Winning (19 page)

My calves are burning from tonight's practice, a self-directed one as Natalie was a no-show. After running through my talent repertoire—I always have five songs prepped, each from a different genre—I spent literally an hour going up and down the stairs in my new Tippy Top heels. Natalie used to have me start from the second-floor landing and head all the way down to the basement. There, I'd complete two full laps around the room, doing The Walk—only never doing it good enough for Natalie. When I'd strike my final pose, she'd launch into a blistering critique, every single one of which ended with the word “Again.”

I never complained, though. Not once. And tonight, even though Natalie was who-the-fuck-knows-where, I ran through the whole routine twice. If she ever does decide to show up to one of our lessons again, I don't want her claiming I'd gotten lazy.

After I hear Natalie stumble in and retreat to the kitchen to pour herself a Blanton's, I hit the shower. I stand under the steaming hot water until it starts to cool, long enough for my
creamy skin to turn salmon pink. I can't help it. It feels so good on my aching muscles.

I launch into my post-shower routine, which mostly consists of using two different body creams, a facial moisturizer, and no fewer than three hair products. Twenty minutes later, I emerge from the steamy bathroom, still wrapped in a towel, and almost run smack into Natalie. She's clutching the cordless phone and looking beyond furious.

“What are you up to?” she asks.

“Showering?”

“Don't play dumb with me, Alexandra. I just got off the phone with Frick.”

“Can we talk about this after I get dressed?” I say.

I move past my mother and into the bedroom. To my dismay, she follows me.

“A little privacy, please?”

Natalie doesn't move. Instead, she says, “When were you going to tell me that you dropped out of the Homecoming race?”

“It's not what you think,” I tell her.

“Oh, I'm pretty sure it's exactly what I think,” she says. “Frick told me you've been behaving erratically at school. Hanging out with that girl who tried to kill herself a couple of years ago. She says you've been
coaching
her—that you're trying to get
her
elected Homecoming Queen.”

Leave it to Frick to fuck everything up. Why was she calling my mother? There has to be some rule against that, right?

“What do you care, Natalie?” I ask. “You haven't been around for weeks.”

“You don't understand,” she says. “First you win Homecoming. Then Miss Indiana University, then Miss Indiana, then Miss America. That's how it has to be. That's how you get the hell out of here.”

After everything, this is the thing that almost does me in.

I
want to leave. I've always known that I'm too good for this life. But my dad's death nearly destroyed Natalie. When I leave, she'll actually be alone. Is that really what she wants?

“Fine,” I mutter.

Natalie's eyes narrow.

“I'm watching you,” she tells me. “So get your shit together, and get it done. On Saturday, it better be your name announced, or don't even bother coming home.”

With that, she storms out of my bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

I don't really care about Natalie's empty threats. But what I
do
care about is Frick interfering with my plan. Calling Natalie the night before the Q&A has to be a calculated move on her part. Why? Did she think my mother would cause an ugly scene? Did she think that would throw me off my game?

I can't help but wonder what else she's going to be lobbing my way.

Guess I'll find out soon enough.

The pre-Homecoming assembly used to happen in the morning, right after homeroom. But everyone would get so riled up that the teachers protested. Have it in the afternoon, they said. If you're going to get a bunch of teenagers all jacked up, do it right before you send them home so we don't have to deal with it.

At least, that's what I imagined they said.

So this year, the pre-Homecoming assembly is being held during last period. On a Friday. Everyone's loud and squirmy because the one thing standing between them and the weekend is a stupid assembly that most people couldn't care less about.

Lexi's cares, though. And now, so do I.

We are sitting together, near the front of the auditorium, as the king candidates take the stage. Matt and the two other football players up for king are decked out in their home uniforms, with green-and-gold jerseys and bright white pants with a green stripe running down the side. Joining them are Tyler Moses, a prepster soccer stud with swoopy, boy-band hair that always falls in his eyes, and Curtis Wilson, student council president and
likely future president of the United States.

Frick is onstage, too, ready to ask them a bunch of stupid questions that supposedly will help the Spencer High student body get to know the candidates better. Only, we all know how this works: they'll listen to the empty answers, they'll make a lot of noise, and then the girls will vote for whomever they think is hottest, while the guys will vote for whichever one is their closest bud.

But with Erin and Ivy in the queen race, it isn't the same old, same old Q&A. People are genuinely curious as to how Ivy will respond; there are still some students taking bets on whether or not she'll relapse before the dance. (I may or may not be responsible for those rumors, at Lexi's request. Another item on the list of things I now regret.)

Finally, it's time for the queen candidates to take the stage. Ashley Chamberlain is in her cheerleading uniform. Hayley Langer is sporting a Spartan green sweater over a denim micromini and knee-high boots. Ivy's rocking a plaid skirt in school colors, topped with a fitted turtleneck sweater. And then there's Erin.

The wearing school colors thing isn't a rule. It's just something candidates typically do. Last night, we discussed the possibility of her wearing her cheerleading uniform, as would be expected. But we also talked about the need for her to stay under Lexi's radar. The girl misses nothing. If I was going to switch sides, and start working against Lexi, I'd have to keep her distracted. Or, rather, Erin would, by waging a hell of a queen campaign.

So instead of sporting her pep squad attire, Erin's dressed in head-to-toe white: white T-shirt tucked into white jeans over white kitten heels. Standing there, amongst a sea of green and gold, she looks like an angel. She practically glows.

Lexi is furious. She's muttering all kinds of things under her breath, but I know her well enough to know what's making her the most upset is that she didn't think of it herself.

The first two questions are recycled from previous years. Erin's responses are textbook perfect, only even better, because they come across as 100 percent genuine. Ivy's holding her own; she's more tentative than the other three candidates, but in a sweet, disarming way.

Then, Frick drops the third question: “Why are you proud to be a Spencer Spartan?”

Ashley talks about cheerleading (of course she does). Hayley talks about how it's her job as an American and God-fearing Christian to have school spirit. She gets slightly more applause, but I think that's because she managed to hike her skirt another half inch higher. And then it's Erin's turn.

She acknowledges her New Girl status right off the bat. “Although I haven't been a Spartan for very long,” she says, “in the short time I've been here I've received such a warm welcome. . . .” She doesn't talk about being a cheerleader. She doesn't talk about America or Jesus.

Erin, sounding like the sweetest, nicest, most honest person in the whole freaking school, speaks from the heart. She talks about how difficult it was for her to leave California, pick up her
life, and start over from scratch. And how, in the few weeks since she's enrolled at Spencer, she's already started to feel like she's home, only now home is here, in Spencer, Indiana.

“Corny,” Lexi whispers to me. “She totally played that the wrong way.”

But when Erin finishes by thanking everyone, and talking about how honored she is to even be considered for Homecoming Queen, she's met with thunderous applause. Turns out, Jake Tosh is the World's Best Hype Man. He gets the crowd totally fired up for her.

I swallow my smile. I can't let Lexi know how pleased I am. Instead, I whisper back to her, “Don't worry about Ivy. She's got this.”

Lexi nods grimly, but she starts tapping one toe furiously, practically shaking the row of auditorium seats.

Ivy's looked too nervous this whole time to perform according to Lexi's standards, and I'm sure Erin's stellar display isn't helping alleviate her anxiety. When she walks up the mic, she leans forward just a touch too far, and the sound spikes dramatically, making half the kids cover up their ears.

She takes a step backward, her cheeks flaming red. Then she closes her eyes and breathes in deeply, letting the air out slowly, and finally starts again.

“There was a time when I wasn't proud to be a Spartan,” she says, which makes Hayley smirk right there on the stage. “In fact, there was a time when you couldn't pay me enough money to come back to this school. I hated it. I hated what it did to me.
I hated the teachers for letting it happen. And I hated my classmates for thinking it was funny.”

The energy has shifted. The words Ivy's saying are making people feel uncomfortable. Even Lexi's squirming in her seat. If she could, I think she'd put her hands over her eyes so she wouldn't have to watch Ivy fail so spectacularly.

But, in another heartbeat, everything changes.

“I didn't think there was a place for me at Spencer,” she says. “Not after my . . . my . . .” Ivy closes her eyes again, takes a few deep breaths, then opens them and says, in a voice much more strong and clear and full of conviction, “Not after my attempt. But I was wrong. Spencer, it turns out, is a place where anyone can get a second chance, even the kid who went crazy in the bio lab.”

She smiles as she says this, and there are some chuckles from the audience.

“Holy shit,” Lexi says under her breath. “She's pulling it off!”

“I made the choice—and it was just that, a choice—to shut everyone out,” Ivy continues. “But as soon as I stopped doing that—as soon as I let my guard down enough for people to see the real me—I was accepted. I was made to feel like I am not tied to my past. You see me for who I am today.

“I'm not new to Spencer—” Here, Ivy nods toward Erin. “But Spencer is new to me. And I have to tell you, I love—absolutely love—what I see.”

Everybody goes nuts when she says that. Bobby Jablonski, not to be outdone by the less-popular Jake Tosh, turns into a
hype man himself, getting everyone all kinds of frothed up.

Ivy stands there, smiling, a single, perfect tear falling from her right eye. The stage lights catch it, but even if they didn't, there's no mistaking why she's running her pointer finger under her lash line.

When the volume lowers enough for her to keep talking, Ivy says, “You asked me why I'm proud to be a Spencer Spartan. This is why.
You
are why.”

Ivy gets an honest-to-goodness standing O. The teachers, who are supposed to remain neutral, are cheering her on. Even Ashley, her fellow competitor, can't hold back the waterworks. She literally throws her arms around Ivy, giving her a hug. A real hug, not a fake one designed to win back some votes.

No, Ivy Proctor has managed to reduce one of the most popular girls in our entire school into a sad spectacle of blubbering.

It is truly like a scene from one of those clichéd teen movies where the loser gets a makeover and suddenly everyone loves her and wants to be her friend. Only it's not a movie; it's our high school. And that loser? She could win the crown, if my evil schemer of a supposed best friend wasn't hell-bent on taking her down.

That's exactly why we have got to take her down first.

I have to hand it to Alexandra: she's managed to turn Ivy Proctor into a high school hero. Fact: The final bell has rung and there is still a ring of students surrounding Ivy, all clamoring to tell her just how awesome they think she is. And there's Alexandra, beaming from afar like a proud parent. Meanwhile, Erin Hewett, my dark-horse candidate who I was banking on beating Ivy out for queen, has slunk off silently without anyone even noticing.

I'm never going to get back at Alexandra this way. Ivy is now a lock for queen; there's no question about that. I was hoping that James would be able to rally the underclassmen for Erin—this was the condition I gave him for agreeing to be his date for the dance—but there's no way he'll be able to swing enough votes to pull off a win for Erin. That plan . . . did not work. In fact, I've been dead-ending all over the place.

Except when it comes to Samantha Schnitt. Because my top target? She's headed directly my way.

Before I can so much as wave hello, Sam asks me what I'm doing after school.

“Key Club,” I say. “Alexandra asked me to run the meeting.”

“Right. And after that?”

I shrug. “Nada.”

“Shake my hand,” she tells me in a low tone. “Now.”

I don't question this. I just do it. And what do you know? She palms me a piece of paper.

“Don't open that now,” Sam instructs. “Just come to that address tonight, after Key Club. But don't tell anyone where you're going. And make sure no one follows you.”

She's so serious I can't help but laugh. “What's up with the cloak-and-dagger routine?”

“You'll find out tonight,” she says. “I'm going to pretend like I'm irritated with you now. She's watching us.”

Sam doesn't have to say who “she” is. I know without looking it's Alexandra.

“Whatever, Sloane,” Sam says loudly, then spins on her heel and walks away.

I honestly have no idea what is happening. But I seriously can't wait to find out.