But it’s not the Priory—just Mrs. Malone, dressed in an embarrassingly tight sequined dress, tapping the microphone onstage. There’s a table draped in red velvet behind her, atop which sits a large and a small version of the same jewel-encrusted gold crown.
“I trust you’re all having fun?” Mrs. Malone asks, nodding as if she knows the answer already.
The crowd erupts into cheers.
Mrs. Malone smiles brightly. “All right, you’re all probably wondering why I’m interrupting your evening, so I’ll cut to the chase.” She pauses, and the crowd grows quiet. “It’s time to announce this year’s Fairfield High homecoming king and queen.”
Her last words are muffled by raucous applause.
Mrs. Malone waits a moment before holding up a hand for silence. “First, the homecoming king.”
The students roar. Our principal sweeps her gaze over the crowd, clearly loving her part in all the excitement.
“Over one thousand students voted, and it was unanimous: this year’s homecoming king is … Devon Mills!”
Whoa—an underclassman won homecoming king.
The football players lead a “Devon, Devon!” chant, and the rest of the crowd joins in.
“Come on up here, Devon.” Mrs. Malone waves him over.
Devon high-fives his friends before he jogs onstage. He bows low so that Mrs. Malone can place the larger gold crown atop his gelled blond hair, then waves to the audience in his best royalty impression.
Mrs. Malone returns to the microphone. “Doesn’t he make a charming king?” She allows the crowd a moment more of applause. “And now, what you’ve all been waiting for.”
The DJ begins a drumroll.
There’s a commotion on the dance floor, and Mandy Allard is pushed to the front of the crowd, rolling her eyes and smiling widely in her sad attempt to be humble.
Mrs. Malone continues. “It was a close call this year, but the votes are in; this year’s Fairfield High homecoming queen is … Indigo Blackwood!”
The crowd erupts into the same raucous applause that Devon received.
“What?” Mandy and Bianca say together. My jaw is somewhere on the booze-slick dance floor.
I couldn’t agree with them more. Me? A junior? Homecoming queen? After everything that happened? After falling out with Bianca and after befriending the girl everyone thinks is the school’s biggest loser?
It has to be pity, I decide. People feel bad for me because Mom died.
Hands push me forward, and I stumble onstage, squinting against the bright light and the flash of cameras in the audience. I bend down like Devon did so that Mrs. Malone can place the crown on my head. It’s heavier than expected, and I straighten carefully so that it doesn’t topple off. And then, finally, I allow myself to look out at the audience.
Bianca and Mandy sulk off toward the bathroom, Julia hot on their heels. But that’s it: just those three girls in the entire room of students appear the least bit upset with the decision, and the rest cheer as though they’re genuinely happy. And for the first moment, I realize that maybe not everyone loves Bianca. Maybe other people realize what a terrible person she is. It makes me feel sort of bad for her, which is shocking after the whole Sears dress debacle.
But then I see Bishop, and all thoughts of Bianca slip away. He’s inside, leaning against one of the turret-peaked columns that border the room, his hands plunged deep in the pockets of his suit pants, his wing tips crossed at the ankles. He looks up at me from under the bowler hat that sits cocked slightly forward on his head, under which spills his familiar tangle of black waves. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him in anything but rocker clothing, and though I’m not entirely sure this doesn’t qualify as that, it makes me suck in a little breath. That, and the fact that he shouldn’t be here. And since he is, I guess it means everyone else has given up on the Priory too.
Bishop tips his hat and sends me a crooked grin, and I find myself smiling back before I remember that I’m supposed to hate him.
An arm wraps around my middle, and I jerk my gaze away from Bishop as the crowd begins chanting, “Kiss, kiss, kiss!”
Before I even get a chance to process what’s happening, Devon dips me backward and plants a wet kiss on my lips. For a moment, I’m too shocked to react, but then I realize that Devon’s kissing me, kissing me in front of the whole school, in front of Bishop, and that it’s not what I want. I put my hands onto his chest to push him away, but it’s too late. He’s already pulling me back to my feet.
And Bishop is gone.
Panting for air, I scan the columns at the back of the room, desperate to find him. But a strange movement in the room catches my attention. I squint into the darkness, sure that my eyes are playing tricks on me, because what I just saw cannot be right. Then the massive, green-spiked tail of the papier-maché dragon flicks again, and my doubts are cast aside. The dragon is coming to life.
30