Suddenly I spy a flash of straight black hair. I look over and sure enough, there’s Georgia sitting next to Colin. I boost myself up on my knees to see into their laps, where his arm is lightly resting on her leg, and her hand is draped over his.
“Oh no,” Cecily says, seeing what I see. “Are you okay? Do you want to leave? Do you want to throw popcorn at the back of their heads?”
“Yes, no, and yes! Can we, pretty please, with popcorn on top?” I reply, smiling.
“I was just kidding about that one.”
“Yeah, I knew you couldn’t be that wild.” I smirk back.
“So much for forgetting the outside world and just having fun together, huh?”
“Actually I think that was exactly what I needed to see. And I’m not going to let them ruin this amazing, soon-to-be critically acclaimed movie based on the literary masterpiece, I’m Crying Cupcakes!”
“Hilarious.”
“I thought so,” I reply, dropping a Sour Patch Kid into my mouth.
“There’s the Lucy I know and love,” she says, inhaling a handful of Sno-Caps.
At least somebody does.
* * *
Wednesday morning, Oliver comes up to my locker bright and early before the first-period bell rings.
“I just thought of the most brilliant idea!” he yells, excitedly.
“Good morning to you, too.”
“We don’t have time for pleasantries.”
“Jeez, sorry. What’s up?”
“Rule Number Six in the Limbo Central Club Manual.”
“Okay … and that says?”
“That if students have scheduling conflicts with different clubs they should bring these issues up with the administration office and the teachers will be more than happy to move things around to accommodate them.”
“Who has a scheduling conflict? Do you? What is it?”
“The cheerleaders.”
“Oh, that’s not a scheduling thing. It’s a Georgia Rule. Remember? Georgia and Coach Trellis decided that the cheerleaders need to be available and healthy for all of the games, so they can’t participate in other sports-related clubs.”
Oliver just stands here staring at me like I’m trying to convince him chocolate is naturally fat-free.
“What? That’s what Georgia said at tryouts—I heard her myself.”
“And you think that’s legit?”
“I think she had to have Coach okay it, otherwise she wouldn’t have been allowed to announce it at tryouts.”
“Well, I think it’s worth pushing—out the window! There are a lot of good dancers on the squad, and if anyone can get this ridiculous rule revoked, it’s Ms. Tilly. Your advisor is the principal, hello?!”
“Hello to you, too!” sings a voice in my left ear. “What’s up?”
“Oh, hey, Mia!” I say. “This is Oliver, Oliver this is Mia.”
“Do you dance?” he asks, matter-of-factly.
“Very poorly and only when provoked.”
Mia and I share a laugh, but Oliver won’t be led off course.
“I’m Oliver. It’s nice to meet you. But you’re of no use to us right now.”
“Well, I’m very sorry to hear that. What’s the problem? Limbos emergency?”
“We need to figure out a way to get the girls on the Cheerleading squad to be allowed on the Limbos,” Oliver says.
“Oh, right, the new rule …” Mia says. “Well, perhaps it would interest you to know that this one-sport-only rule only seems to apply to the girls on the Cheerleading squad and no other sports teams. For instance, the boys can be on as many sports teams as they like.”
“Are you serious?” Oliver gasps.
“That’s … well, that’s sexist!” I say, outraged.
“Yes, yes it is,” Mia replies.
“Unacceptable!” Oliver says. “You are a genius!” he adds to Mia.
Just then the first bell rings. Mia and I are heading in one direction, while Oliver is going in another.
“I have to go to class now, but we’ll discuss the plan at lunch!” he yells.
“Yes, Captain!” I say, fake saluting him as he heads off. Then I turn to Mia. “Okay, I know I’ve only known that kid for, like, a day and a half, but he’s quickly becoming one of my absolute favorite people.”
“Ha-ha, nice! So, how’s the preparation for the show on Saturday night coming? Did you choose your photos yet?”
“Ugh, no! I took some nice shots on Sunday, but I still need to develop them and I might need to take some more if they’re no good. Plus, I need to come up with a theme for my exhibit. I don’t want to just put out a bunch of random photos; I want them to tie together somehow.”
“Well, you have until Saturday afternoon to figure it out, right?”
“Yeah, I guess. So, are you and Trey coming to the show, then?”
“Of course! We wouldn’t miss it.”
“Thanks—that means a lot. I mean, I know you got invited to Georgia’s party first and—”
“Please be quiet, like, now,” she says, jokingly, as we sit down in our seats.
“Okay, fine.”
“So … how are things with you and Cecily? Seems like you made up?”
“Yeah, we did. And I wanted to tell you that the talk we had really helped me. So thank you.”
“Anytime, girl. I had a feeling she was coming around.”
“Oh, yeah, how come?”
“Well, she kind of asked to crash in my room on Saturday night—”
“So that’s where she was!”
“She was upset, you know. She didn’t know where to go and she wasn’t ready to talk to you yet. But she and I had a really good talk, so I figured things were heading in the right direction.”
“You know what, Mia?”
“What?”
“You’re a pretty awesome friend.”
“Thanks, Luce.”
“How would you and Trey like to model for me after school today? I just got an idea for a show theme, and you’d be perfect for it.”
“I’m in. As long as you don’t make me dance!”
“I make no promises,” I joke.
The second bell rings, and we all settle down. Ms. Roslyn starts talking but I’m way too lost in my own thoughts to pay any attention, and I can’t wipe this smile off my face.
I’m going to CRUSH this art show.
Literally.
After school, Mia, Trey, and I head to a parking lot down one of the side streets off Death Row to take some pictures. I’m not a fan of the too-posed pic, so I instruct them to lie on the ground and talk to each other—to act like I’m not here—while I shoot a bunch of photos from different angles.
There’s this one moment when Trey is on his stomach telling Mia something, and she’s still lying on her back, literally dying of laughter.
Okay, not literally dying.
Literally, dead. And laughing.
“She walked straight into the glass door, like, for real,” he says in between hysterics, “and then spun around all dizzy and stepped on the bottom of one of those big push brooms and it, like, catapulted up and smacked her in the face. I laughed so hard I think I tore a muscle.”
“She did not!” Mia scream-laughs.
“It was seriously the best thing I’ve ever seen in my life, hands down,” he says.
I scroll back through the photos I took, and think I see the winner. Since Mia is still cracking up, I use this opportunity to find out what Trey can tell me about my new totally-out-of-my-league potential crush.
“Trey, how well do you know Miles?”
“Pretty well, I guess. Why?”
“I don’t know, just wondering what he’s like. Is he nice? Who does he hang out with?”
“He’s a cool guy. Really talented. Really into his music. He’s always talking about touring with the band and stuff when he gets out of school. He and his brother, Oliver, used to go to North Limbo Junior High before they transferred here, so I think he still
has a lot of friends there who he hangs out with.”
“And girls?” Mia prods, helping me out.
“Uhm, I think he had a girlfriend from North Limbo, but I don’t know if they’re still together or what. He usually goes for the, ahem, older ladies,” he says, smirking.
“Perfect,” I say. “Even more proof.”
“More proof of what?” Trey says.
“More proof that I should stop wasting my precious energy on boys and focus it on my show. I think I have what I need from you guys, though. Thank you for being excellent models!”
* * *
Later that night, I send a Tabulator message to the Limbos club members announcing that at Friday’s meeting we’ll be voting on the VP and secretary positions, and whoever would like to run should let me know by tomorrow and prepare a mini speech to deliver on Friday before the vote.
Within three seconds, I get a Holomail back from Oliver.
Love this kid!
This 3-D image of Oliver leaps out of the Tabulator and screams, “I’m running for VP!!!! But I’m sure you guessed that already! OMG, we are going to make a totally insane team. First order of business? Getting that dumb Georgia Rule revoked. Let’s hit Ms. Tilly’s office tomorrow during lunch, deal?! Sweet dreams, Prez.”
I smile wide and chuckle to myself.
Just then, Cecily comes out of the bathroom. “What’s so funny?” she asks eagerly.
“Oliver.”
“What’d he say?”
“He just sent a Holomail about wanting to run for VP of the Limbos.”
“And? What was so funny?”
“Oh, I don’t know. He wants to revoke the ‘Georgia Rule,’ and the way he said it made me laugh,” I tell her.
“So … you think Oliver is going to be your VP, then?”
“We’ll see who else runs, but I think he’s a pretty strong candidate. What about on the squad? Who’s Georgia’s number two?”
“Some third year named Kelly. I don’t know her all that well.”
“Oh. So that’s not something you can run for then?”
“Nah, new squad members aren’t allowed to run.”
“Another Georgia Rule?”
“The girl can’t help herself,” Cecily replies, half smirking.
I smirk back and lift my right eyebrow in defiance. “Perhaps someone will have to do it for her then.”
* * *
On Thursday, right after the fourth-period bell rings, Oliver meets me in the administration office.
“Do we need to go over what you’re going to say one more time?” he asks me, anxiously.
“Nope, I’m good! I got this!” I say, enthusiastically.
“Well, don’t go wasting your energy on me,” he says, swatting at me with his hand like I’m a fly.
“You need to relax,” I tell him, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him from side to side.
“Why does everyone always tell me that?”
Just then, the secretary informs us that Ms. Tilly is ready.
“Well, hello there, Limbo dancers,” she says. “What can I do for you?”
Before I can utter a breath, let alone an actual word, Oliver begins to speak emphatically, and rather loudly.
“Georgia Sinclaire has imposed a rule on her Cheerleading squad that is completely and totally sexist and cannot be tolerated! It’s impacting the Limbos, and it’s offensive to all of us!” he commands.
“Oh boy, this sounds very serious. What is this rule?”
I give Oliver a look that says, “I got this one.”
I explain the sexist rule and how it only targets the cheerleaders, and even though I swore I would keep my cool (unlike Oliver!), I get all worked up and finish my perfect speech with a lame and whiny, “It’s just … well … it’s completely uncool!”
“Oh dear,” Ms. Tilly says. “You’re very right. It is completely uncool. I had no idea when Coach Trellis ran this by me that it would only apply to the cheerleaders. I thought it would apply to everyone on every team.”
“Nope,” Oliver says. “And there are a lot of cheerleaders who wanted to sign up for the Limbos, but now they aren’t allowed to. It’s extremely unfair.”
“I’ll discuss this with Coach Trellis at once,” she says. “We simply cannot have rules that apply to one team and not the others, or worse, to girls and not to boys. Our rules at Limbo must be kept equal at all times. And thank you for bringing this to my attention.”
“You’re very welcome,” I reply, resisting my urge to jump up and down screaming, “Take that, Black Mop Head!”
“So, in other Limbos news, are you both excited about our vote tomorrow?” she asks.
“I’m running for VP!” Oliver says, beaming.
“And judging by the way you handled this situation, young man, you’ll make a fine VP.”
“Thank you, Principal Tilly,” Oliver replies.
We leave her office triumphant and head to the cafeteria to grab some lunch before fifth period. Oliver joins us at our table, and I use this as an opportunity to take some more candid shots of people for my show. (Colin basically just let me keep his camera for the week.)
Oliver starts to tell Cecily about our meeting with Ms. Tilly, and how he’s so sure she’s going to revoke the Georgia Rule … and that’s when it happens—and I’m snapping pictures the whole time.
“So do you really think she’s going to throw out the rule?” Cecily asks him.
“Yes, I really do. She was, like, appalled that it applied only to you ladies. I actually think she looked embarrassed—and rightfully so. I mean, that rule sets back the women’s movement by, like, decades.”
Click.
“Right …” Cecily says, looking completely deflated. “Why didn’t I think of that? I mean, I just accepted it, no questions asked.”
“She’s got you brainwashed, that’s why!” Oliver chimes. “I mean, why should girls have to sacrifice their passions just so the boys can have their cheerleaders at games on Friday nights?” Oliver went on. “It’s totally archaic.”
“You’re right!” Cecily says, with more pep and fire now. “Who is she to tell me that I can’t be on the Limbos because the boys’ needs come first?! You know what? I’m doing the Limbos. Forget this rule, and forget Georgia!”
Georgia, who just happens to be sitting on the other end of our table, doesn’t seem to hear Cecily’s outburst.
“Well, I’m pretty sure we’ve already gotten the rule outlawed,” Oliver reminds her.
“Oh, right. Well, I’m gonna take it further, then!” Cecily says.
Oliver and I exchange glances. Is she having some kind of psychotic episode or something?
“I’m not just going to be on the Limbos—I’m gonna be your VP, Lou.”
Click.
Uh-oh.
“That’s if you’ll be okay with that,” she goes on. “I mean, I know you originally wanted me to be a co-captain, and VP isn’t the same thing exactly, but it’s just as good, I think. Don’t you?”
I did not see this coming.
This is what I’ve been wanting since this whole thing started—for Cecily to want to be a part of the Limbos and for the two of us to dance together again, and run this club together. And yet, now that Oliver is involved and so excited about it all, I feel torn. He Holomailed me about running for VP the second he got my message. He didn’t hesitate AT ALL. I don’t think it would be fair to give it to Cecily now, after everything that’s happened. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s great that she suddenly wants to stand up to Georgia. But … it’s too late for things to go back to exactly the way they were. Things are different now. Oliver is in the picture, and I owe him something.
“The thing is, Cece,” I say, lowering the camera from my face. “We have to have open elections for the VP and secretary spots now. You know that Oliver is already running for VP. You can run, too, if you want. But, we have to let the Limbos vote now that we’re already a formed club.”
“O
h, right, of course,” she says, quietly, looking down. “That makes sense. You’d make a great VP, Oliver.”
I can tell she feels embarrassed. I want to tell her not to, but it’s awkward with Oliver sitting here, so I don’t say anything.
Just then, as if on cue, Coach Trellis comes up to our table—to the other side, where Georgia and Colin are sitting with Jonah and some other football players and cheerleaders. She whispers something in Georgia’s ear, and within three seconds Georgia is staring me down with the biggest, meanest, most dramatic death stare anyone has ever seen.
Mission accomplished.
(Our mission, not hers. I’m already dead, so she CAN’T take credit for that!)
“Guess Coach delivered the bad news,” Oliver says with a huge smile on his face, lifting up his hand to high-five me.
I return the high five in celebration.
And snap a picture of the moment for posterity.
Click.
* * *
By Friday evening, Cecily, Oliver, and I are completely and totally pooped.
On Thursday afternoon, Cecily had cheerleading practice and Georgia broke the news to the squad: Her rule is off and they are free to join whatever clubs they want without being penalized, as long as they “remain dedicated” to the squad.
While Cecily was at practice, I was in the dark room developing some of the photos I’ve taken this week and narrowing down which ones I’m going to display at the exhibit. And Oliver was frantically writing his VP election speech and then rehearsing it over and over and over and over and over again.
And then over again, again.
It’s a wonder we made it through Limbos practice and open elections at all!
But we did.
And now we’re all lying on the sand at the beach and the sun is setting and nothing could be more perfect than this.
“So, VP, how are we going to get your brother together with Lou?” Cecily asks Oliver.
“Cece!” I screech. “I’m off boys, remember? I’m focusing on my art now.”
“Focus, schmocus,” Cecily says.
“The secretary makes a valid point,” Oliver says. “Focus, schmocus, indeed!”
“Oh, would you two knock it off?” I cry out, laughing. “Can we just please get through this weekend—Georgia’s stupid ghostday party and my show—without any more drama for one week?”
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