces would suddenly fit. Where I could play the music that’s kept me grounded all these years, with people who take it just as seriously as I do. It’s the only school in Indiana where I can start a specialty bachelor’s degree enrichment program that feeds directly into a med school. The fast track to the rest of my career. The rest of my life.
“And it’s three hours away.” He scratches at his eyebrow, understanding. “Far enough to feel like you’re really gone but not too far to come home if things get really bad with my SCD or something.” His smile is a little sad as he adds, “Right?”
I won’t lie to him, because me and Robbie don’t lie to each other. I nod.
I know I could go to Indiana University, my backup, and things might be fine. I might be okay. But I’d be slipping further and further away from the vision I’ve always had, the vision my mom always had, for my future. And that feels like a betrayal I can’t begin to fathom.
“Look. The odds have never been stacked in our favor, but that’s never stopped us before.”
He doesn’t even have to mention all the odds. There isn’t a day that goes by that doesn’t remind me just how bad my odds are in this place. Robbie reaches for the pen that’s constantly tucked behind his ear and flips open the Declaration of Intent again. And right there, on the first signature line, written in his all-caps handwriting, is the name of my official endorser.
“You got three days to get thirty signatures and declare yourself a candidate. You’ve got my vote, big sis. Don’t count yourself out.”
Spring in Indiana is an unpredictable thing. You’re just as likely to get caught in an aggressive snowstorm as you are to need to strip down to a tank top and booty shorts because it’s too hot to wear anything else. And then sometimes, on days like today, you’ll start the day with a cloudless sky, and by the time you hop off your bike outside your part-time job, you’re drenched to the bone from a surprise thunderstorm.
Robbie’s signed Declaration of Intent form is in my backpack, no doubt dripping wet by now, but I swear it feels like it’s burning a hole straight through to my hoodie. I haven’t left home without it since he handed it to me two days ago, but I can’t seem to bring myself to do anything with it. It’s like I’m wagering a potential future at my dream school against a very real, very present danger of making a fool of myself in front of not only our student body but the entire town.
“Jeez, Liz. I could have picked you up, you know,” Britt says after I lock my bike to the rack under the awning in front of Melody Music—the music store where I work—and step inside. “You’re such a masochist—and that’s coming from me.”
She gestures at her face full of piercings, and I laugh a tight, strained laugh.
Britt thinks I ride my bike everywhere because I like the exercise, and I’ve never gone out of my way to correct her. She’s partially right, but mostly I ride my bike because I don’t want anyone coming out to my house to get me. I don’t want anyone but Gabi seeing where I live. It’s just easier that way.
“Lizzie! You’re finally here!” Gabi turns away from the counter where she’d been taking Stone’s measurements before I came in, and Kurt, my boss, mouths a very distinct SAVE ME in my direction. G may be his niece, but he’s never quite figured out how to manage her, um, exuberance. “Please tell him how critical it is that I make Stone a prom dress where the shade compliments her tawny undertones.”
Kurt rounds the counter, rubbing his temples. He doesn’t have the heart to tell us that we can’t use his store as our number one hangout spot, since Gabi is his blood relative and because I’ve worked here on most afternoons and every weekend since I was a freshman.
“You’re right. How could I ever have misunderstood the importance of … What were we talking about again?” He smirks and winks in my and Britt’s direction.