Skyler tackled Celia with her famous choke-hold hug.
“Wanna hear a joke? It’s a good one.” Peter jumped over to us. “What do vegetarian zombies eat? Broccoli brains. HA!” Next, he rattled off a story about a talking snail followed by five fart jokes.
Thank goodness Julian approached with a message for Jaz. His electronic voice spoke with a British accent today.
“Your heart cries for being left out.”
“Left out? Give me a break. I don’t want anything to do with this beauty pageant.” Jaz angled her wheelchair toward me. “You’ll see, Charity. Students vote for eight girls to be on the football team’s Princess Court to smile and wave in front of everyone before the game, but the election is a total joke. I mean, they’re supposed to be picked based on good character and academics, but it always turns into a popularity contest.”
Jaz turned back to Julian.
“I suppose it’s a coincidence that all the cheerleaders are the ones who get elected. Not to be mean, but a lot of them couldn’t get through the first twelve pages of a Tolstoy novel, let alone the twelve hundred pages of War and Peace I read last summer.”
Julian’s iPad replied,
“Then use your golden voice to fight injustice.”
Jaz whispered. “Already done. I wrote an official complaint letter to Jergen, reminding him of the guidelines for electing the Princesses. Not that it will do any good.”
Jaz twirled her chair and waved her hand like a queen. In a silly high voice, she said, “Who wouldn’t want to be a princess? Greetings, my lowly subjects.”
Peter grabbed his stomach and fell to the floor laughing.
Ana arrived to help me type my science lab report.
First a note to Jaz, I typed.
Jaz wheeled closer.
See you at the poop rally!
She burst out laughing, but not as hard as Peter, who rolled on the floor for the second time today.
…
At 1:45, all classes let out for the pep rally. Ana led me to a seat on the bleachers, handing me my animal flashcards on a key ring to keep my hands occupied. My hands flipped through them automatically.
Seahorse, flip, sloth, flip, toucan, flip.
Jazmine pulled up next to me. “Got your earplugs?”
She was not kidding—twelve rows of bleachers, about fifty kids per row. Six hundred voices screamed when the bouncy cheerleaders—Darcy and Lilly included—jumped and hollered.
“Let’s make some noise!”
Their black and yellow hair ribbons waved in the air with each bounce.
“Hoo-rah-rye! Hornets fly! Hoo-rah-roop! Hornets swoop! Hoo-rah-ring! Hornets sting!”
“Will you listen to that pathetic rhyme,” complained Jaz. “Shakespeare is weeping.”
I continued to sulk and flip my flashcards. Sulk and flip, sulk and flip.
Tiger, flip, sea star, flip, beaver, flip.
Peter leaned over to us. “See the one with pink hair?” He pointed to Lilly. “She’s my girlfriend.”
“You’re delusional,” Jaz barked. “That girl wouldn’t talk to you if her pink hair caught fire and you were holding a bucket of water.”
Jaz could be heartless sometimes. Still, I hoped Peter stayed away from Lilly.
Meerkat, flip, zebra, flip, falcon, flip.
Even with all the chaos, my body stayed in control as the school band played. I saw the smart kid Stuart up there. His cheeks inflated like balloons as he honked his tuba, and his long legs bent in rhythm with the school’s fight song.
Skyler held her poppy-field poster high as the whole auditorium sang along . . . or, rather, shouted along. “We will win this game, fighting for newfound fame. Our team will fight with all its might, the Hornet you can never tame!”
Gorilla, flip, giraffe, flip, rhino, flip.
Everyone cheered at jet-engine decibels when Coach George announced the members of the football team. They all lined up in uniform behind him.
Coach held up his hands for silence. “Now, what you have all been waiting for . . . ”
“Here we go again,” Jaz whispered.
Coach turned in our direction, smiling and nodding.
Is he looking at us?
Skyler smiled and waved back at him.
“The members of this year’s Lincoln Hornets’ Princess Court.” His big, white teeth flashed us again.
Why would he look at us?
My heart thumped louder.
Hypothesis: He is going to parade me up there—the charity case—maybe to feel less guilty about calling me a mascot.
Elephant, flip, flip, flip.
Oh, no.
Coach announced each girl to the sound of a drumroll. As Jaz predicted, all of them were wearing cheerleading uniforms . . . so far.
I prayed—please do not call my name.
Each princess did some cute cheer move like pumping her arms in the air or moving her hips side to side.
Please do not call my name.
“Lilly Carter!”
Lilly trotted toward coach and launched into a double handspring. The crowd roared.
Please do not call my name.
“Rachel Lenox!”
Rachel held both her hands on her cheeks as if she never expected this in a million years.
Please do not call my name.
“Darcy Warner!”
Darcy strutted forward and pumped her fist in the air. Then she held both hands to her ears for kids to cheer louder. Everyone stomped the bleachers and chanted her name, “Dar-cy! Dar-cy! Dar-cy!”
“And our final member of the Princess Court . . .”
I held my breath and prayed hard.
Please do not call my name.
“Erica Zimmerman!”
Whew!
Breathe in relief.
All eight girls stood there, each one a thousand volts of perkiness, smiling and waving at the crowd.
“What did I tell you?” Jaz said.
Coach George held up his hand again, wearing a big smile, like he’d already won the football game. “Hornets, Hornets, we’re not done yet.”
He looked over at me again.
“This year, we decided to choose one special student to be an honorary member of the Princess Court.”
“Special” student? Please, no!
My body rocked back and forth, back and forth.
“This student has distinguished herself by overcoming countless obstacles to do things that most of us take for granted.”
Please do not explode in front of the entire school.
I tried to freeze myself into a statue, but my body shook harder.
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