Two posters at the most prime student-poster-allowed location in the school on the very first day posters were allowed up feels . . . I don’t know. The first is a very large photo of Kat and Quinn posed in front of the bright blue sky. For some reason, they remind me of realtors on the signs staked into yards of homes for sale. The other poster is a bright glittery purple background with rainbow letters that say LOVE IS LOVE IS LOVE!! ELECT KAT & QUINN AS PROM COUPLE!! Between the glitter, the striped letters, and the exclamation points, it’s a lot.
Kat is still playing embarrassed and giggling into Quinn’s shoulder. I wonder about the rainbow letters’ message, considering Kat’s motivations. Does Kat actually care about equality, or is this just a great story so that she still gets to be prom queen?
It made sense when it was Matty, because Matty loved an audience. Why else would he go to such great lengths to make sure that seemingly the entire school knew about his veganism, and his hybrid that he didn’t even drive to school, and his eschewing of athletics despite his fitness ability because he found them barbarian? But Matty’s so far behind Kat now; this must be all her. Quinn seems nothing like this.
“I feel like they went overboard,” Quinn says with a sigh.
“You have to go overboard for prom,” Kat says with a wave of her hand. “It’s, like, required!”
“I mean, it’s cool we’re eligible but . . .” Quinn sighs and rakes her hand through her hair. “We’re not running for Congress.”
“You could never run for Congress,” Kat says. “You’d cause too much trouble. Someone like James could, though. She’s so solid and firm, like an old oak tree.”
“. . . Thank you?”
Kat laughs. “I love old oak trees! They’re beautiful and cast, like, really nice shade. Like you! You’re tall!”
Quinn tries to share a look with me, but I don’t want to bond with her over how adorable her girlfriend is.
“I appreciate you,” Quinn says to Kat in a sincere tone. “You know that, right? Congress or not.”
“Duh,” Kat says, even though I think Quinn’s trying to have more of a moment than a duh creates.
“It’s awesome you’re so comfortable with this,” Quinn continues. “I kind of hate that we have to be so . . . big just to ask for the same rights everyone else has. So it’s good you don’t.”
I still want Kat to proclaim these posters over-the-top and ridiculous, though. I want to get rid of this horrible feeling that Kat doesn’t care about anything as much as she cares about being prom queen, no matter what Quinn says. Why couldn’t Kat feel that conflict the way Quinn does? Does Kat feel conflict in anything?
It doesn’t matter, though, because now the crowd is upon them, and Raina starts snapping photos of the two of them in front of the posters. I’m able to fight my way through the approaching swarm to get to my locker. The photo strip from Kat’s and my visit to Eagle Rock Plaza is still hung inside, and it’s now officially too much. I pull at the edge, but I guess the tape has fused to the metal locker door because the picture tears right in half, straight through our faces.
“Fuck,” I mutter, and then wince because Hannah walks up. “Sorry. That was dramatic.”
“You know what’s dramatic—the light from the sun reflecting off of purple glitter right when I walk into school.”
I laugh but feel bad, especially while literally holding a ripped photo of my best friend in my hand. “I actually think it’s great the school changed the policy but—”
“Oh, me too! This is probably the first thing to happen in this school that makes us a part of the twenty-first century. That part’s exciting and historical, blah blah blah. Anyway, I’m not here to make fun of your friend. Did you hear from Berkeley?”
I nod and try to look neutral. “Did you?”
“Yes,” she says. “This is awkward. Say it at the count of three?”
I laugh. “I got in. Did you?”
“I did too! This is great. If you decide to go.”
“Yeah, I’m . . . I’m really not sure.”
“Well, put me as an item in your pro/con list,” Hannah says. “Whichever column you want! See you at practice.”
Kat stops by as I close my locker door, and unfortunately I’m still holding the ripped picture.
“Oh my god, what happened?”
“I was trying to move it and the tape was too old or something. Anyway.”
“So I know this is all . . .” Kat rolls her eyes, but in her cute way, not her actually annoyed one. “It’s all really over the top, but I do need to find a prom dress, you know, prom couple or not. And so do you. Do you want to go over to the Galleria after you’re done with practice today?”
I imagine Kat’s face and her protests if I say I’m not going to prom. “Sure.”
“Great, pick you up at your place at, like, five-thirty?”
I’m unfortunately headed back to Mom’s tonight. “You could just get me at a few after five at school. I can take a shower right after practice so I don’t smell up any nice dresses.”
“Perfect! See you in third period.”
Gretchen catches up with me during our cooldown laps at the end of practice that afternoon. “Sorry you couldn’t make the poster-making meeting last night. I know it wasn’t much notice.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “I’m not very crafty.”
“We’re meeting up again on Saturday,” she says. “It’ll be later in the day, way after our meet, so you’ll be able to make it. We were thinking we could get Quinn and Kat some publicity. Tell local papers or blogs about how they’re changing history.”
“Do you think that local papers would care?” I ask. “It’s just prom.”
“It’s bigger than prom,” Gretchen says. “Much. Anyway, I hope you can make it. We’ll order good snacks.”
Why do all of Quinn’s friends have to be so nice and well-meaning? It knots my stomach even worse. Here they are championing something really important while Kat might just be trying to maintain her prom queen dreams.
I don’t say anything about it, though, once Kat and I are in her car on the way to the Galleria. While there’s plenty that’s probably been better left unsaid, I need to get out of this one now.
“I should just tell you,” I say, “that I’m not actually going to prom.”
Kat stares at me like I’ve just confessed to a homicide. “OMG. James. What?”
“It’s not a big deal,” I say. “I went last year and had fun. But I’m not with anyone this year, and everyone has dates, so . . .”
“Do you need a date? We could totally get you a date,” she says. “What about Gabriel Quiroga? You know he’d be in, and he’d look super handsome in your photos for, like, your memories later. You can tell your grandchildren a hottie took you to prom.”
“I don’t need a date,” I say. “And that would definitely send Gabriel the wrong message. Plus those aren’t the types of conversations I plan on having with any hypothetical grandchildren.”