“In case you crap your pants again,” Chloe said. “Try it on.”
Lilith’s cheeks warmed, and she pushed the diaper off her desk, pretending she didn’t care that it was on the floor now, that other kids had to step over it to get to their desks. She glanced up to see whether Mrs. Richards had noticed, but to her dismay, Chloe was now having a tête-à-tête with their smiling homeroom teacher.
“I can recycle my shampoo bottles and my conditioner bottles, too?” Chloe was saying. “I never knew! Now, may I please have a hall pass? I’m supposed to meet with Principal Tarkenton.”
Lilith watched with envy as Mrs. Richards dashed out a pass to Chloe, who took it and skipped out of the room. Lilith sighed. Teachers doled out hall passes to Chloe like they doled out detentions to Lilith.
Then the bell rang, and the intercom crackled to life.
“Good morning, Bulls,” Tarkenton said. “As you know, today is the day we reveal the much-anticipated theme of this year’s prom.”
The kids around Lilith all hooted and clapped. She felt alone among them once again. It wasn’t that she thought she was smarter or had better taste than these kids who cared so much about a high school dance. Something deeper and more important divided her from everyone she’d ever met. She didn’t know what it was, but it made her feel like an alien most of the time.
“You voted, we tallied,” the principal’s voice continued, “and this year’s prom theme is…Battle of the Bands!”
Lilith scowled at the intercom. Battle of the Bands?
She hadn’t filled out the ballot for this year’s prom, but she found it hard to believe that her classmates would have selected a theme that was actually almost interesting. Then she remembered that Chloe King was in a band, and that the girl had somehow brainwashed the student body into thinking that whatever she did was cool. Last spring, she’d made playing bingo an actual thing the in-crowd did every Thursday night. Lilith, of course, had never gone to Bingo Babes, as it was called, but come on—who between the ages of eight and eighty actually enjoyed the game of bingo?
The prom theme could have been worse. But still, Lilith was sure Tarkenton and his high school henchmen would figure out a way to make sure it sucked.
“And now a message from your prom chair, Chloe King,” Tarkenton said.
A scuffling noise came from the intercom as the principal passed the microphone.
“Hey, Bulls,” Chloe said in a voice that managed to be both peppy and sultry at the same time. “Buy your prom tickets and get ready to dance the night away to amazing music played by your amazing friends. That’s right—prom is going to be part Coachella, part reality TV show, with a panel of snarky judges and everything. It’s all sponsored by King Media—thanks, Daddy! So save the date: Wednesday, April thirtieth—just fifteen days away! I’ve already signed up my band to do battle, so what are you waiting for?”
The intercom clicked off. Lilith had never been to one of Chloe’s shows, but she liked to think the girl had about as much musical talent as a lobster.
Lilith thought back to the boy she’d met the day before at Rattlesnake Creek. Out of nowhere he’d suggested she form a band. She’d tried to put the encounter out of her mind, but with Chloe going on about how to sign up to play at prom, Lilith was surprised to feel regret about the total nonexistence of her band.
Then the homeroom door swung open—and in walked the boy from Rattlesnake Creek. He sauntered down the row next to hers and took Chloe King’s seat.
Heat coursed through Lilith’s body as she studied his motorcycle jacket and the vintage Kinks T-shirt that fit tightly across his chest. She wondered where they sold clothes like that in Crossroads. No store she knew. She’d never met anyone who dressed like him.
He brushed his dark hair from his eyes and gazed at her.
Lilith liked the way Cam looked, but she did not like the way he looked at her. There was a sparkle in his eyes that made her uneasy. Like he knew all of her secrets. He probably looked at all the girls that way, and some of them probably loved it. Lilith didn’t—at all—but she forced herself to hold his gaze. She didn’t want him to think he made her nervous.
“May I help you?” Mrs. Richards asked.
“I’m new here,” Cam said, still staring at Lilith. “What’s the drill?”
When he flashed his Trumbull student ID, Lilith was so stunned she fell into a coughing fit. She struggled for control, mortified.
“Cameron Briel.” Mrs. Richards read from the ID card, then scrutinized Cam from head to toe. “The drill is you sit over there and be quiet.” She pointed at the desk farthest from Lilith, who was still coughing.
“Lilith,” Mrs. Richards said, “do you know the statistics on the rise of asthma due to increased carbon emissions in the past decade? When you finish coughing, I want you to get out a sheet of paper and write a letter to your congresswoman demanding reform.”