Though the sign-up sheet appeared only this morning, it is already littered with signatures. He studies the list of events, running his fingers over his dirty-blond hair. The cuffs of his pants are stuck with dried pieces of grass.
“There’s a new category this year,” he says. “And I’m going to win it.” He picks up the pen and writes his name under “Variant Innovation.” Then he tips the pen toward me.
I shift my bag to my other shoulder.
“No thanks,” I say. “I think being a new student in a new school and making all new friends in an odd new town is about enough for me this year.”
“Aw, don’t be a wet blanket,” he says. “Everyone does something. If you don’t, prepare to face the wrath of Principal Cleary. Maybe he’ll paint a portrait of himself lecturing you on the values of school spirit.” He pushes the pen at me again.
I study the list of categories. There are close to twenty, including everything from fencing to equestrianism. “What are Stars?”
“They’re Throwing Stars. Kind of like darts,” George says. “Corrander usually dominates that one, so no one from Sterling ever signs up.”
“Huh,” I say. Will is signed up for the soccer portion of the tournament. And then I notice Eliza Patton’s name on the board. It appears she’s signed up for three separate events.
“Come on, the tournament’s not until spring. You’ll be all well-adjusted by then.” George elbows my arm.
Or maybe the war will have ended, I think, and I won’t even be here anymore.
“We should get to class,” I say, setting the pen back up on the rim of the notice board. The space next to my name remains blank.
Later that day I face the wall of the girls’ locker room and dutifully pull my gym uniform over my head. It is made of gauzy material the color of dust bunnies. I wince and try to pull the wrinkles to fall into a more flattering shape.
Normally, we’re separated from the boys during fitness class, but today they are lined up against the painted bricks of the back wall. George stands at the front of it, his knobby knees peeking out from under his shorts. He waves me over.
“So, for that tournament—” I say. I lean against the wall next to him, folding my arms to cover myself. “Sterling competes against the other Sister Cities?”
“Yes.” George cracks his knuckles in succession, fidgeting, as if he’s overly aware that he doesn’t quite fill out his uniform. “It takes place over three days. Your town gets points with every first place, second place, or third place in the events, and whoever has the most collective points at the end gets to host the Harvest Fair the next year.”
“I guess that sounds fun.”
“At first it was. Now people have started taking it real seriously. Principal Cleary always acts as though his very job hangs in the balance.”
I make a face.
“I know.” George grins. “He should rethink his motivation strategy.”
Mrs. Percy, the girls’ gym teacher, bursts through the door and claps her hands. “Hello, everyone. You’re here together today because you’ll need one another to learn a new skill.”
“No.” George’s hands grow even more frenetic. “It better not be waltzing. I thought that was just a rumor.”
“You’re going to learn how to waltz!” Mrs. Percy beams at us, as if she’s expecting us to applaud. “By the time this year’s Christmas Ball rolls around, you should be able to dance Viennese and Hesitation waltzes like professionals,” she continues. “Now—?as there are so many of you and only one of me, I’ve arranged for a particular treat this year. Some of your more senior classmates have agreed to come today and give you a demonstration.”
All the blood in my body rushes to my face. I tug again at the folds of my uniform while trying to hide behind George. Please, please, I think, don’t let the instructing student be William.
When the door opens, I’m relieved only for a moment. Because the alternative isn’t much better.
Eliza strides through the door, and George immediately stands straighter at the sight of her. She’s in the pleated skirt and starched, crisp white blouse of the school uniform. Next to the masses of our lumpy gray gym outfits, she practically glows. Following her is Chase Peterson.
“Mr. Peterson, Miss Patton, why don’t you give the class a demonstration of what their end goal looks like?” Mrs. Percy says. She sashays over to the stereo and sets a record spinning until the notes curl out from it in ribbons. Chase extends his hand to Eliza, and they begin to glide across the floor in three-step counts.
“One, two, three; one, two, three,” Mrs. Percy dictates. “Gentlemen, look at how Chase leads. Excellent form, Eliza. Ladies, see the posture of her back?”
“What do you know about her?” I whisper to George.
“Eliza? The ‘Face of Sterling’?” George cracks his knuckles again. “She’s a Patton. Rich as anyone—?even the Clifftons. She and Will have been friends since they were little. Everyone’s always thought it was inevitable they’d end up together.”
I try to pretend that this doesn’t make my heart suddenly plummet like a stone.
I’m paired to practice with Chase, and it sinks even lower.
“Hello, Will’s little houseguest.” Chase’s hand finds my waist. A mole lurks under the dark stubble on his shaved head. His teeth are white and straight, but his smile is more like a smirk.
When I don’t respond, he guides us through the strand of dancing students to where Eliza has been paired with George. I’m not sure how he can talk and dance at the same time. I’m using all my concentration to count steps in my head and avoid landing on him. “I saw your mother last weekend,” Chase says to Eliza when we approach. “She’s gracing you with her presence this week?”
Eliza shrugs. “Not to worry,” she says, sounding bored. “She’s off again tomorrow.”
“Is she coming back before Disappearance Day? Or staying clear of all the . . . unpleasantness?” His eyes glitter at her, and she narrows hers back at him, as if she’s trying to unearth another layer of meaning behind his words.
“Aren’t we curious today?” she says, moving George’s arm to a different angle, her voice becoming icy and prim. “She might be back. She might not. She’s attending an auction. And my sister has a performance.”
She sniffs. I’m trying not to look at her skin. It is dewy and creamy and looks as if it has never seen a blemish. Meanwhile, I can feel a pimple preparing to make yet another appearance on the left side of my chin.
“Ouch!” Eliza cries, jumping back. George’s latest step has landed on her foot. “Oh, good.” She yanks George’s arm back into the proper dancing position. “It’s not as though I needed those toes anyway.”
Chase’s sudden laugh sounds like glass breaking. Freckles burn across George’s face.
And then Chase turns his attention to me.
“So, new girl. What’s Cliffton like at home?” he asks. “Do you stay up late drinking Shirley Temples and painting each other’s nails?”