WHAT DID I COME HERE for? My locker stands open, waiting for me to take from it what I came to take, only I can’t remember what that was. The hallway is eerily quiet now that Brooke’s voice and my voice no longer echo through it. I stand, gripping the locker door as my gaze darts from the coat hook to the books stacked on the top shelf, to the Met Opera mug that holds my pencils and pens.
Oh right. A pen.
I take one from the mug, and as I do the edges of the world start to shimmer—is it tears or adrenaline, or is everything changing now that we’ve broken the silence that has grown between us for so long?
I close my locker and slide to the floor with my back against the door, letting my heart rate slow, screwing my eyes shut so that when I open them the world will be solid again. I can’t go back to Elise and the Picayune table; I can’t go back to interviewing people about their Homecoming memories. Whatever was going to happen tonight, it’s started.
I stand and make my way back through school, back into the night. As I walk through the parking lot I think about Matt at home in front of his computer, typing conversations with online friends who are more real to him than real life these days. Without Matt, I am untethered—floating free without anything to anchor me.
A sharp buzz sounds; it’s the scoreboard, announcing the end of the first half. From inside the stadium I can hear the crowd cheering, hear the school fight song, hear the announcer boom out the halftime score. I pick up my pace, hurrying because if John is going to wear the crown and the cape, then I at least owe it to him to be there to see it.
Emerging from the concourse and into the bleachers, I see football players running toward the field house. The stadium lights dim and search lights come on, arcing through the sky like enormous magic wands. The marching band begins to file onto the field as a new voice comes over the PA system: “Welcome, students, parents, teachers, and alumni to the William O. Douglas High School seventy-fifth annual Homecoming celebration!”
Convertibles are lined up along the sidelines, each carrying a member of the Homecoming court. I can see Brooke in the second car, elegant in a black-and-red dress, and John in the fifth, still wearing his football uniform.
The convertibles make their way toward a stage that has been set up in the middle of the field with a platform on top, where the King and Queen will get their crowns. The convertibles drop off the candidates, who line up on the lower level with Chloe orchestrating the spectacle as only Chloe can.
Here in the stands, people seem to know the winners before Ms. Van Whye can announce them. “Moorehouse, Moorehouse!” they start to chant. Tim McNamara sneaks behind me and picks up my arms, making me clap like a big, overgrown seal. “What’s wrong?” he says when I jump away. “Don’t you want to stand by your man?”
“He’s not…” I begin, only to be drowned out by cheers as John’s name is, in fact, called. I shake Tim off so that I can clap on my own, while John shuffles up to the platform and Ms. Van Whye places an oversized crown on his head.
They’re chanting for Brooke now, and Tim approaches as if he’s going to make me clap again. I step away, with a glare that stops him cold.
“Brooke! Brooke! Brooke!” everybody shouts.
And they’re right about that, too, as if there was ever any doubt.
Brooke steps forward, Chloe by her side, like a monarch with her lady-in-waiting. Chloe straightens Brooke’s sweater, making sure she is ready to receive her crown, then they start up the stairs to the platform.
Brooke has always been the Queen B; only this time, it’s official.