Love Will Keep Us Together (Miracle Girls Book 4)

by Anne Dayton

  “You guys ready for this?” I try to make my tone upbeat as I walk toward the Miracle Girls, who are lined up against the entryway to the field.

  “How did you do this every year?” Ana is biting her lower lip and staring at her feet. Her dark hair is piled on top of her head, and her dress is a deep orange, which looks amazing against her skin.

  “You look so pretty! Try not to lock your knees so you don’t faint.”

  Zoe is stunning in a short silver dress that looks like it’s from the seventies or something, and Christine shocked no one when she showed up in a short chartreuse tulle number. She designed her gown herself, and it’s very rocker-chick-meets-artist.

  Ms. Moore claps her hands and yells that we have two minutes to go, and several of the girls let out a shriek. I press my lips together to try to smooth out my lip gloss. All around me girls are taking deep breaths to calm their nerves, and Christine’s sister, Emma, is bouncing around, calling out funny cheers, but I feel like I’m far away.

  The truth is, I’m bummed my dad and Michael couldn’t be here, but that’s not all. I know it’s not Tom’s fault that he didn’t come, but after everything, after how close we’ve been lately, how good it felt to kiss him last night until my lips were almost raw, I wish he’d tried harder to make it.

  “All right, girls. Showtime!” Ms. Moore calls out. Old Lovchuck deputized her to help with tonight’s festivities.

  Emma lets out a shriek, and Christine reaches out and pretends to give her sister a noogie. She would never admit it, but I can see in her eyes that she’s excited for Emma. Emma runs over to join the other girls for Freshman Princess. Single file, they line up along the entrance to the field, pairing up with the guys nominated for Prince, and head out toward the field. A moment later, the crowd in the stadium starts to roar. Ms. Moore has the sophomores follow the freshmen.

  I grin at the girls, but Zoe looks green. “It’s not so bad once you’re out there.” I slide my arm around Zoe’s shoulder, and she leans into me.

  “You ready, girls?” Ms. Moore catches my eye as she ushers the juniors out. I paste a smile on my face. Better to get it ready now.

  No one says anything more until Ms. Moore starts calling out the names of the seniors on the homecoming court. “Ashley Anderson.”

  I give Ashley a thumbs-up as she dashes by. A girl from the French Club goes next, then Kayleen the bimbo cheerleader, and Ana follows behind her. I pull away from Zoe, and she walks out of the entranceway a moment later, trying to smile. One by one, girls I’ve gone to school with my whole life walk out onto the field, and I have the strangest urge to call after them that it doesn’t really matter, that we’ll all be friends no matter what.

  “Good luck, Freak,” I say instead.

  “Cheerleader.” Christine holds out her hand, and I bump her fist with mine.

  “Christine Lee.” Ms. Moore gestures for her to step outside. I’m next alphabetically, so I walk right behind her, but Ms. Moore puts her hand on my arm to hold me back as Christine walks out. I lean away, but if Ms. Moore notices, she doesn’t react. She opens her mouth, and for a second I’m afraid she’s going to say something horrible, but then she snaps her mouth shut and drops her hand. “You can go now,” she says quietly. I nod. The spot on my arm where her hand was feels cold.

  I stifle a shiver as I step out into the crisp November air. Jordan Fletcher grabs my arm and gives me a shy grin. I turn away, and neither of us says anything as we walk toward the roar of the stadium. In front of us the football field is startlingly green, too bright against the dark sky.

  “I, um, heard about your brother.”

  I peer off into the distance, hoping the bracing night air will hold back the tears.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

  I lift my chin and put on my best smile, and the students in the stands clap and cheer as we walk across the spongy rubber track. Jordan and I step onto the football field carefully. I almost fell over at homecoming freshman year because no one warned me that high heels sink into the grass.

  The stadium looked so big back then, and the crowd seemed overwhelming. I don’t know if I’ve changed or if everything else has, or if I’ve just gotten used to it, but now, as I make my way across the field, this doesn’t feel scary anymore. It feels kind of . . . familiar. I smile at the crowd, picking out the faces of my classmates, and it occurs to me that this is my last homecoming. After four years, this is it. For some reason I don’t feel particularly sad about it. I lift my chin and beam as confidently as I can at the crowd. I guess I expected to feel more . . . I don’t know. I expected to feel more.

  I don’t listen as Ms. Lovchuck calls out the names of the members of the freshman court, and I only realize that Emma’s won because I recognize the screams. I come to as she jumps up and down, the soft fabric of her dress fluttering around her. She looks like she might faint with excitement as our principal places the tiny tiara on her head.

  I squint at the stands as Lovchuck reads off the names of the sophomore and junior courts. I know Tom isn’t here, but I don’t see . . . but then this doesn’t really seem like the kind of thing Ben would be into anyway. Too much school spirit.

  “And now the moment we’ve all been waiting for,” Ms. Lovchuck says, laughing as if she’s said something incredibly witty. She reads out the names of the nominees, and the stands erupt in cheers as she announces that Kirk Cattleman, captain of the football team, has been voted Homecoming King. I catch Ashley’s eye and smirk. Ashley went out with Kirk for two weeks in seventh grade.

  “And now, the Homecoming Queen. Second runner-up . . .” Ms. Lovchuck opens an envelope that she no doubt sealed herself. “Is . . .” She squints at the piece of paper in front of her. “Christine Lee!”

  Next to me Christine throws her head back and laughs, a loud, belly laugh. Before I know what’s happening, Emma has run across the field and thrown her arms around her sister. A second later, Zoe and Ana are there too, wrapping us all in an awkward group hug. Emma’s bouncing up and down, and Christine’s actually smiling. Actually—I look around quickly—everyone is smiling.

  “Congrats!” I squeak.

  “Woo!” Zoe yells. “Christine!! You did it!” She looks as shocked as I feel, but she’s excited. Ms. Lovchuck waits for a moment, then gestures for us all to get back in line.

  “The first runner-up . . .”

  I take a deep breath. I kind of hope it’s Zoe. It would mean so much to Zoe. Or Ana. No one deserves it more than Ana. Either way, I’ll be really excited for them.

  “Is . . .” Ms. Lovchuck pauses, drawing out the suspense a moment too long. “ . . . Riley McGee!”

  For a split second, I know I didn’t hear her right, but then she’s coming at me with a small tiara and mouthing “Congratulations” like I’m supposed to be excited, when I really feel like someone has punched me in the stomach.

  First runner-up.

  I stand perfectly still as she digs the sharp plastic combs of the tiara into my scalp, and then blink my eyes as the crowd breaks into a cheer. Christine reaches over and gives me a stiff side hug, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Zoe giving me a thumbs-up. The lights over the stands seem too bright all of sudden.

  “And this year’s Homecoming Queen . . .” Ms. Lovchuck enunciates the last two words, placing too much emphasis on the last few syllables. “Is . . .” She opens another envelope and squints. “Ashley Anderson!”

  Ashley starts screaming, and a few of the other girls on the squad throw their arms around her, jumping up and down. I know I should go over there too. Ashley and I were so close all those years. And then after everything she did to help us last year . . . But before I can make myself move, Ms. Lovchuck gestures for Ashley to come forward to receive her crown, and suddenly all of Marina Vista is on its feet.

  How did this happen?

  But as Ashley steps forward, I try to remember the last time I ate lunch with the popular crowd or the last time I went to a postgame party. I�
�ve been so wrapped up with the Miracle Girls and with Tom. How long has it been since I was really a part of that world?

  Ashley ducks as Ms. Lovchuck places the crown on her head. She raises both arms over her head, pumping her fists, and all I can do is pray that I look happy for her.

  18

  I reach under my comforter and feel for my top sheet. I tossed and turned most of the night and then didn’t exactly get out of bed a whole lot today, so my blankets are kind of all over the place. I find the edge and yank the sheet up, then pull the comforter over it. There. That looks okay. My stupid homecoming dress is on the floor, and I kick it under the bed. My toe hits the edge of my crown, and I push it under too, as far as it will go.

  When Ana called to say she was coming over, I pretended my family was about to sit down to dinner, but she saw through that right away and invited herself over anyway. Then I told her I was working on my application essays and hinted that things weren’t great with Michael and now wasn’t really the best time, but the girl is pushy. She said she’d be over in a few minutes and didn’t leave me any room to argue.

  Clean shirt. Clean shirt. That one’s clean enough. There’s a pair of jeans at the bottom of the closet. Kicking off my pajama bottoms, I slip them on just as the doorbell rings. I take off Tom’s old T-shirt and button up the clean blouse, then peer into the mirror. My eyes are still red, and the skin around them is puffy. My hair is totally caked with hairspray from last night, but it’s greasy enough that it goes back into a ponytail. The bell rings a second time.

  “Is someone going to get that?” Mom calls from the laundry room.

  “Got it!” I call as I run to the door. I can hear Michael playing a video game in the living room. Through the glass panel in the door, I see Ana biting her lip, but she breaks into a smile when she sees me, then waves.

  “Hi.” I yank open the door.

  She steps in and holds up a paper bag stained with grease. “I brought burritos.” She opens the El Bueno Burrito bag, and the smell of ground beef wafts out.

  “Oh wow.” My stomach turns. I haven’t really eaten anything today, but for some reason I don’t feel hungry. “That’s awesome.” I take the bag from her hands. “I’m not really all that hungry, but if you want one . . .”

  Ana shakes her head. “I brought them for you guys.”

  “Thanks,” I say, leading her to the kitchen. I set the bag down on the counter and notice she brought four burritos—enough for dinner for all of us. “That was really nice. Why don’t we leave them in the kitchen for now and I’m sure they’ll disappear in no time.”

  Ana tilts her head and looks like she’s about to say something.

  “I had a late lunch.” I don’t want her to feel like I don’t appreciate the gesture. She watches me for a moment, then nods. “Come on, let’s go to my room.” She follows me down the hall.

  “So what have you been up to?” I try to make my voice light.

  “Riley . . .”

  “How’s your story for writing class coming?” I flop down on the bed. Ana sits in the desk chair. “Thirty pages is a lot, right? I was trying to figure out what to write, and I thought maybe something about surfing. But I’m sure you’ll write something awesome, whatever you decide to do.”

  “I—”

  “Have you started your Princeton application? What are you writing about for your essay?” I just have to get her talking. Once she starts talking about something she cares about, she’ll forget about whatever it is she came over here for.

  “Riley, stop.”

  “How’s Maria doing?” I move a pillow against the wall and lean back to rest against it.

  She takes in a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. “I wanted to see how you’re holding up,” Ana says quietly. “After last night. I know it was a big disappointment for you. For all of us, really. We thought you had it locked up.”

  “Ha ha.” I sit up and wave my hand dismissively. “Last night was really not a big deal. I mean, of course I wanted to win, who didn’t, but I’m over it already.” I smile and try not to think about what it felt like to stand there on the field and lose. “But thanks for checking in.”

  “I noticed Tom wasn’t there.” Ana narrows her eyes.

  “He had to work.” I shrug. “He’s saving up so he can move out of his parents’ place. I totally understood.”

  Ana doesn’t say anything for a moment. “How are the applications coming?” She spins the chair, right to left, with her feet. “Have you figured out which schools you’re going to apply to?”

  I roll my eyes. “I haven’t finalized the list or anything, but I’ve got time. I’m not worried.”

  “I know you’re not, Riley, but I am,” Ana says, leaning forward a little. “You seem kind of . . . I don’t know. Different. Unsure.”

  I thread my fingers together in my lap. “Thanks.” I look up and see the concern in her face. “I really do mean that. But it’s mostly just stuff with Michael that’s stressing me out a bit. Really, I’m fine.”

  It’s mostly true, after all. Maybe I don’t have all the other stuff totally figured out yet, but I will soon.

  “You can tell us, Riley. We won’t think less of you.” Ana’s eyes are searching, and I look away. “We want to help.”

  “I’m fine.” I know they think they want to help, but I also know what she really means. What they really want is for me to go back to being regular old carefree Riley. “I have everything under control. I promise.”

  Ana presses her lips together like she doesn’t quite believe me but doesn’t really know what to say. I think this might be a first.

  19

  “I’m sure she’ll be done soon.” Mrs. Benassi adjusts the glasses on the end of her nose. There are photos of her grandkids covering the entire surface of her desk, and her floral-print blouse is stretched tight across her boobs. She glances at the wall clock again. Mrs. Benassi has been the secretary at Marina Vista since the prehistoric era, and I don’t think her wardrobe has been updated in all that time.

  I nod, and she turns back to her computer. I wiggle around, trying to get comfortable in the hard plastic chair. Christine has to have her counseling sessions with Ms. Moore after school this year. Down the hall, I hear the soft click of a door opening, then footsteps sound on the worn blue carpet.

  “That’ll be them,” Mrs. Benassi says without taking her eyes off the computer screen.

  I stand up, and a second later Christine walks out into the main office. Her eyes widen when she sees me.

  “Hey.” Christine tilts her head, like she’s trying to figure out what I’m doing here.

  “Ms. Moore,” I say. Christine nods and gives me a wave before heading out the office door. “I was wondering if you had a second to talk.” I steel myself. Ms. Moore used to be my favorite teacher. There was a time when she would have done anything for me, or for any of us. Maybe she still will.

  Ms. Moore smiles, steps back, and gestures for me to follow her into her office. She counsels a bunch of students besides Christine, so the school lets her have a small, dark office down the hall from Ms. Lovchuck. I place my bag on the ground and settle into the chair across from her desk. She stares at me expectantly.

  “I know this is kind of . . . weird.” I swallow and twist my fingers together in my lap. “But I wanted to talk to you about Michael.” Is this how Christine feels every week, shifting in the hot seat?

  She nods, and the industrial clock behind her desk ticks loudly.

  “I know his grades are suffering because he hasn’t been in class. . . .” I wait for her to acknowledge my statement—that he’s in danger of failing her class because he’s been absent, and class participation is worth fifty percent of his grade—but she just stares at me. “And I was hoping you could give him some kind of extra credit or something to help him catch up.”

  “Riley . . .” She lets out a long breath. “You know I can’t do that.”

  “I’d make sure he does the work and
everything, and tutor him or whatever he needs to help him catch up.”

  “Riley.” She picks up a pen and starts twirling it around in her fingers. “I spell out the rules the first day of class and make sure every student understands them. If you miss class, you lose your participation points.”

  “You let me make up my work.” Freshman year I missed the last two months of school after I slipped off a cliff one night, and Ms. Moore didn’t have any problem with that.

  “You were in the hospital.”

  “But once I came home—”

  “You were under doctor’s orders not to move. Legally I had to let you make up your work.”

  I cross my arms. “Well, what’s Michael’s problem if it’s not medical?”

  Ms. Moore presses her lips together. “It wouldn’t be fair to the other students in the class if I bent the rules for him.”

  I take a deep breath. “I know. I’m asking as a favor.” I lean forward and place my hands on her desk. “I know it wouldn’t exactly be fair, but it’s not really fair that Michael has had to go through life like this either. So I was hoping that maybe, because of knowing our family so well and all, you could cut him a break.” I try to keep my voice even and calm, though I want to take the stupid glass paperweight off her desk and chuck it at her.

  “Riley, I will never forget what you all did for me last year,” she says, leaning back in her dirty desk chair. “I will never forget that you girls fought to get me my job back. But I wouldn’t be doing that job if I let this continue. I really do feel like this is the right thing for Michael, so I’m going to have to stick to my guns on this one.”

  “But it was an accident. He didn’t know what he was doing—”

  “Exactly.” She raises her voice a tiny bit. “That’s exactly my point. If Michael’s problems are really that bad,” she says, “so bad that he can’t function in high school without putting other people at risk”—she eyes me—“wouldn’t you rather have him be somewhere they can take better care of him?”