Starlee's Turn (The Wayward Sons 2)

As a group we walk around the oblong track, behind the end zone, to the opposite side of the field. The marching band arcs around from the other side of the field and quickly it becomes controlled chaos. I feel the brush of Dexter’s hand on my shoulder. The nervous energy rolling off Charlie. It’s fun, silly, and maybe for the first time in my life, I truly feel like I belong to a larger community.

The buzzer rings, calling the end of the half, and when the players run toward the locker room, George meets Jake mid-field. When they reach us there’s no missing that Jake is slick with sweat—smells like a gym locker--but when he pulls his helmet off his head and his eyes land on me, he smiles, beaming at me.

“You guys ready?” George announces—only half dressed out—jeans and a jersey. There’s no chance he’s allowed back on the field with his injury. He winks at Morgan, who laughs at his outgoing nature. Christina just scowls. “Hey, that’s not the look of a queen,” he tells her. “The judges may be looking.”

“Shut up, asshole. You know the votes are in.”

“Wow.” He holds up his hands, but he likes that he got under her skin. Claire may be right. People really don’t like her.

“You look fantastic,” he says, walking up to me. Jake nods, the words seem stuck in his throat.

“Everyone, line up!”

The younger classmen go first and the marching band begins to perform. Part of me wishes I could see this from the stands, it feels a little surreal.

“Seniors, I’m going to pair you up.” Margaret says. “Morgan and Charlie. Brenda and Dexter. Christina and,” her eyes flick up then back down, “George.”

“Yes!” George cries. He’s a total goof.

“What?” Her voice is panicked. “No.”

“And Starlee and Jake.”

“This is not happening,” Christina says.

“Jake told me this morning he and Starlee are going to the dance,” Margaret says with a shrug. “It seemed appropriate for them to walk together.”

Christina turns to glare at Jake. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“I told you we weren’t going to the dance together, Chris. It’s not my fault you refuse to listen.”

>

The younger princesses watch the entire scene with fascination.

“Places, everyone!”

The boys fall into formation. The kid with the flowers hands us each a bouquet. Christina looks like she’s going to blow a gasket. Margaret must have picked George for her escort intentionally. Charlie would have panicked with her aggression and Dexter? That wouldn’t end well.

Jake offers me the crook of his elbow and doesn’t comment on my shaking hands. He glances down at me. “Sorry I’m so gross.”

“No. It’s perfect.”

He bends and kisses my temple. His damp hair grazes my ear. It’s sweet and settles my nerves. A little.

The marching bands parts, forming a corridor for us to walk through, the dancers sparkle between them, the flag bearers hold their poles at attention. The music slows and from up in the announcers’ box, the principal begins calling out names.

I’d like to say I remember it. I don’t. It happens so fast and my heart is racing like I’ve climbed a mountain. Jake holds on to me tight as we step into the bright lights of the field and I manage to only wobble once on the uneven grass. I vaguely hear the crowd cheer when they announce our names. Jake talks the whole time, rambling, probably to set me on ease, but I don’t hear any of it. In a flash we’re all spread across the edge of the field closer to the bleachers. I scan the crowd and see Leelee and Sierra, Katie and even Claire, all waving and cheering.

“Is it over yet?” I joke, clutching Jake’s hand.

“Not yet.”

They start announcing winners. Princesses first—one from each grade. The girls that win accept their tiaras and smile for the camera. And as dumb as it is, my stomach flip-flops before the homecoming queen is announced.

“You’re beautiful, you know that, right?” Jake whispers. “You don’t need a revealing dress or stripper shoes or gobs of makeup on your face. That’s why you’re different, Starlee Jones. I know it, the guys know it, and so does the rest of the school.”

I face him. “What?”