“I think that’s the line for valet,” says Clem, pointing to a line of flashy cars.
“Is that free?” I ask. “Does that come with the ticket?”
“Shouldn’t there be some kind of nominee perk?” Hannah asks.
As we walk in, I call over my shoulder, “You live in Clover City! You are not too fancy to park your own car!”
This year’s theme is Hollywood Nights, and there is an actual red carpet rolled out for us. At the start of the carpet is a sign that reads THANK YOU TO OUR SPONSOR, JED’S CARPET! Inside, we hand over our tickets, which were actually the perk of being a nominee. Everyone else had to cough up eighty bucks for this evening of elegance. There are balloon arches and cardboard cutouts of Hollywood stars like Robert Pattinson, The Rock, Beyoncé, Jennifer Aniston, Cardi B, and Homer Simpson, which I’m guessing generated a heated discussion among the decoration committee.
While we wait in line for pictures, more people than I’ve ever met in my life come up to say hi to me and Hannah.
“I feel like I’m at my own funeral,” Hannah says between hellos.
“Or wedding,” Clem offers. “Less morbid.”
Tucker and Melissa are three groups ahead of them, and being a tall, fat ginger in heels makes hiding from them impossible, so instead I turn my back.
“Is he looking?” I ask Clem.
“That depends. Do you want him to be looking?”
“Clem, just answer me.” My stomach flip-flops.
She cranes her neck around me. “It’s hard to say. He’s definitely looking... around.”
A group of girls in what appears to be different variations of the same dress wave as they pass us. A shorter girl with narrow shoulders and heavy hips doubles back to whisper, “We totally voted for y’all!”
“Eeee!” Clementine claps and lets out a little shriek as Hannah and I eye each other with hesitant excitement.
“Okay, y’all, listen up. Pep-talk time.” Clementine claps her hands atop each of our shoulders, like we’re huddling up at the big game or whatever. “You’re both my favorite people. Shhh. Don’t tell Mom and Dad.”
“Or Grammy,” I add.
Clem shakes her head. “Grammy doesn’t count. She’s a deity. Grandma Camile, too.”
Hannah nods. “Fair.”
“Now, listen up, team, you’re both already royalty, and if you don’t win, it will be the injustice of the decade, but the ones losing out will be them, not you. Because this is only one night in a long line of great ones for both of y’all, but for some of these people, seeing y’all win might be the most epic thing they ever see. Tonight is just our warm-up, babes.”
“Okay.” I let myself believe her completely. It’s terrifying.
We’re a tangle of limbs as the three of us squeeze in for a hug. Maybe being the third wheel isn’t so bad after all.
The photographer directs Hannah and Clementine tostep in front of the backdrop under a gold-and-silver balloon arch.
“Wait a minute!” Clem says as she reaches for my hand. “I need both my dates in this picture.”
“Clem, it’s fine. Really.”
“Waylon, get in here,” Hannah demands with a lopsided smile. “Please. I’ve never been on a date with a dude. I gotta commemorate my one and only.”
We do our best Charlie’s Angels pose and a few others before the photographer informs us that there is indeed a line of people waiting. And the whole time I have to force myself not to check and see if Tucker is watching.
Hannah and I track down Mrs. Leonard, who is doing laps around the ballroom in a shiny burgundy pantsuit that screamsmother of the bridewith a clipboard in her hand and her sparkly pants swishing around her ankles.
“Mrs. Leonard!” I call. “We’re here!”
She spins in a circle, following my voice until she sees me. “Ah, yes!” She gives Hannah and me a once-over. “And don’t you both look... handsome.”
