None of the Above (2 page)

Darren's mom and my dad had dated when we were in seventh grade, about a year after my mom died. I was sort of sad when it didn't work out, because Darren's mom was an amazing cook who ran a healthy-eating catering business. We hadn't really kept in touch for the past few years, what with the awkwardness of our parents being broken up, but he was a distance runner, so I usually saw him a bit more during track season.

“Nah, Mom moved on to quinoa earlier this year,” Darren said.

“Keen-what?”

“Exactly. Like anyone in Utica gives a crap about how much protein is in their grain if they don't know how to pronounce it.” He flicked his head to get his hair out of his eyes, and scuffed the hardwood floor with his shoe.

“I like your tux,” I offered. “It's sharp.”

Darren shrugged. “I feel like a stuffed penguin. But you look awesome. I totally voted for you.”

For Homecoming Court. “Aww, thanks.” Vee had been saying that Faith and I would get Duchess spots, at least. I had to admit, it'd be nice to be up there with my friends. “Who are you here with?” I asked.

“Becky Riley. Jessica's sister.”

Jessica had helped out with the HPV-vaccine campaign I'd organized last year. She was into drama and was a glee club star. But before I could ask about his date, a hand snaked across my shoulder.

“Hello, lovely lady,” Sam murmured. He grabbed my hand, pretending to smell my corsage, and kissed it. I mouthed a silent good-bye to Darren as Sam pulled me away.

“Everyone was wondering where you were,” he said. I could barely hear him above the music. He dragged me onto the dance floor to join Faith and her boyfriend, Matt. Vee sat things out, of course, listening to a sophomore chatter on about something or other while her boyfriend, Bruce, stared into the crowd. After a while the DJ switched it up with some
Madonna, and a flood of my track teammates pulled me over to do the Vogue with them. Then the strobe lights went off, the disco ball started turning, and they played a slow dance—a cover of that Beatles song “In My Life.” Bruce actually carried Vee out to the dance floor without her crutches, and they swayed together. Sam and I found a spot on the dance floor next to them. I laid my cheek on the smooth satin of his lapel, feeling the beat of his heart.

I pressed close against him and his hands started inching downward. “Later,” I said, feeling eyes on us. But I kissed him to let him know it was a promise, not a brush-off. If tonight wasn't going to be the night—one week after my eighteenth birthday, with a limo to ourselves and no curfew—when was?

Before I knew it, the music stopped and Principal McCafferty got up behind a microphone to announce the Homecoming Court. Faith and I brought Sam and Matt over to where Vee was sitting again, and we each took one of her hands. Her back was ramrod straight as she watched Principal McCafferty.

“The two Duchesses of the Court are Faith Wu and Jessica Riley.”

I whooped and gave Faith a huge hug, surprised to find that I was just the slightest bit disappointed. Princess usually went to a junior—that's what Vee had been last year. So I didn't make Court. I almost wished that people hadn't mentioned voting for me, because as Aunt Carla always said, low
expectations were the key to a happy life.

But I didn't have much time to think about it all, because suddenly Principal McCafferty announced the Dukes. And one of them was Bruce.

WTF?

Vee's hand squeezed mine in a death grip as Bruce went up to collect his sash. I looked over at her in the disco-ball light, and saw her face freeze. “It's okay,” I whispered. “King and Queen aren't always a couple.” Even though Bruce was QB1, most people thought he was kind of a jerk. I never quite understood what Vee saw in him.

As expected, Prince and Princess were both juniors. As they went up to be crowned, they seemed so happy I felt a little catch in my throat. I leaned into Sam, who pressed a kiss into the top of my head.

“You're up next,” I whispered to Vee, and the side of her mouth went up a fraction of an inch. I noticed a tiny little bit of her hairdo coming out, and I reached up to tuck a strand back into place. So I actually felt her freeze when Principal McCafferty announced in a delighted, booming voice:

“Ladies and gentlemen, I'm happy to announce your Homecoming King and Queen: Mr. Samuel Wilmington and Ms. Kristin Lattimer!”

My first thought was: Did she read the index card wrong?

But then my track teammates all went crazy, yelling, “Go,
Krissy! Go, Krissy!” As Sam pulled me up to the stage, I looked out at the sea of smiling and cheering people, and felt awesome and as if I wanted to puke all at once, kind of like the high I get at the end of a race when I know I've won my heat and I'm still flying inside.

Then there was a special song for the Court only, and as I watched Bruce dance stiffly with a bemused Jessica Riley, I glanced back to our table, where Vee sat wearing a stuck-on smile.

“Do you think they only elected me because Vee broke her leg?” I mumbled into Sam's neck as we danced.

“No way. They voted for you because you're awesome. And you actually act like other people exist when you're walking down the hallway. Why are you friends with her again?”

“Sam!” I gave him a little elbow. In some ways, Sam couldn't really understand. He hadn't moved to our school district until high school, and never saw the way people walked on eggshells around me after my mom's diagnosis. Vee and Faith had been the only ones who made me feel normal. “This isn't right. I should abdicate.” The initial high was fading, and I was starting to feel the wrongness of the moment, like the little aches and pains that settle in after a race is finished.

“What, you think she's going to feel better about it if you give her that tiara out of pity?”

He was right. When Faith came over after the Royal Dance, I burrowed my face into her neck, not wanting to
come up for air. “We'd better go see Vee.”

As we made a beeline back to our table, I lagged behind, not sure what to say. Faith, however, was the sympathy queen. “Oh, Vee. It's so unfair. Why couldn't they have had the vote last week?”

Vee's stuck-on smile was back, or maybe it had never left. “Don't make such a big deal,” she said. “I mean, it's not like it's prom or anything.”

“You should be wearing this tiara, not me,” I said.

“Don't be silly.” She laughed, and it sounded canned. “I'm just happy for you. It's not like you get to dress up very often.”

Bruce came over with a sour look on his face. He yanked his sash over his head and left it in a crumple on the table. “All right, we got that crap done with. When can we go get the real party started?” Our school had set up a dry post-Homecoming bash in the gym, but the real fun would happen at Andy Sullivan's house. Rumor had it he'd gotten four kegs and the keys to his parents' liquor stash.

The rest of the dance was a blur of congratulations and sweaty dance numbers. When Sam and I stepped out just before midnight, the cool night air felt like heaven. Sam flipped his phone to find Andy Sullivan's address, but I put my hand on his arm. I didn't want to face Vee. Or the people who had voted for me. “Can we wait to go to the party?”

I didn't have to ask him twice.

We had another helping of champagne in the limo, and then Sam convinced the driver to park at the golf course.

“Alone at last,” he said, when the privacy window went up. A few seconds later, the door slammed and we heard the driver outside, talking on his cell phone.

“I wonder if he does this a lot,” I said, momentarily self-conscious.

“What?” Sam murmured, and then his lips brushed against my ear and the world contracted.

“Never mind,” I whispered.

Sam nuzzled my neck and his boutonniere brushed up against my nose. I took in a deep breath to smell the rose, but it was the kind bred for looks and shelf life, and all I got was a mix of booze and aftershave.

Sam fumbled with the zipper on my dress, only getting it halfway down before it stuck. He pushed his hands up the bottom instead, and I had a burst of anxiety that he would rip my mom's dress.

“Careful,” I said. My hands shook as I helped him.

“You're cold,” he said, draping his suit coat over my shoulders.

I let the coat drop to the floor and leaned into his chest, sighing at his warmth. “No,” I said. “Not anymore.” The memory of Vee and her mannequin's smile faded as I felt Sam's chest rise and fall.

The first time Sam and I ever spoke, I looked like I'd just gotten in a fight with an alley cat. It was sophomore year, and I was on a high after winning my first race ever. My teammates had celebrated by dumping blue Powerade over me, and I hadn't even had time to dry off completely before I ran my second race, where I clipped a hurdle and ended up crashing into the infield. But there's no crying in track, so I brushed myself off and went with my friends to watch the men's 4x100 relay with bruised, bloody knees.

There was this new boy running anchor, a guy with a stride so effortless it looked like silk. After he broke the tape—of course he came in first—a couple of my teammates went to scope him out and get the story. Was he a transfer? I hung back, watching him as he brushed his sweaty hair out of summer-blue eyes, and when my friends finished congratulating him he looked up and gave me a smile that made me shiver even as I felt a blush creep over my cheeks.

“Nice job,” I said shyly. I might have given a little wave, or something.

“You, too,” he said, holding out his hand. “You're Kristin, right? Hundred-meter hurdles? I'm Sam.”

I was too stunned that he knew who I was to answer. But I reached out my hand anyway, and he shook it. For days all I could think about was the comforting strength of his grip, and the way his smile made me feel like a goddess even when I
looked like a bedraggled rat.

We didn't start dating until more than a year later. By Homecoming, it'd been five months. We hadn't gone all the way yet, but in the limo, with the champagne bubbling through my system, I couldn't remember why not. I guess I had been scared. Concerned about STDs or something.

Whatever it was I was nervous about, it didn't exist in the limo. Blanketed by darkness, protected by tinted windows, the only sound besides our breathing was the soft piped-in jazz. Sam traced his finger up and down my neck before letting his hand stop just under my shoulder blade. He kept it there for a long time, and for the first time all day I relaxed. As soon as we started kissing I felt the need tingling down my spine, making the jumbled-up mess of thoughts about my accidental tiara evaporate. I reached for Sam hungrily. This time, I wanted more.

“You sure?” Sam whispered. I nodded, afraid that if I spoke my voice would shake. Sam untangled himself to get a condom, and when he turned back the feel of him on top of me was headier than any champagne.

And then, oh my God. Pain.

It felt like someone had taken an electric drill to my insides. I gritted my teeth and tried to power past it, but it was too much. Sam shifted, trying to go deeper, and I whimpered.

His weight lifted. “You okay?”

I nodded, and tried to blink away the tears. I was an
athlete. I was used to pushing through pain. “Yeah. Just give me a minute.”

“Want me to try to . . . help get you ready?”

I nodded again, my eyes closed. A second later, my hips jerked. “Aaagh.”

Sam swore. “I'm so sorry. I barely . . . Usually—” He broke off.

I froze, wondering how many other girls Sam had done this with. He must have felt me shrink away, because he got up and sat on the seat, pulling his coat over his crotch.

“It's okay,” I whispered, already feeling cold. I took a deep breath in, and let it out slowly. He'd been so patient. “I'm fine.”

So we tried again. He'd barely started before I made him stop. Sam wouldn't try a third time.

After we'd cleaned up, Sam just held me for a little while, stroking my arm over and over.

“It'll be better next time,” he promised.

I nodded, because that's what I wanted to believe.

In seventh grade, about a year after my mom passed, my aunt Carla decided to reinforce my understanding of the birds and the bees. My dad and I had left the church by then, to her great disapproval, so she stayed away from any biblical references. Instead, she just told me that the most precious thing a woman could offer a man was her virginity. Back then I was still in my Ugly Duckling phase, all skinned knees and straggly hair, and I couldn't even imagine having a boy kiss me, let alone
that
.

“It's like you were the keeper of the only diamond in the world, and when you gave it to someone, it disintegrated. You can never get it back, Krissy. And after that, you can never look at the world in the same way again.”

At the time, Vee and I had laughed about how stupid it was to describe a diamond disintegrating, because they're, like, the
hardest thing in the universe. But in the end it turned out Aunt Carla was right.

The morning after, things
were
different. Uncentered.

I called Vee first thing. Right away, I regretted it.

“What?” she answered, cranky as all get-out. It was eleven o'clock, but I must've woken her up.

“If you're busy, I can call you later.”

“No.” I could practically hear her rubbing her eyes. “I'm not doing anything. What's up?”

I told her that Sam and I had done it. I didn't tell her that it hadn't seemed quite . . . right. “It still hurts when I pee,” I said instead.

“It'll get better. It's about time the two of you did it. So how was the Homecoming King?” she asked in a voice that was half honey, half salt. “He any good?”

I hesitated. “Yeah. He was nice.”

“Nice, huh?” I could see her eyebrow arch in my mind. I hated it, the way she always knew what I was trying not to tell her.

“You said yourself the first time always sucks. Didn't your mom take you to a doctor after you and Bruce did it?” I asked. Vee had enjoyed telling me about the exam. Making me squeal. “Do I need to be, like, tested?”

“You guys used protection, right?”

“I'm not stupid. Besides, I got the Depo shot, remember?”

“You shouldn't be preggers, then.”

“I just said I'm not stupid.” She drove me crazy when she was like this. “I mean . . . you know, HPV. I don't think the vaccine always works.”

“I know,” Vee said, her voice finally serious. I was quiet, thinking about my mom. Vee sighed, and gave me her gynecologist's number.

“Want me to come with you?” she asked.

I could tell she was being sincere, and I wanted to say yes. Instead I said, “Nah, I'm a big girl.”

“'Kay, then.” Her tone lightened. “It's not like I'm dying to spend my free time watching someone look at your vajayjay.”

“Ha-ha.” I went over to thumbtack the doctor's number onto a sliver of free cork on my bulletin board. The board was covered with pictures of our junior class trip, and Vee smiled out at me from the center of every group.

“So how was your night?” I asked.

She paused a second too long before responding. “Oh, you know. We had to come up with some new positions.”
Because of the cast
, I thought. She tried a little too hard to sound casual, but before I could ask her what was wrong she launched into an OMG-have-you-heard about Mandy Woodson's date, who'd been so wasted that he peed on someone's lawn and had gotten arrested.

After we hung up I lay on my bed staring up at my broken ceiling fan, thinking about how Vinnie McNab had taken Sam's Homecoming King scepter and gone around pretending
to “rule” the Court. First thing he'd done was thwack Bruce's butt with his scepter.

“Get your King a drink, lordy-boy,” he had shouted. “If you do, I promise to put this up your ass, just the way you like it.” A bunch of their football teammates had laughed. Bruce had been so pissed you could see the muscles in his jaw jumping up and down. When they were done with all the Court photos, he'd stormed off the stage without saying good-bye to anyone, and he and Vee had left soon after that.

Sam and I hadn't made it to the after-party. I was too traumatized. When I thought about it, it was strange that Vee hadn't mentioned my absence. Then again, maybe she had been glad not to have me there as a reminder of the election gone wrong.

The dance already felt like a distant memory. My dad had finished his breakfast by the time I stumbled downstairs. He handed me a cup of tea, which I downed gratefully.

“Good night?” my dad asked with a grin. He nudged my tiara. I'd left it on the kitchen table last night with my keys and cell phone, next to a stack of mail.

I looked down into my mostly empty mug; decades of spoon stirring had created a network of gray rings on the inside. My mom had always been a big tea drinker, practically a walking Celestial Seasons ad: Irish Breakfast every morning, Black Cherry Berry after dinner with dessert, and Lemon Zinger whenever anyone was sick. I breathed in the peppermint tea my dad had made me, and closed my eyes, steadying myself.

I mustered as much enthusiasm as I could, and lied.

“Yeah, it was great.”

The next Monday was maybe the first time ever that I dreaded a morning run. Sam and I had texted a little over the weekend, but mostly as part of a group convo about how Kimmie Perkins wore her bra and underwear into the hot tub at the after-Homecoming party, and went commando for the rest of the night. We hadn't discussed what we'd done. What we'd barely done.

I still had twinges of pain when my running shorts rubbed the wrong way. As I jogged across my lawn to meet Sam, he stopped his stretching to stare at me like he was trying to read the fine print at the bottom of a sign.

“Hey,” he said, touching my shoulder. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” I said. Except I knew right away that
he
wasn't, because Sam never just touched my shoulder. He always draped his arm around me, establishing ownership. But that day he hovered just out of reach.

I stretched out my hand. “You still coming over tonight?” We had a standing Monday study date. On good nights, we got an hour's worth of work done before going down to the basement and making out on the sofa bed.

For a split second, my hand hovered in space, alone. Then Sam's hand tightened over mine. He pulled me to him and he planted a kiss on my forehead like a blessing.

“Course.”

And it was summer again.

The relief that washed through my body almost took my breath away. I held Sam close. I pressed my cheek against his chest, feeling the familiar stubble of T-shirt print cracked with old age.

We started our run, and with each step the tension in my shoulders eased. I fell into the hypnotic rhythm of our matched strides, thinking that our Homecoming night hadn't been perfect, but so what? As long as we had ground under our feet and the wind at our backs, things were going to be okay.

When I called to make my ob-gyn appointment the next morning, the only time they had available was during my AP English class, which was a shame because it was the one class I actually enjoyed and was kind of good at. We were just about to start
The Merchant of Venice
, so I gave my teacher a heads-up that I'd be gone.

“You won't miss much,” Ms. MacDowell assured me. “I'll have one of your classmates write up some notes for you. It's also the first day of extra-credit sign-up for acting out part of the play, though. You can give me a scene preference if you'd like.”

“No, thank you,” I said. “I'm not really an actress.” That was an understatement. Whatever talent it was that allowed other people to step out of their skin to inhabit another character, I didn't have it.

“And congratulations on Homecoming,” Ms. MacDowell added. “Your classmates have good taste.”

I mumbled embarrassed thanks before heading to my desk, because with her hippie skirts and unshaven legs, Ms. MacDowell didn't seem like the kind of person who cared about Homecoming. She seemed more like a person who'd start a petition against it.

So did Jessica Riley, who sat behind me. Jessica was more quirky pretty than pretty pretty: Long, aquiline nose. Bold mouth. Wavy dirty-blond hair that she didn't bother to straighten the way every other girl in my class did. She had a style all her own—grungy T-shirt and Levi's one day, vintage dresses the next—and her body type was super curvy, Kate Winslet instead of Kate Moss.

I was sure that part of Vee's crankiness that morning was the injustice of the jock and the drama geek getting positions on the Court instead of her. People like us weren't supposed to win popularity contests. The Queen should have been someone who cared about the tiara and the pictures in the
Observer-Dispatch
. I didn't even know exactly what Homecoming Queens were supposed to
do
.

I had a vague recollection of last year's Queen giving a speech at a pep rally or two, and had a sudden moment of panic. I turned around to Jessica, who smiled at me. “Hey,” I whispered. “Do you know if this Royal Court stuff comes with, like, responsibilities?” She, at least, was used to talking
in front of crowds—she won debate tournaments in addition to acting. But I was a total dud when it came to public speaking. “Do I have to give a speech or anything?”

“Beats me. We have to show up for the Christmas parade all dressed up, but mostly we're just figureheads.”

If we were figureheads, it was kind of sad that it had been so important to Vee to be elected, even though I understood the pressure from her parents. Her dad was a big guy around town, the type of person who had a country club membership and did things like trade in his BMW for an Audi. Her mom was a real estate agent, and though she was always super nice, when she gave me presents it always seemed as if she was trying to upgrade me. Like my sixteenth birthday, when she bought me a Lancôme makeup kit and a pearl necklace. Aside from it being such an expensive gift that it made me feel uncomfortable, it was so not
me
.

Vee understood that, and even loved me for it. When we were younger, she was always over at my house, probably because when she had dinner with my family no one ever bugged her about what she was wearing, or reminded her how many carbs were in a bowl of spaghetti.

But maybe that's why Homecoming meant so much. Because what was the point of spending your whole life trying to be High School Barbie if you weren't even elected Queen?

After school, while I helped Vee into Faith's car, she clutched at my arm before slumping into the front seat, drained.

“You okay?” I asked. This wasn't like her.

“I'm fine.”

“Have you thought about using one of those rolly things to get around?” Just last month a teammate had gotten a knee scooter to help her get from class to class while her ankle injury healed.

“Why? So I can look like a twerp whose mom won't let her get a skateboard?” Vee said bitterly.

Faith and I exchanged our “this too shall pass” look. The three of us had been through too much together to let snark get in the way of our friendship. My mom's death, Vee's parents' near-divorce, Faith's older brother's attempted suicide.

As we drove, I wondered if I should've scheduled my doctor's appointment for after class and had Vee come with me. Outside of school, with just the two of us, maybe we could sort things out. Restore the balance that Homecoming had disrupted. Because in the end, that's all I wanted with Vee. With Sam.

For things to be normal again.