29
Fairfield High Renegades entertain what I like to think is a pretty decent-sized audience most game nights, considering it’s L.A. and school spirit isn’t really a thing here. So it’s no surprise that on the afternoon of homecoming, the bleachers are so jam-packed full they’re at risk of collapse.
I scan the crowd as I perform the moves to Bianca’s pregame warm-up routine, but realize that I won’t find who I’m looking for. Mom won’t be coming to any more of my games. I blink back tears, because now’s so not the time to get emotional.
Aunt Penny is here, though, front row center, with Bishop. So there’s that. The plan was to have Bishop watch the game from afar, so as to give the Priory the impression that I was alone, without protection. But the second I realized Aunt Penny couldn’t be talked out of coming to the game—she was homecoming queen her senior year, after all—I had to ditch that plan. At least I don’t have to worry about Paige, who agreed to stay home following only minor threats of violence against her if she didn’t listen.
Mrs. Hornby blows her obnoxious whistle as she jogs over from the sidelines. Hornby’s hard core into female athletics and female empowerment in general and can pretty much one hundred percent of the time be found wearing a full tracksuit with big pitters. She’s been both the girls’ volleyball and girls’ soccer coach since forever, and has now taken on the role of cheerleading coach in the wake of Carmen’s death. And she’s … unpleasant. Mrs. Horny, as we’ve very maturely dubbed her, has made no secret of the fact that she thinks cheerleading is demeaning to women.
“All right, girls,” she says. “As you all know, it’s an important game today. And there is no way the football team can manage to win without you girls out there, shaking your booties and yelling out nice things to the boys. So do your school proud!”
A collective eye roll passes over the squad.
“Isn’t it against some sort of rule to be sarcastic to students?” I ask, eliciting a hum of support.
But Mrs. Malone’s voice comes over the speaker, announcing our squad, before Horny has a chance to respond.
“Come on, girls,” Bianca says, trotting toward the field. She turns around and runs backward. “We wouldn’t want to disappoint our favorite new coach,” she adds. And if I’m not mistaken, I’d say Bianca winked at me before spinning around again. Weird.
We take formation on the field. The music starts, and we launch into our choreographed dance.
And I must say, even with me slipping frantic searches for the Priory into the routine, we rock the faces off everyone in the stands. I like to think it’s why the Renegades are ahead 16–7 by the time the whistle blows for halftime.
On cue, the homecoming-court nominees head over to the carriage—which I guess sustained only minimal damages in the altercation with Leo—at the head of the processional of floats surrounding the field for the parade.
Bianca and I arrive at the carriage doors at the same time, and there’s an awkward thirty seconds where we both go to climb up at the same time, step back, then try again with equal success. Finally she steps back.
“Go ahead,” she says.
“No, you go ahead,” I respond.
“No, seriously,” she says. “I’m sorry I jumped in your way. It was wrong.” She gives a weak smile. It’s a bit much for the situation, and I get the distinct impression she’s apologizing for more than cutting me off. An actual apology would be more impressive, but it’s a start.
I climb up the steps into the carriage. Devon is already there, with two seniors from the football team who were also nominated for homecoming king, along with Mandy Allard, the strikingly gorgeous, black-haired sometimes-model and the only senior girl on the ticket for homecoming queen. She doesn’t bother to glare at us, and really, why should she? Juniors are never elected king and queen, even when we’re nominated.
Devon has the decency to look embarrassed when he sees Bianca and me enter the carriage together.
“Ladies,” he says, dipping his head at us before he launches into a conversation with one of the senior guys. We take our places for optimal viewing around the carriage as the marching band warms up, their horns and trumpets tooting and honking above the roar of the crowd.