are.
“Tolulu?”
I didn’t answer.
We were driving past the abandoned playground. It was a park, once, but someone had bought it with the intent of tearing it down to build something, like a mansion or a movie studio, before they ran out of money and couldn’t sell it. Anyway, no one climbs the rusted monkey bars or sits in the abandoned swing set anymore. Except me.
And Pak.
And all the tiles in the tic-tac-toe board had been turned to x ’s.
“Hello, Birdie?”
I hit the gas, nearly plowing into the car in front of me. Skittle screamed. Her notecards flew into the air and scattered across the floorboards.
What was he even thinking, leaving me the signal to meet him, as if I was going to go signal him back? I’d told him good-bye last time I saw him, no take-backsies. We were bad for each other, we’d agreed.
“Birdie?”
I ground my teeth together. “What is it, Skittle?”
“The most important party of the year? Happening on Saturday? We’re planning the guest list.”
I sighed. “Right, Tolulu. We have to invite Tolulu. Her dad just got that part in that big explosion movie.”
“You mean Michael Bay’s new movie?”
I waved my hand. “Yeah, that. Add her. Next?”
Let’s see, what happened next? Classes, scheming, more classes. Then I went to lunch.
You want to know a secret? Expensive private school food is still school food. They only dish out the good stuff when the parents show up.
I drew x ’s in my Salisbury steak, my mind still back on that playground with the tiles.
“It’s only going to be the best Queen of Heart election bash ever,” Skittle babbled to my followers beside me. Largesse, a thin theater nut boy with more hair than brains, nodded enthusiastically as she talked.
It might have seemed a little premature to plan a victory party before the election had even started, but there wasn’t really any doubt that I was going to win. No one was running against me yet. Anyway, with the nomination on Saturday and the election on Wednesday, it was too tight a timeline for two separate parties. Past candidates had petitioned to get the election period made longer, but the school board had decided the competition would be too much of a distraction from schoolwork.
Songbreeze, runner of the school tabloid and all-around gossip spreader, scribbled notes in a journal as she straddled a chair just far enough away from the table to make it clear she wasn’t really associated with us. “Any response to the accusations that you haven’t been fulfilling your campaign promise to end the hierarchy?”
“No comment,” I said.
Popsicle, my best enforcer, shifted her chair in front of Songbreeze.
Songbreeze is the daughter of an MGM executive. She distributes her tabloid for ten bucks a pop every Monday. My copy was sitting by my lunch tray. The top story of the day was, “Lizard and Wizard. Will they last forever?”
Spoiler: They didn’t last the week.
Anyway, no one misses Songbreeze’s tabloid. No one.
Not even my former best friend Annabelle Reynolds. I watched her slide into a seat on the opposite side of the cafeteria, dark sunglasses hiding her eyes.
Annabelle is a nobody. Her parents are actors with big dreams and no callbacks. She got in here on a scholarship. She makes better grades than the entire student body combined, probably because she actually wants to go to college.
I looked away. My past was gnawing at me, but I couldn’t let it. I had a kingdom to run.
“Skittle,” I snapped my fingers. “Have you booked the band yet?”
“I’ve been calling around, but Gaga says she doesn’t do—”
A freshman stood up at the table beside ours. Her chair screeched across the ground. She stomped over to my table in the ugliest pair of clogs I had ever seen. “I want to come to the election party.”
My entire table stared at her. The roar of the cafeteria dropped to a whisper hush.
“I can get a band,” she said. “I’m Facebook friends with Miley
“Tolulu?”
I didn’t answer.
We were driving past the abandoned playground. It was a park, once, but someone had bought it with the intent of tearing it down to build something, like a mansion or a movie studio, before they ran out of money and couldn’t sell it. Anyway, no one climbs the rusted monkey bars or sits in the abandoned swing set anymore. Except me.
And Pak.
And all the tiles in the tic-tac-toe board had been turned to x ’s.
“Hello, Birdie?”
I hit the gas, nearly plowing into the car in front of me. Skittle screamed. Her notecards flew into the air and scattered across the floorboards.
What was he even thinking, leaving me the signal to meet him, as if I was going to go signal him back? I’d told him good-bye last time I saw him, no take-backsies. We were bad for each other, we’d agreed.
“Birdie?”
I ground my teeth together. “What is it, Skittle?”
“The most important party of the year? Happening on Saturday? We’re planning the guest list.”
I sighed. “Right, Tolulu. We have to invite Tolulu. Her dad just got that part in that big explosion movie.”
“You mean Michael Bay’s new movie?”
I waved my hand. “Yeah, that. Add her. Next?”
Let’s see, what happened next? Classes, scheming, more classes. Then I went to lunch.
You want to know a secret? Expensive private school food is still school food. They only dish out the good stuff when the parents show up.
I drew x ’s in my Salisbury steak, my mind still back on that playground with the tiles.
“It’s only going to be the best Queen of Heart election bash ever,” Skittle babbled to my followers beside me. Largesse, a thin theater nut boy with more hair than brains, nodded enthusiastically as she talked.
It might have seemed a little premature to plan a victory party before the election had even started, but there wasn’t really any doubt that I was going to win. No one was running against me yet. Anyway, with the nomination on Saturday and the election on Wednesday, it was too tight a timeline for two separate parties. Past candidates had petitioned to get the election period made longer, but the school board had decided the competition would be too much of a distraction from schoolwork.
Songbreeze, runner of the school tabloid and all-around gossip spreader, scribbled notes in a journal as she straddled a chair just far enough away from the table to make it clear she wasn’t really associated with us. “Any response to the accusations that you haven’t been fulfilling your campaign promise to end the hierarchy?”
“No comment,” I said.
Popsicle, my best enforcer, shifted her chair in front of Songbreeze.
Songbreeze is the daughter of an MGM executive. She distributes her tabloid for ten bucks a pop every Monday. My copy was sitting by my lunch tray. The top story of the day was, “Lizard and Wizard. Will they last forever?”
Spoiler: They didn’t last the week.
Anyway, no one misses Songbreeze’s tabloid. No one.
Not even my former best friend Annabelle Reynolds. I watched her slide into a seat on the opposite side of the cafeteria, dark sunglasses hiding her eyes.
Annabelle is a nobody. Her parents are actors with big dreams and no callbacks. She got in here on a scholarship. She makes better grades than the entire student body combined, probably because she actually wants to go to college.
I looked away. My past was gnawing at me, but I couldn’t let it. I had a kingdom to run.
“Skittle,” I snapped my fingers. “Have you booked the band yet?”
“I’ve been calling around, but Gaga says she doesn’t do—”
A freshman stood up at the table beside ours. Her chair screeched across the ground. She stomped over to my table in the ugliest pair of clogs I had ever seen. “I want to come to the election party.”
My entire table stared at her. The roar of the cafeteria dropped to a whisper hush.
“I can get a band,” she said. “I’m Facebook friends with Miley
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