to, but I am not about to be—”
“The most popular girl in school on the first day?” Macie wasn’t smiling. She arched an eyebrow, then took a deep breath and squeezed the lime into the Diet Coke the waiter set down on the table.
“Your call, Katherine,” she said. “I’m not a racist. I just know how this works. My dad is a state senator. I know all about campaigning and I know even more about winning.”
I stood there, unsure what my next move was.
“I know you’re deeply offended,” Macie said sharply, “which leaves only one question unanswered.”
“What’s that?” I asked, my smile frozen like the ice in Daddy’s bourbon.
“Why are you still standing here?”
Krista and Beth were watching Macie like she was the best TV show they’d ever seen. I had to admit she was pretty sly. But she was no match for Aunt Liza, and that’s who was on the playlist in my brain. Don’t you let some white gal take yo’ power, Li’l K. You jump right in there and wrassle that gator to the ground. Ain’t nobody else gonna do it for you.
I brushed a wisp of hair out of my lipstick and sat down again. “I want a recommendation from your father to Columbia, Harvard, and Stanford whether we win or lose,” I said.
“Atta girl,” Macie said. “Done.”
“And I won’t be makin’ any big speeches or stayin’ after school till all hours to make posters for the prom or whatever fool thing your student council wants done next.”
“Understood,” Macie said. “I just need you there smiling and waving whenever there are newsworthy events.”
“One more thing,” I said. “Who do you know in the pageant system around here?”
“I think we can help you with that, too,” Macie said slowly, and shot a look at Krista.
“No . . .” Krista looked delighted. “You wouldn’t,” she said. Beth looked down at her salad and pushed a tomato around.
Macie turned back to me with a grin so full of mischief that Aunt Liza woulda burst into spontaneous prayer over her right there on the spot. “There’s a girl in our class whose mom just so happens to be a former beauty queen herself. She’s in with every judge on the whole circuit, apparently,” explainedMacie. She widened her eyes, and her tone became mockingly sincere. “And goodness, Katherine, her daughter could certainly use a friend.”
“What’s this girl’s name?” I asked.
“Leslie Gatlin.”
• • •
Leslie Gatlin’s memorial service must have been the longest thirty-five minutes of my entire life. It felt like ol’ Mister Time had just lain down in the road and started dragging himself backward with his lips.
The gym was packed with students and their families, and the choir sang “Amazing Grace” in four-part a cappella harmony. Leslie’s mama and daddy sat up in the front row, and the only time I saw them move was when Principal Jenkins introduced Macie Merrick as student body president. Macie walked up to the microphone slow as molasses, and under the giant screen that had Leslie’s senior picture projected onto it, Macie gave a version of the speech she had given to the student body. Only, this one was better.
The words were perfectly calculated for the reporters in the back of the room, who would be shooting eyewitness reports on location in the parking lot later. There were quotations and sound bites for days. There was a choked sob behind her voice. There was a single tear that dribbled down her perfectly powdered cheek on the last sentence, and when she stepped away from the mic, it was so silent that you could have heard theclouds scootin’ across the sun.
It was the easily the best performance Macie Merrick ever gave, and from where I sat on the raised bleachers, I could tell that she was pleased as punch.
When the service was finally over, Macie made a beeline for the side entrance around the edge of the receiving line where Leslie’s parents stood at the front shaking hands and sharing hugs with
“The most popular girl in school on the first day?” Macie wasn’t smiling. She arched an eyebrow, then took a deep breath and squeezed the lime into the Diet Coke the waiter set down on the table.
“Your call, Katherine,” she said. “I’m not a racist. I just know how this works. My dad is a state senator. I know all about campaigning and I know even more about winning.”
I stood there, unsure what my next move was.
“I know you’re deeply offended,” Macie said sharply, “which leaves only one question unanswered.”
“What’s that?” I asked, my smile frozen like the ice in Daddy’s bourbon.
“Why are you still standing here?”
Krista and Beth were watching Macie like she was the best TV show they’d ever seen. I had to admit she was pretty sly. But she was no match for Aunt Liza, and that’s who was on the playlist in my brain. Don’t you let some white gal take yo’ power, Li’l K. You jump right in there and wrassle that gator to the ground. Ain’t nobody else gonna do it for you.
I brushed a wisp of hair out of my lipstick and sat down again. “I want a recommendation from your father to Columbia, Harvard, and Stanford whether we win or lose,” I said.
“Atta girl,” Macie said. “Done.”
“And I won’t be makin’ any big speeches or stayin’ after school till all hours to make posters for the prom or whatever fool thing your student council wants done next.”
“Understood,” Macie said. “I just need you there smiling and waving whenever there are newsworthy events.”
“One more thing,” I said. “Who do you know in the pageant system around here?”
“I think we can help you with that, too,” Macie said slowly, and shot a look at Krista.
“No . . .” Krista looked delighted. “You wouldn’t,” she said. Beth looked down at her salad and pushed a tomato around.
Macie turned back to me with a grin so full of mischief that Aunt Liza woulda burst into spontaneous prayer over her right there on the spot. “There’s a girl in our class whose mom just so happens to be a former beauty queen herself. She’s in with every judge on the whole circuit, apparently,” explainedMacie. She widened her eyes, and her tone became mockingly sincere. “And goodness, Katherine, her daughter could certainly use a friend.”
“What’s this girl’s name?” I asked.
“Leslie Gatlin.”
• • •
Leslie Gatlin’s memorial service must have been the longest thirty-five minutes of my entire life. It felt like ol’ Mister Time had just lain down in the road and started dragging himself backward with his lips.
The gym was packed with students and their families, and the choir sang “Amazing Grace” in four-part a cappella harmony. Leslie’s mama and daddy sat up in the front row, and the only time I saw them move was when Principal Jenkins introduced Macie Merrick as student body president. Macie walked up to the microphone slow as molasses, and under the giant screen that had Leslie’s senior picture projected onto it, Macie gave a version of the speech she had given to the student body. Only, this one was better.
The words were perfectly calculated for the reporters in the back of the room, who would be shooting eyewitness reports on location in the parking lot later. There were quotations and sound bites for days. There was a choked sob behind her voice. There was a single tear that dribbled down her perfectly powdered cheek on the last sentence, and when she stepped away from the mic, it was so silent that you could have heard theclouds scootin’ across the sun.
It was the easily the best performance Macie Merrick ever gave, and from where I sat on the raised bleachers, I could tell that she was pleased as punch.
When the service was finally over, Macie made a beeline for the side entrance around the edge of the receiving line where Leslie’s parents stood at the front shaking hands and sharing hugs with
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