“Sure,” I say. I wave to the lovebirds, but they’re too busy swapping spit to see me. I figure I’ll text Dixie later if I decide to go.
“You really should come,” Gloria when we’re outside, where everything is soggy and waterlogged from the rain. The sky is still overcast, and an occasional drop splatters the wet pavement.
“Oh yeah?” I ask.
“I mean, I know about your little tiff with Baron this morning, but it’s the Ridgedale game, the second biggest game after Faulkner. If you want to be in the middle of everything, then you can’t skip the most important part.”
“I figured you’d be here to convince me not to go,” I say. “Since my status threatens yours.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t join you at lunch,” she says. “You know I would if I could. But I have too much to lose, Harper. I’ve worked way too hard to get where I am. I can’t just give it up.”
“Because then you endured the Dolce hazing for nothing.”
She shrugs apologetically. “That doesn’t mean I don’t agree with you. There should be room for a girl at the top, too. Not just one. And not just because she’s Royal’s girlfriend, or I guess Baron’s girlfriend.”
“Not a Dolce girl.”
“Exactly,” she says. “Someone there on their own merit.”
“So you want to overthrow the monarchy for a meritocracy?”
“I mean… If anyone deserves that spot, it’s you. You earned it.”
“You have no idea,” I mutter.
“Football is the real king in this town,” she says, arriving at her car and peeling a few wet leaves from the door before opening it. “The Dolce boys were here almost a year before me, but from what I understand, they were more like thugs and bullies that year. They were outsiders who they came charging in and breaking shit, including the Darlings, who were very much the darlings of the town. A lot of people hated the Dolces. It wasn’t until the next year, when they played football, that they became gods.”
The sky begins to spit rain again, and Gloria ducks into her car. “Just think about it,” she calls before closing the door and starting the engine.
I have another one of those startling moments, like when Josie wrote me off a rich bitch because of my clothes, where I miss being poor. Now I have this amazing car—which I’m so grateful for—but it’s also isolating. Last year, I always rode with the Dolce boys. I was part of their crowd. Sometimes I rode with just Royal, if we were going to the river to fuck. If he had a late practice or something going on, or I wanted to hang out with Gloria, I rode with her. Now, this is where we part ways.
I wave as she drives away, then hurry to my fancy new Escalade. I climb inside, a little shiver of loneliness running through me. I have friends, but I miss the friendship that developed in the little moments in Lo’s car—opening ketchup packets for her fries while she was driving; turning up some oldJust 5 Guyssong and singing along at the top of our lungs, then laughing because we both knew all the words; the random conversations about our dads and her old dog and our exes… Conversations that made us know each other better.
Colt and Dixie come running through the light rain toward my car, their hands linked, both of them laughing. My heart clenches in my chest. The Ridgeline beside me beeps as it unlocks, and they release each other’s hands and scramble up inside.
I roll down my window, and Dixie sees me and opens the passenger side window of Colt’s truck. “Of course Preston got me a spot next to you,” I say to Colt.
Dixie looks back and forth between us, and I’m glad she doesn’t know this gossip. Not sure even Royal’s attachment to me could overcome rumors that I fucked my cousin.
“Hey, you know who has an old jersey or two lying around?” Dixie asks. “I mean, if you’re going to the game…”
“I am,” I say.
Gloria’s right. Even Baron’s right. A guy couldn’t come in and say he was king and then not go to the games. Football is the center of everything, and I can’t expect to be in the middle of things and then not show up to the games. If I want to be queen, I can’t just look the part. I have to play the part. I can’t just show up when I feel like it, when it’s comfortable for me. I have to show up for everyone, be their voice, their leader, even if I don’t see myself that way.
“Not gonna wear Gideon Delacroix’s jersey?” Colt asks, a shit-eating grin on his face as he rests his forearm on the wheel and leans forward to see me around Dixie.
“Fuck off,” I say. “And please don’t spread baseless rumors around school. There’s nothing going on with me and Gideon.”
“Ah, the poor guy just wants to lose his V-card,” Colt says. “Throw him a bone.” He winks at me before starting the engine. Dixie waves and rolls up the window, and I follow them out, done with my pity party.
I think about Colt’s words. Apparently, everyone knows Gideon has a thing for me now, either because they think that must be the reason he joined us at lunch, or because he’s that obvious, or because people just like gossip. They don’t know where I fit, but if I’m with Gideon, it makes sense. I’m not a wildcard anymore. I have a place.
I don’t want to endanger him, but I don’t belong to Royal anymore. The thought sits funny inside me. I’m not the kind of girl who wants to be owned by anyone, and I fought Royal’s claim tooth and nail last year. But once we were together, when it wasn’t about being his property but about being his girl… Fuck yeah, I liked it.
I liked being claimed by him. It made me feel protected and important and powerful and cherished. Especially when we were fucking. I didn’t want to be calledaslut, but when he called mehisslut… Nothing made me cum harder. I was a slut for him, and it was hot as hell.
But that was last year. I’m not that basic bitch anymore. I’m no longer Royal’s plaything.