You Should See Me in a Crown Read online

  “Liz. Liz?” Mr. K waves his hand in front of my face with a smile. “Are you okay?”

  My chest feels like it’s starting to constrict, and the feeling is familiar. I’m on the verge of a panic attack, and I know I have to get out of there fast before I completely fall apart in front of Mr. K. Before I have to tell him that all his help, all the time he spent working with me, has been for nothing. That I failed him and all the other people who were counting on me to make this work.

  I open and close my mouth again, trying to find the words. But nothing comes out. I shrug my back up on my shoulder and head for the door.

  “Hey, you don’t look so great.” His eyebrows knit together in concern. “Do you need to sit down? Get some water maybe?”

  I shake my head.

  I don’t need any of that, I can’t tell him. What I needed was Pennington.

  And it’s gone forever.

  It’s been three days since I got the email, and the only solution I’ve come up with is to sell one of my nonessential organs to pay for school in the fall. That, or take a gap year and work with my granny at the nursing home where she’s a CNA. I can earn some money to help cover expenses around the house, reaudition for the spot and the scholarship that comes with it, and maybe next fall will be my time. I’ll be a year behind all my friends, a year delayed on all my dreams, but it’s the best—the only—option I have.

  My brother, Robbie, throwing a sock still warm from the dryer at me is the only thing that keeps me from full-on anxiety spiraling like I’ve done every other day this week when I’ve thought too hard about next year.

  “What?” I shake my head, trying to clear it. “Did you say something?”

  He bumps his hip into mine gently. We’re folding laundry while Granny’s at work and Grandad dozes in his rocker on the front porch, and the monotony of the chore is almost soothing to me. Or at least it was soothing, you know, before I started thinking about how my life has been completely derailed.

  “I said you’re being mad spacy.” He folds a pair of dress pants he wears when he has a debate meet and drops it into the basket. “You gonna tell me about the scholarship, or do I have to keep pretending like I didn’t see you reading the rejection email over breakfast two days ago?”

  “Ro.” I flop down on the couch and put my face in my hands. Of course Robbie knows. “I was going to tell you. I just needed … time.”

  “Liz. Lizzie.” His bare foot nudges at my bunny slippers until I look at him. I wrap my arms around my stomach, the sleeves of my mom’s old Pennington Penguins crewneck warm and extra soft from years of wear. “Look, we can fix this. Money has never stopped us before. You know Granny and Grandad will—”

  Sell the house, is what I don’t let him say. I know what this looks like if I tell Granny and Grandad the truth. They’ll sell the house, move into an even smaller space, and use all the money to make sure I get to go to my dream school for four years. I won’t let that happen.

  We’ve lived in the same boxy brick house on the edge of town for as long as I can remember. And it used to be pretty tight, three bedrooms for five people. The five of us have always been the “small and mighty Lightys,” my granny used to say. My mom busted her butt to raise us practically on her own after my dad left, and my grandparents did the same to raise us after she got really sick. We work hard, harder than the people around us, and we make it work. We succeed in spite of, or maybe even because of, the odds against us. That’s just the Lighty Way.

  So whether or not I was going to attend college has never really been a question for me. Neither was where I was going to go and what I was going to study. I was going to attend my mom’s alma mater, Pennington College, and take the premed track while playing for the Penguins orchestra. I was going to become a hematologist and work with sickle-cell patients like my mom and my little brother, and it was all going to be possible because I grinded hard, kept my head down, and survived growing up poor and black in Campbell County—a place that’s anything but. Because that’s the Lighty Way too.

  But I didn’t account for my mom not being around to see me graduate high school. I didn’t factor in not getting the scholarship it would take to go to college. I didn’t consider that, despite everything, my hard work might not ever be enough.

  “They can’t know.” I shake my head. “Granny and Grandad can’t know about this. I’ll come up with something; there’s gotta be another way.”

  Robbie moves the clean-clothes basket to the floor and plops down next to me. Our old couch dips as he sits.

  This house is the last place we ever heard our mom’s voice, the last place she was ever loud and vibrant and irrepressibly alive. Her touch still lingers on the couch in the living room, even though it’s bursting at the seams, because my grandparents can’t stand to get rid of it. Even the smell of her perfume still clings to the living room wallpaper if you try hard enough to smell it.

  If they sell the house, we forfeit the only thing that’s left of our mother. And the thought terrifies me. It’s either take the money and lose Mom again, or skip college and abandon one of the last wishes she ever had for me: that I attend her alma mater. Either way, I lose.

  “It’s funny you should mention it.” He grins and jumps to his feet. “One moment, please.”

  He dashes into his room and comes back with nothing but a sheet of paper. He holds it out to me expectantly. Even though he’s technically my little brother, I have to crane my neck to meet his eyes as he stands in front of me.

  “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 h
ave 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.

  He leans in and lowers his voice as I take over for him behind the register. “I’m going to miss you when you graduate, kid, but you have got to take my niece far, far from here.” Kurt hums the melody to some Ariana Grande song about leaving as he disappears into the back room.

  I cross and uncross my arms. I’m nervous even though I probably shouldn’t be. I love my friends. I trust my friends. I need my friends’ help if I want to make it to Pennington.

  “Yeah, so look. I, um …” I look at their faces and am reminded why they’re my people. All three of them look ready to leap into action, and they don’t even know what I’m asking of them yet. “I didn’t get that scholarship from Pennington.”

  Their reactions are immediate.

  Britt cracks her knuckles. “That’s such garbage! Nobody deserves that scholarship more—”

  Gabi shakes her head. “I’m going to take care of this. I’ll have my parents’ lawyer call—”

  Stone grabs the crystal pendant hanging from her necklace. “I have palo santo in my purse. We can cleanse your clarinet and—”

  I wave my hands in front of me with a quiet laugh. These weirdos are the best sometimes. “Guys, it’s cool. It’s fine. Well, not fine. It’s pretty awful actually. But it’ll be okay. I have a plan.”

  Like a lightbulb, Gabi’s face instantly shifts from rage to recognition.

  “We’re going to make you prom queen,” she says simply, reading my mind.

  “We’re gonna what?” Britt narrows her eyes.

  “My sentiment exactly,” I mumble. I add so that Gabi can hear me, “Robbie said the same thing, and I’m starting to believe that I’m in some alternate universe in which I am a viable option for prom court.”

  In a concert band, you’re arranged into sections so that the instruments and sounds in your ear are the most similar to your own—so that what surrounds you is you, to a degree. It’s easier to know your clarinet part when you’re not fighting against a cello on one side and a tuba on the other.

  High school friend groups are something like an ensemble in that way. My friends are certified oddballs, the inkblots on an otherwise pure white page, and it’s why we work together so well. Because as long as they’re my people, as long as they’re the ones on my left and my right, sometimes I can forget that I don’t fit in anywhere else in this town.

  Stone adds, “My horoscope predicted something untoward might present itself today, but I wasn’t anticipating anything of this nature.”

  “It’s not untoward. Ugh, you’re all so dramatic. Lizzie, I was born to be a fairy godmother; it’s my destiny.” Gabi plops her highlighter-yellow Chloé bag next to the register and pulls her phone out of it. Her fingers fly across the screen so quickly, I almost don’t notice she’s speaking. “A couple slight changes, and you’ll be as good as new. Certifiably prom queen ready.”

  Her tongue darts out to the corner of her mouth quickly like it always does when she thinks. I brace myself for what that face means for my life, even though she hasn’t said quite what she has in mind yet. Gabi is sort of magical in that way—she doesn’t really have to say what she wants from you in order for you to just know.

  “With Stone running the data from mentions on Campbell Confidential and the point-collection system, and my powers of strategy or—shall we say—shrewd deduction, we’ll know whe
re you stand in the polls at all times,” she says. “Nothing a quick algorithm can’t do, right Stony?”

  Stone looks to the ceiling, and I think for a moment she might be asleep with her eyes open. Until she speaks.

  “I’ve consulted my star chart, and yes, Liz, I can do this for you.”

  I shake my head. I don’t know how this runaway train started chugging along so quickly, but I have to stop it before I get knocked completely off track.

  “Thank you, Stone, seriously but—”

  “Perfect! It’s settled, then. Stone, come with me. I’ll explain—we have some work to do.” She doesn’t look up from her phone, but she doesn’t have to. Stone is already grabbing for her own phone to get to work. “And Liz”—she looks me up and down—“we’ll need to revamp your look soon. The grunge aesthetic does not a prom queen make.”

  I glance down at my outfit, and frown. Melody doesn’t have a dress code—pretty much all we do is sell sheet music to middle-aged men looking to learn how to play Beatles songs on their acoustic guitars, and that doesn’t require a ball gown—so I’m wearing a variation of what I always wear: a white V-neck T-shirt, black skinny jeans with holes in the kneecaps, and high-top black Chucks. Sometimes I switch the game up and opt for a cool thrifted logo tee from the ’80s or ’90s, but for the most part, this is it. Simple and to the point.

  But Gabi has been like this since we discovered her mom’s massive stack of old issues of Vogue in the basement when we were eight—and she’s had one foot out of Indiana since then. Fashion is her everything. It’s why she’s already such a talented designer that she got accepted early into the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York for the fall. When G knows what she wants, nothing keeps her from getting it.

  I look over at Britt and raise my eyebrows in question. She holds up both her hands in surrender. “Don’t look at me, dude. I missed the memo where we decided to go all debutante ball on steroids.”