Major Crush by Jennifer Echols

credit because they dated Drew, who was high profile. Plus, lots of boys apparently thought the mean A vril-Lavigne-on-steroids attitude was a turn-on.
    The announcement came at the end of my English class, just before lunch on Friday. A llison got the most votes. She was Miss Homecoming.
    Tracey was next. She was Miss Victory.
    A t the bell I rushed out of the room and down to the lunchroom, where I always met A llison. She waved and grinned at me from way down the hall. Then, as I watched, one of the twins stopped her, said something to her, and flounced away.
    A llison didn’t react. She started walking again as if nothing had happened. A nd then, when I reached her, I saw that her eyes were hard.
    “What did she say to you?” I breathed.
    A llison shook her head. “I hate this town, I hate this town, I hate this town.”
    “Oh, God, A llison. What did she say to you?”
    A llison licked her perfect lipstick. She said woodenly, “‘Tracey Reardon isn’t going to be Miss Victory. A white girl doesn’t have to take a black girls leavings.’”
    I went cold in the crowded, muggy hallway. A ll I could think of to say was, “Ick!” Then, “She’s Miss Icktory.”
    A llison didn’t laugh. She still looked stunned.
    I pushed her into the lunchroom and through the line. I even loaded her salad plate for her, avoiding the beets. A t one of the tables Drew laughed with Luther, Barry, and the other trombones. I shoved A llison along in front of me and sat her down there.
    This was partly chance. There happened to be a couple of empty seats at the end of their table, probably because everyone was afraid of the trombones poking fun at them. But I also wanted Drew to know what his twins had done. I told the whole table what had happened.
    “She said that?” Drew asked incredulously.
    Luther reached across the table and whacked Drew on the arm. “You’re dating a racist.”
    “You don’t know that.” Drew turned to A llison. “Which one of the twins said it?”
    She shrugged.
    “Why does it matter which one said it?” I asked him. “What will that tell you? You don’t even know which one you’re dating.”
    “I do know which one I’m dating,” he said triumphantly. “I figured that out this morning in homeroom. I know I’m dating the one who isn’t on the homecoming court. I’m dating Cacey.”
    The trombones clapped for him.
    He turned to A llison again. “What exactly did she say?”
    I had been worried about A llison, but now I felt better. She came back to life and got angry. Her voice louder with every word, she repeated,
    “‘Tracey Reardon. Isn’t going to be. Miss Victory. A white girl. Doesn’t have to take. A black girl’s. Leavings!’”
    “A bjure,” I said under my breath to Drew.
    He didn’t look at me, but I knew from the way his jaw tightened that he’d heard me.
    “If she said Tracey Reardon,’ then she must have been Cacey,” Luther pointed out. “Drew, you have to break up with—” His voice trailed off.
    My heart beat faster at the thought that Drew was going to break up with her. He was finally going to break up with her! He was as good as mine!
    Then I saw that Drew had borrowed Mr. Rush’s brain-melting stare and was giving it to Luther.
    “It wasn’t necessarily Cacey,” Barry joined in helpfully. “It might have been Tracey. She could have referred to herself in the third person like small children do. Like Elmo on Sesame Street.”
    “Right. Let s think about this scientifically,” said Luther. He instructed Barry to get out his notebook and draw a grid. Then he asked A llison,

    “What was she wearing?”
    A llison closed her eyes. “Jeans and one of those new school spirit T-shirts.”
    “They both are,” Drew muttered. The furious look in his eyes had faded. But he was avoiding everyone’s gaze, examining the water-stained ceiling.
    “How about something else that distinguishes them from each other?” Luther prompted A llison. “Earrings, or