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There’s something about being part of a team that makes you belong even when you’re their queen, even when you can’t be real because they’re all eyeing your spot and calculating what it would take to reach the top. You spend so much time together, working toward the same goal, cheering for the same team, celebrating victories, and mourning defeats.
And it wasn’t just the games.
It was the afterparties. The sleepovers where we giggled about how much we drank, hid it from parents, shushed someone as they got sick after lying down and realizing the room wouldn’t stop spinning; whispered the names of our crushes, or some unfortunate freshman who made a fool of herself, or that one “cool mom” who showed up wearing Forever 21. There were pregame rituals, preparations, and last-minute runs to Boehner’s Burgers. Sharing straws and fries, makeup andzit cream, deodorant, hairstyle ideas, choreography, playlists, Tiktoks, bus seats to away games, answers to homework.
It’s all gone. Not just the throne, but my friends.
The truth is, I don’t know who I am without the Dolces telling me. I don’t know where I belong or how to be. I’ve never had the option before, so many choices I don’t know how to choose.
When the bell rings at the end of lunch, I trudge back inside. People are steaming out of the café. No one pays me any mind until the group of Dolce girls emerges.
“Hey,” Eleanor says, coming toward me. “I got you a bubble tea.”
I stare at the drink in her hand, held out to me, not daring to hope. She peels off the lid and dumps it down the front of my body. The others all burst into laughter.
“Oopsie,” she says with a vicious grin. “I tripped.”
Then she turns and struts back to the others while I stand there in shock, icy pink liquid dripping down my shirt, my skirt, my legs. The roar of their laughter echoes in my ears as they move away in a group, leaving me alone. Outcast.
Fuck that.
I charge down the hall to the bathroom, holding back tears.
Pull yourself together, you stupid bitch.
There’s no way to clean up, though. I rinse my shirt in the sink and pull it back on, then rush to science, arriving just as the bell rings.
“You’re late,” the teacher snaps.
“The bell’s still ringing,” I protest as the last soft chime dies away.
A few people around the room start snickering, but I won’t give them the satisfaction of reacting.
“All students should be in their seats and ready to work when the bell rings,” Mr. Wagnall drones, reciting the handbook rule in his usual monotone.
“Are you serious?” I ask, gesturing at my shirt. “You can see I got held up.”
“Have a seat,” he says. “It’s your first tardy. You don’t get detention until you’ve had three.”
“In total,” I point out. “I’ve already gotten three just today!”
“Sounds like you need to work on your punctuality, Ms. Walton.”
“Poor little rich girl lost her privilege,” Josie mutters from the table where she sits with Colt, Harper, and Dixie.
“Guess she gets to play by the same rules as everyone else now,” Dixie says, flashing me a smug smile as I walk on stiff legs toward my table at the back, where all my friends sit.
“Where’s my chair?” I demand when I reach the popular table.
The lab stations are supposed to have four stools each, but ours had six all year because I sit with the elite, and they can do whatever the fuck they feel like.
Today, only five chairs surround the table. Cotton, DeShaun, Duke, Rylan, and Everleigh sit at the table already, and the last chair is nowhere to be seen.
“Oh my god, the secondhand embarrassment,” Dixie says behind me, giggling until I glance over at her. “I can’t look.” She covers her eyes with one hand but peeks out through her fingers, watching the spectacle unfold with a delighted grin on her face.
I want to murder her.
I consider my options, but if I don’t fight for this, I won’t have a home to go back to. Mom expects me to be strong, so I’ll be strong. I won’t go down without a fight, letting them take all I’ve worked for. I didn’t want an audience, but I got one anyway,so I’ll play my part to the bitter end. If it means I get to die with dignity, I’ll keep dancing like I don’t know my ship is sinking like the fucking Titanic.
