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And from down below, Lucy took that exact moment to announce in her own perky, innocent, not-at-all-vindictive way that she’d asked my brother to homecoming.
“Aggggggkkkkkkk!” The noise I made as I fell off the stunt was only vaguely identifiable. The others didn’t let me hit the ground, but they did catch me in a way specifically designed to give me a wedgie, and I was about ninety-nine percent sure that they were doing it on purpose.
CHAPTER 36
Code Word: Homecoming
“That was the award-winning Bayport High Varsity Spirit Squad!”
Usually, making it through a halftime routine was a cathartic experience for me. I wouldn’t say that I enjoyed it (perish the thought), but there’s something about that last “Bayport!” that gave me the same kind of rush that I had a tendency to crave. That said, the past few days had more or less cured me of my adrenaline addiction. For the time being, at least.
I also typically enjoyed the end of our halftime routine because it meant that I could slink back to the sidelines. Not so today. Not so at all.
“And now, we proudly present the members of this year’s homecoming court.”
Each of us was matched up with an escort. Mine was supposed to be a sophomore named David, but at the last second, Jack redirected David toward one of the twins and took my arm.
“You ready to find out the voting results?” he asked, as he escorted me to the center of the field.
“Do I look ready to you?”
Jack smiled. “Ev, you were born ready.”
“Bite me.”
He leaned a little closer and whispered so that only I could hear him. “Don’t tempt me.”
I tried very hard not to smile, and succeeded only because I knew what was coming. I’d run into enough programs built by the Squad’s previous hacker to know that she was good. The projections were accurate, and I was going to win. I had to wonder—where were the homicidal psychopaths when you really needed one? Right now, I could use the distraction.
For a brief instant, I considered bolting off the field, but Jack tightened his hold on my arm as we came to stand on the fifty-yard line, facing the stands.
“What would you say if I told you I already knew the outcome?” Jack asked quietly.
“I’d say something along the lines of ‘join the club,’” I mumbled miserably.
“What would you give me if I told you that you were wrong?” Jack murmured, as Chip and Brooke came to stand on one side of us, and Chloe and her escort came to stand on the other.
“Anything,” I told him. “You name it, and it’s yours.”
“What if I want a dance?” Jack asked.
What the hell? I thought. This was a bet that I very unfortunately wasn’t going to lose. “Whatever you want,” I reiterated. Jack smiled.
“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”
“The Bayport High homecoming court is a longstanding tradition here at Bayport. Each year, four seniors, three juniors, and two sophomores are nominated for the coveted roles of king and queen respectively. The nominated seniors are…” The announcer was dead set on extending my misery as far as was humanly possible, and he read through each of our names, pausing for applause with each one. Finally, he got to the point, and I winced in anticipation of his words.
“And this year, the homecoming king and queen are Chip Warner and Brooke Camden.”
I turned to stare at Jack, but his face was absolutely blank.
“Each year the sophomore attendant with the most votes is named the homecoming princess,” the announcer continued, and I prepared myself—gladly—for the indignity. At least next year, I wouldn’t be eligible for princess and would only have the queen thing to worry about. The junior girls didn’t know how lucky they had it.
“This year’s homecoming princess is April Manning.”
As April and her escort walked forward to get her tiara, I jerked Jack downward. “Explain,” I said.
“I can neither confirm nor deny that any such explanation is necessary,” he whispered, “but let’s just say that I’m not a stranger to rigging elections and leave it at that.”
I should have been disturbed at the reference to the fact that he’d been brought up to be corruption incarnate, but I wasn’t. I was too busy thinking that my not-a-boyfriend was the sweetest, most wonderful, ingenious boy in the world.
“Remember,” he murmured, as the entire court was presented once more. “You owe me a dance.”
I didn’t even scowl in response to those words. I wasn’t a queen, I wasn’t a princess, and with any luck, I’d never have to suffer through a stunting wedgie again. Life was good.
After the game, we went to put on our dresses, and the change in the others was palpable. Brittany and Tiffany produced a new dress that was black and only borderline girly, and neither of them made so much as a single lewd suggestion about Lucy and Noah. Meanwhile, Lucy was blowing off nervous energy by bouncing repeatedly up and down as Bubbles added the finishing touches to the weapons expert’s hair.
Getting ready for a dance, it turned out, was a communal experience. For once, I wasn’t the only one being primped and fluffed by somebody else. Spirits were higher than the ponytails we’d worn on our heads for the game. Even Chloe spared me a smile.
“Done,” Britt announced, giving my hair one last spray of a newly developed supersonic holding serum.
“Done,” Bubbles echoed. Lucy spun around, giddy, and the movement caught on, until all of us were spinning. Even me. It was weird. If you’d asked me, I would have put money on me being the stick in the proverbial mud, especially considering the torture they’d put me through the day before, but here, getting ready, none of that seemed to matter.
Of course, the fact that they’d saved my life before they’d starting making it miserable did buy them a little bit of leeway.
Brooke clapped her hands, and a few seconds later, the spinning stopped. “Let’s do this,” she said, and with one last glance in the mirror to confirm that her tiara was still in place, she led us out of the room and off to meet our dates.
“Enchanté, mademoiselle,” Noah said the moment he saw Lucy. His accent was French and over the top and ridiculous, and for some reason, Lucy seemed to think it was funny. He took her hand and kissed it, and a happy blush rose on her cheeks.
Maybe I’d been hanging around Zee too long, but I couldn’t help but analyze their body language and come to the only possible conclusion. There was a distinct chance that peppy Lucy, designer of the bulletproof push-up bra and the bobby-sock grenade, actually had a thing for my freak-of-nature brother.
