I smile and give him a little wave back, but there’s something gnawing at the back of my brain.
“We had hoped Vincent might have said something about the tattoo that would help our case. Like maybe he mentioned why he was getting the same tattoo as you. Or something like that.” He shakes his head. “It was a long shot.”
And this year’s Junior Court is . . .
I remember the tattoo artist who Brooklyn brought in to do our tattoos. How big he was. “Tell me he wasn't covered in tattoos and looked like Santa Claus.”
I take a step forward to walk onto the field, but Garrett doesn't come with me.
He’s firmly holding his stance and my elbow.
“How do you know that?”
The band director yells, “Miss Monroe, go, please.”
I pull Garrett down the center of the field, putting on a big smile that completely masks the sick feeling in my stomach.
“Because Brooklyn hired a guy who looked like that to do our tattoos. Everyone called him Tiny.”
“That’s the guy who is dead,” Garrett says.
Keatyn Monroe.
As I accept a bouquet of flowers, the student section yells, “MON—R-O-A-R!”
I plaster a fake smile on my face and wave to the crowd.
Then it hits me. Where I heard it.
“Garrett,” I say out of the side of my mouth, while still keeping a smile plastered on my face. “Vincent’s mom and stepdad were killed in a random mugging.”
Garrett says, “This is quite disturbing.”
“Yeah, it is.”
And this year’s Senior Court is . . .
We all turn to watch Dawson, Jake, Brad, Whitney, Peyton, and Mariah walk down the fifty-yard line toward us.
Garrett holds my arm tight. “Are you okay? You’ve got a smile on your face, but I can feel you shaking.”
“I’m fine. I’ll be fine. But I’ll be better if you can prove Vincent killed him. Then he can go to jail and I’ll be free.”
“Do you need me for anything else after this?”
“No, this was the big deal,” I say, looking down at the designer dress and shoes I’ve had on for a total of twenty minutes. “Kinda silly, isn’t it? Like, in perspective.”
“Yeah, it kinda is. As soon as this is over, I’m catching a plane to LA.”
“I think that’s a very good idea.”
A New Jersey housewife.
Halftime.
Garrett immediately leaves for the airport and I work my way through the halftime crowd. I have to change back into my dance costume for the rest of the game.
Whitney is surrounded by her family. I hear her mother say, “What in the world are you wearing?”
Whitney stands up straight. “A dress.”
“If you had some feathers, you could be a Vegas showgirl.”
Her sister laughs. “Expect she can’t dance.”
Oh, wow. That was a low blow.
“First you lose Dawson and then you wear a dress like that. Are you trying to lose?”
“Everyone already voted, Mother. They didn’t vote based on me not wearing my sister’s hand-me-down gown.”
“You know, you’ll be the only one in the family that hasn’t won. What a let down,” her mother replies.
“This dress was very expensive,” Whitney counters.
“Well, there’s no accounting for taste. You look like a New Jersey housewife.”
I actually feel sorry for Whitney, especially when I see the tears shining in her eyes. The ones she refuses to let fall.
I make a beeline toward her. “Whitney,” I say, grabbing her arm. “Will you come with me to the dance locker room? There’s an issue that I need your help with.”
“What kind of issue could she possible help with?” her sister asks in a tone dripping with bitch.
I look straight at Whitney’s mom and ignore her bitch sister. “Mrs. Clarke, do you mind if I steal her away?” I roll my eyes dramatically. “We’re having an issue with the security for the after-party and since Whitney runs the Social Committee, I feel it’s best that she handle it.”
Her mother looks at me shrewdly. “Your dress is very pretty.”
I smile sweetly at her. I am an adorable, respectful young woman.
One who wants to rip this woman’s eyes out.
“Thank you.” I look down at it and scrunch up my nose. “Although it doesn’t compare to Whitney’s. I’m so jealous of her bold choice. She looks amazing, don’t you think? You must be so proud. I mean, Homecoming Court is nice and all, but it’s nothing compared to Social Committee. There isn’t a more respected position at school. Did she tell you how we’re doing themed weekends? They will be a learning experience, incorporate the entire student and faculty population, and raise funds for some great causes. We’re all so excited.”
Winnie is looking at Whitney like she’s an alien, but her mother turns to her. “Whitney, darling, you didn’t tell us about all the amazing things you are doing.”
Whitney says with no trace of a smile, “You didn’t ask.”
The tension is thick, so I start moving her. “Nice meeting you all,” I say, as I pull her through the crowd.
When we get to the door, she asks, “Why did you just do that?”
“Your family sucks. And I meant what I said about your dress.”
She looks wistfully at her dress. “Peyton had a beaded one. We were both supposed to look different. But then she went shopping with you.”
“You sister is just jealous. She could never pull off a dress like that. You can tell by her wardrobe tonight that she prefers to blend in. You took a chance. I give it two thumbs up.”
“Really?”
I laugh. “Well, I’m not the most conservative person around here, and you hate how I dress, so you can take my compliment with a grain of salt.”
“If only I could have a shot of tequila with it,” she chuckles.
I wrap my arm around her neck. “I’m pretty sure I know a guy that can help with that.”
“Shark!” I yell out.
He saunters over. “S’up ladies?”
“Shark, you're tipsy.”
“My parents are here for the next forty-some hours—not that I'm counting—and it’s just so wonderful to hear them tell me what a failure I am.”
“Wanna share with Whitney? I think she’s counting down the hours too.”
He holds out his flask. “Rocking dress,” he says, while staring directly at her cleavage.
Whitney blushes.
I've never seen her blush.
She raises his flask in the air. “Here's to being a disappointment to our parents.”
“You two enjoy,” I say. “I gotta go change back into my dance costume.”
“From glitter whores to kitty whores?” she says with a laugh. It’s her typical slam, but she says it in a nicer way. Like we’re sharing an inside joke.
“Yeah, something like that.”
I’m late getting to the dance room, so I quickly change back into my dance costume.
Everyone is already back out on the field. I can see their dresses all lined up on the rack. I should hurry and get out there too, but I need a minute.
I sit down, close my eyes, and take a deep breath.
When I open them, I roll the waistband of my skirt down, look at my tattoo, and remember Tiny.
As much as I wish we could find something on Vincent, I pray that Tiny’s death had nothing to do with me.
I stand up, pull my phone out of my locker, and call my mom.
Tommy answers with, “What’s shaking, baby?”
“I just called to tell you and Mom that I’m thankful I have such a supportive family. That I appreciate all you and Mom have done for me.”
“Well, we love you. Um, have you done something we won't love and are buttering us up?”
“No. It's Homecoming, so everyone’s parents are here and a lot of the kids are miserable. I was thinking how I would love to have you around. I’m lucky to have parents like you and I probably don’t tell you that enough. And I’m sorry that I talked back to you last week. I was sort of under some stress.”
“I know you were. It’s killing your mom and me not to be there to share Homecoming with you. But I hope you know how very proud we are.”
“I know. Thanks.”
“Heard you invited Uncle Garrett.”