School that Friday was one of those occasions when academics — and sanity, for that matter — were no match for the firebomb that was Homecoming mania. Even with another Hulda powwow raiding my thoughts like marauders, I, too, was swept along by school spirit.

The big event was the third-period pep rally at which the queen and king were named. I took my seat in the bleachers, finding a third-row spot next to Jinky.

We all suffered through the mandatory speeches and announcements. I noticed that any mention of a merge with Pinewood was clearly off topic; chaperones had witnessed the scene at the Asking Fire. Point of fact, sportsmanship, comportment, and character were the theme of both the principal’s and the coach’s talks. The latter managed to convey the importance of both appropriate conduct and a win. I personally couldn’t have cared less about who won that night’s football game. Queen, on the other hand . . .

When the rally did get around to its true purpose, I was so nervous my legs were stamping at the floorboards of the stands like tap shoes on a tin roof. Jinky gave me a look, but she didn’t have me fooled. She’d been chewing at her thumbnail since I plopped down next to her.

The ten chosen blue bloods were lined up on the track ringing the football field. The king was announced first. The miked principal announced John Gilbert’s name, placed a crown on his head, and thrust a scepter into his hand. Marik, as far as I could tell, had little or no reaction. Instead, he stood stiffly in place in the horseshoe formation.

Next, the principal, bearing two more royal instruments, approached the line of girls. The crowd was so loud that I couldn’t hear the name as it was announced. I held my breath but almost hyperventilated in disbelief when the tiara was planted atop Abby’s head. She had to hold on to it to keep it from tumbling as she was team-hugged by the other female members of her court. From the bleachers, I could see tears glistening her face.

“What a rip,” I said, triggering a turn and a once-over from a known consort of Abby’s.

“That sucks,” Jinky said, earning her own disapproving glare.

Back inside, I found Penny at her locker and gave her a big consolation embrace.

“Dang it all,” I said. “I so wanted you to be queen.”

Penny rolled her eyes. “I never expected to win. Quite frankly, it’s a small miracle I made court. A year ago I didn’t stand a chance. And without a certain someone championing me and running a little PR operation, I wouldn’t have.”

“Sure you would have,” I said. “Tons of people told me they had already voted for you. And if not you, who else? There’s not another girl in this school who deserves to make court in your place.”

Penny closed her locker and gave a furtive look to her left and right. “I happen to know, via a very good source, the identity of the next in line, and she would have been an excellent choice.”

“Who?” I asked.

“You.” Penny nudged me so hard with her shoulder that I crashed into the bank of lockers with a loud clang.

“Not funny,” I said, rubbing my shoulder.

“I’m not joking.”

“Well, then, I’m doubly glad I swayed a few votes in your favor, because I’m firmly New World and pro-democracy. Remember?” And not too keen on queens these days, either.

Penny laughed. “You arrived last year talking an overthrow. How could I forget?”

I was mulling over the word overthrow as Marik walked up — hobbled over, more like, actually.

“Are you OK?” I asked. He was pale and his forehead was tight and shiny.

“Still recuperating,” Penny said, biting her lips back. “I’ve tried to get him to see a doctor, or at least the school nurse.”

“I’m fine,” Marik said quickly. “It’s just a small pain in my side.”

I watched him clutch at his waist, a gesture I’d noticed before. He definitely didn’t look well, and who knows what a side pain could indicate? A burst appendix came to mind, but then I thought — blinking with the enormity of it — did Marik even have an appendix? Could he go to a doctor? What would they find? Just what did a merman have for organs and innards?

“But the dance is tomorrow,” Penny said. “And the big game tonight. You should at least go home and rest.”

Marik shook off the idea, leaving the two of us with his “Don’t worry about me. I finish what I start.”

While this cheered Penny measurably, it jarred me to the core. And it was my turn to feel a sharp pain.