It seemed unfair to make the lowerclassmen decorate for a dance that they wouldn’t be allowed to set foot in, but no one else seemed to question the mandate—probably because it came from Peter. The week back from vacation, the student council table was overrun by arts and crafts. Even Mary-Anne came back to the cafeteria to supervise the giant butcher paper scroll where the juniors were inscribing Wilde’s “From Spring Days to Winter.” Peter sat with us in three-minute stretches, wolfing down whatever was on his tray in between glad-handing the juniors and seniors into buying tickets.
“It’s a shame he can’t run for reelection,” Harper said the Monday before the dance, watching as Peter sat down with some of the drama club girls. “This is easily twice as much work as he put into actually campaigning last year.”
“That’s because his campaign was, ‘Hey guys, I’m a Donnelly; look at my family’s name on all these plaques,’” I said. “Speaking of, did Jack actually come back to school today?”
“He’s here. Peter’s got him selling dance tickets in the library,” Cornell said, stealing a French fry off Harper’s tray. After their lunchroom spat the week before vacation, Harper had insisted that they’d “agreed to disagree.” But she bristled as Cornell ate the fry.
“It’ll be a miracle if the cricket team actually gets their uniforms out of this,” Ben grumbled, fussing over a scientific calculator and making notes in the small notebook he kept in the front pocket of his backpack. B was stuck with the other frosh officers at the ticket table next to the door and he’d left Ben with a pile of price estimates.
Cornell elbowed him, grinning. “Remember in DC, when we told the other interns that our school had a cricket team? They wouldn’t even believe us when we pulled up the website. They swore it was a prank.”
Ben gave a vague laugh as he continued punching the numbers on his calculator. “When, in fact, it’s just one of many dumb things our tuition pays for.”
“What are you doing?” Mary-Anne shouted at one of the boys hovering over the butcher paper poem. She reached over and snatched the paintbrush out of his hand, waving it over her head like a dueling wizard. “It’s a calligraphy brush, Marcus, not a crayon. Clean strokes! Clean!” She thrust the brush at the nearest underling. “Fix it before it dries.”
“You guys actually have council meetings, right?” I asked Cornell.
“Every Tuesday,” he said.
I motioned around the table, from the butcher paper to the piles of paper lanterns and pots of paint and glitter. “What do you guys do at meetings if you bring all of this here?”
“More of this,” he said. “No one wants to sacrifice too much homework time, so it spills over into lunch.”
Ben laughed under his breath, his head still bent over his notebook as he scribbled. “Believe it or not, there’s more arguing.”
“Lying Cat says, ‘lying,’” I muttered. He glanced up at me and smiled.
“Have we officially given up on the idea of a limo for Friday night?” Harper asked, scooting forward on the bench. “It does seem kind of unnecessary to pitch in money just to get driven here.”
“It seems like it because it is,” I said. “I was anti-limo from the start.”
“You were anti-everything at the start,” Meg said, scrunching her nose at me. I stuck my tongue out at her in response and ducked as her hand shot out, poised to yank said appendage out of my mouth.
Peter reappeared at the center of the table. He leapt onto the bench and reached for what I assumed was a very cold hamburger, which he took three bites of in rapid succession. He threw a hand up to keep from showing us the massacre in his mouth. “What’d I miss?”
“Mostly crafting,” I said.
“And transportation plans for Friday night,” Harper said. “Will you have your parents’ minivan?”
He nodded emphatically, mostly to distract from him taking another massive bite of his lunch. “Definitely. Since my brother can’t go, I’ll have five empty seats.”
“Great,” Harper said. “Then you can take Trixie and Meg so they don’t have to ask their parents. Or walk.”
“What?” I asked. I looked at Ben, waiting for him to announce that, obviously, my transportation situation was under control. If I was going to get tricked into doing the chicken dance, he was absolutely going to have to borrow his dad’s car. That just made good sense. But he continued plugging data into his calculator, seemingly deaf to the surrounding conversation.
“I learned from the harvest festival that I no longer walk long distances in heels,” Meg said pertly. “And it’s going to be way colder than it was two months ago.”
“Cornell and I are going to drive in together,” Harper continued. “But we’re both on the opposite side of town. So, we’ll meet you guys here.”
“Are you gonna need a ride, Ben?” Peter asked.
“Nope,” Ben said, still somehow not reading the look I was throwing him. “I’m set. I’m not going to risk getting stranded here like I did during the harvest festival.”
“I did apologize for that.” Cornell frowned.
Ben looked up just long enough to throw him a lopsided smile. “It’s no big. I’ve got wheels.”
“Then we’re set,” I said, each word sharpened down to a knifepoint. “Harper and Cornell are going to drive in together. Peter is going to drive me and Meg. And Ben is going to go solo.”
Harper reached over and clapped her hand on Peter’s forearm, momentarily putting a halt to him stuffing his face. “See, you were worried about not having a date and now you have two.”
“I’m a lucky guy.” Peter beamed at us. “Although, I guess I’ll have to buy two corsages now.”
“I’m cool without, thanks,” I said, inwardly cringing at the thought of spending an evening with a flower strapped to my wrist. I didn’t even wear normal bracelets, much less ones made of flora. It sounded cumbersome. And itchy.
“What about you, Megs?” Peter asked, cocking his head at her.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Meg turn an interesting shade of fuchsia. There was a chance that her limbic system was finally winning against her thought experiment.
“She’s going to be wearing purple,” Harper said.
“Cool,” Peter said. He polished off his burger and stood, throwing his backpack over his shoulders. “Duty calls. See you guys later.”
He limped across the cafeteria again, planting himself at a table full of juniors. I could feel Meg’s leg trembling next to mine. I knocked her foot with mine and she let out a long breath.
Harper folded her hands neatly on the table. “Well, that all worked out quite nicely.”
“Quite,” Meg squeaked.
Ben continued writing silently in his notebook.
[6:31 PM]
Ben
I think Cline used google translate on this essay. Have you been able to track down the original German article?
[7:09 PM]
Ben
I emailed you the link to a better translation. I should send it to Harpo and Corny.
[7:10 PM]
I’m not going to send it to them. Now we can fight to the death for valedictorian. Ha ha!
[8:51 PM]
Ben
Earth to Beatrice.
[8:51 PM]
West to Watson.
[9:02 PM]
Trix?