I laid them out on a table before Jay and Zihan. “We got some poetry, a story about the football team defeating East Shore, andan opinion piece on how the cafeteria should stop serving us food that still moves.”
Jay hopped off the couch and picked up the opinion piece to read a few lines. “This is headline material!” he sang.
“We’re doing it,” I said quietly, allowing myself to feel the comfort of support. “We’re really doing it!”
Jay examined me closely, and his eyes were soft and searching, as if he wanted to meet the depth of my excitement, to know where it came from. Whether he found what he was looking for or not, Jay was inspired. Two weeks intoThe Sovereign Scheme, he snatched the building keys from his father’s study to help me print my first issue in theChronicleoffice after school, when the room was empty. With him by my side, the problem of having money to fund the paper magically faded away.
I printed ten copies, which I’d distributed around school when the storm cooled down and it was finally time to retaliate.
As we packed up to head back before dark, Jay asked me, “So, the coed dance is a definite yes?”
The question closed a fist around my chest. I did not want to be on a rollercoaster of meaning with him. I wanted to always know how much he cared about our friendship, so I did not feel tugged here and there by the moments he wanted my attention and the ones he shut me out.
I shrugged, trying to look like I didn’t care. “I don’t know still.”
Jay locked the office door and gave me a sideways look. “Why not? Afraid of a dance? Or are you upset with me about the other night?”
“Not afraid,” I mumbled, though I kind of was. “Not upset, either.” Though I definitely was. “Why would I be? I just don’t see the point in a dance.”
“The point is to have fun!” He clapped me on the shoulder and guided me back to the hallway. “Think of it as research. You’ve got to experience the school fully to write about it, right?”
“I reckon I do.” I tried to fight off a smile but failed. “I’ll consider it.”
“Good,” he said, smiling back. “Don’t leave me to fend off Charlie and Cannon by myself.”
I watched him, admiring his effortless way of taking on the world. Quietly, I hoped that a little bit of that energy could rub off on me.
The coed dance came around that weekend, and I couldn’t find myself a date. Thankfully, Daisy didn’t have one either, so we agreed to go together.
I got ready in the guest room of Daisy’s house where I used to live, fumbling with my tie, my hands clumsy with nerves. This was the place that nursed me back to life when I felt like a hollow shell, and here I was, undoing the dust of my past, buttoning things up, thinking on trivial things like what I might talk to Jay about later, what his behavior might be like.
“Young lady, what is that?” I heard Uncle say from upstairs.
I went to the door and stuck my head outside to listen in.
“You can’t wear that,” Uncle Beet continued. “Nuh uh. No way! Nope.”
“Dad, you are not serious!” Daisy returned.
“No way, no way, little girl!”
“It’s all I have!” Daisy protested, throwing a fit. “I’ve been planning this outfit for weeks. Mom!”
“Okay, okay,” Auntie Lorraine said to keep the peace. “She’ll wear a shawl. And that should do it.”
Daisy won her mother over. She could be very persuasive, more persuasive than I ever was.
I heard her coming downstairs so I tried to pull together the rest of my outfit from the contents of my closet. She knocked on my open door and I spied what had made Uncle so mad. She was a vision in a sleeveless emerald dress! It hugged her form and stopped just above the knee. She wore matching gloves up to her elbows and a pixie wig that made her look a few years older.
Daisy did a twirl in the hallway when she saw me staring. She loved the attention but in a good-humored way. “Ready?” she said, scanning me. “No pants is a choice, but I support it!”
“Oh,” I said, looking down at myself. I’d only managed to put jockey shorts and socks on the lower half so far.
“I suppose you can’t decide how much you want the world to see until you try showing it,” Daisy said, still treating my bare legs as a fashion statement.
“I’ve only stressed about what to wear for the past three hours,” I said, going to the bed to sort through the suits lying there.
“That one,” Daisy said, pointing at a black and white pinstriped number. “It complements me, and it’s bolder than whatyou usually wear. Hurry now—we’ll have to walk down to a taxi and the dance is starting in ten.”
