and logic, and it’s a lot harder than you’d think. But my other choices
in that time slot were O-Chem and six different flavors of algebra, so I took what I could get.
Voice was a different thing. I know I’m not going to be the next Mahalia Jackson—and by the end of two lessons, my instructor
did, too. But I didn’t care. If Carly could take design modules just because she loves them, then I could take voice and chorus
for the same reason. Besides, a person deserves a little fun when she’s a senior. We’ve earned it.
I let myself into our room, feeling pretty happy about the work I’d done on my scales and a first run-through of the gospel
piece I’d chosen. I found Carly already there, changing out of her uniform.
“Hey.” I couldn’t wait to get out of mine, too. Say what you will about the hypo-allergenic fabric our plaid pleated skirts
are made of, they’re still…plaid pleated skirts.
“There you are.” She laced up her sneakers. “I wanted to talk to you before Mac gets back.”
I was slowly getting used to our room’s new look. I’d pushed my bed back against the wall, and Mac and Carly had formed an
L-shape with theirs. Mac didn’t have a desk, but since she never used one anyway, it didn’t matter. I hadn’t found her in
here doing homework once. Maybe she went to the library. Maybe she didn’t do it. None of my nevermind.
“What’s up?” I pulled on a glittery butterfly T-shirt—it had no slogans, so technically I could wear it outside class—and
my comfiest black Theory jeans. “Lissa said she’d be up for something later. I vote for retail therapy.”
“I wasn’t thinking about tonight. What are you doing Friday night?”
That was easy. “Big bunches of nothing. Why?”
“Oh, good.” She sat cross-legged on her bed, facing me. “What do you think about going out with me and Brett?”
“Uh.” How to put this nicely? “You guys need a chaperone or what? Because that’s
so
not the image I want going around.”
“No, no.” She laughed. “Are you kidding? I meant as a double. The four of us.”
“The fourth being…?” Hope sparked inside. Was Danyel coming up for the weekend? Why hadn’t Lissa said anything?
“The prince, silly. Unless you have some other local guy you haven’t told me about?”
I stared at her, my brain all wound up on the thought of Danyel while it tried to process the unexpected reality of Rashid.
“What?”
“You and the prince. Me and Brett. On a double,” she said slowly, as though she were reading a primer to a first grader. “We
were thinking dinner at TouTou’s.”
My brain and my mouth finally synced up. “If you think I’m asking the prince out to dinner, you’ve got another think coming.”
“You don’t have to ask him. He already asked us. And now I’m asking you.”
“Wait a minute. I’m his date and I’m the last to know?” I didn’t know whether to be insulted or not. “How come you get to
be the messenger?”
“Farrouk explained it all to me.”
“And Farrouk would be…”
“His Secret Service guy. The one who sleeps across his threshold at night.”
“He does not.”
“Yeah, he does. He’s got one of those army cots and they move it every morning. The other guy’s name is Bashir. He sleeps
next door. They switch off every week.”
I so didn’t need to know this. “How do you know so much about the royal sleeping arrangements?”
“Because I asked them. They’re really nice guys. And I had to talk to somebody while the prince was asking Brett if we could
double. Then Brett asked me—I said yes, what a no-brainer—and I’m to ask you.”
I had to sit down. “Carly, in case no one explained this to you yet, the guy is supposed to ask the girl. Not ask the girl’s
boyfriend to ask the girl’s roommate to ask her.”
“Not when you’re a prince, apparently. See, he can’t be turned down.”
“Oh, no?”
“No, literally. He can’t. It’s
in that time slot were O-Chem and six different flavors of algebra, so I took what I could get.
Voice was a different thing. I know I’m not going to be the next Mahalia Jackson—and by the end of two lessons, my instructor
did, too. But I didn’t care. If Carly could take design modules just because she loves them, then I could take voice and chorus
for the same reason. Besides, a person deserves a little fun when she’s a senior. We’ve earned it.
I let myself into our room, feeling pretty happy about the work I’d done on my scales and a first run-through of the gospel
piece I’d chosen. I found Carly already there, changing out of her uniform.
“Hey.” I couldn’t wait to get out of mine, too. Say what you will about the hypo-allergenic fabric our plaid pleated skirts
are made of, they’re still…plaid pleated skirts.
“There you are.” She laced up her sneakers. “I wanted to talk to you before Mac gets back.”
I was slowly getting used to our room’s new look. I’d pushed my bed back against the wall, and Mac and Carly had formed an
L-shape with theirs. Mac didn’t have a desk, but since she never used one anyway, it didn’t matter. I hadn’t found her in
here doing homework once. Maybe she went to the library. Maybe she didn’t do it. None of my nevermind.
“What’s up?” I pulled on a glittery butterfly T-shirt—it had no slogans, so technically I could wear it outside class—and
my comfiest black Theory jeans. “Lissa said she’d be up for something later. I vote for retail therapy.”
“I wasn’t thinking about tonight. What are you doing Friday night?”
That was easy. “Big bunches of nothing. Why?”
“Oh, good.” She sat cross-legged on her bed, facing me. “What do you think about going out with me and Brett?”
“Uh.” How to put this nicely? “You guys need a chaperone or what? Because that’s
so
not the image I want going around.”
“No, no.” She laughed. “Are you kidding? I meant as a double. The four of us.”
“The fourth being…?” Hope sparked inside. Was Danyel coming up for the weekend? Why hadn’t Lissa said anything?
“The prince, silly. Unless you have some other local guy you haven’t told me about?”
I stared at her, my brain all wound up on the thought of Danyel while it tried to process the unexpected reality of Rashid.
“What?”
“You and the prince. Me and Brett. On a double,” she said slowly, as though she were reading a primer to a first grader. “We
were thinking dinner at TouTou’s.”
My brain and my mouth finally synced up. “If you think I’m asking the prince out to dinner, you’ve got another think coming.”
“You don’t have to ask him. He already asked us. And now I’m asking you.”
“Wait a minute. I’m his date and I’m the last to know?” I didn’t know whether to be insulted or not. “How come you get to
be the messenger?”
“Farrouk explained it all to me.”
“And Farrouk would be…”
“His Secret Service guy. The one who sleeps across his threshold at night.”
“He does not.”
“Yeah, he does. He’s got one of those army cots and they move it every morning. The other guy’s name is Bashir. He sleeps
next door. They switch off every week.”
I so didn’t need to know this. “How do you know so much about the royal sleeping arrangements?”
“Because I asked them. They’re really nice guys. And I had to talk to somebody while the prince was asking Brett if we could
double. Then Brett asked me—I said yes, what a no-brainer—and I’m to ask you.”
I had to sit down. “Carly, in case no one explained this to you yet, the guy is supposed to ask the girl. Not ask the girl’s
boyfriend to ask the girl’s roommate to ask her.”
“Not when you’re a prince, apparently. See, he can’t be turned down.”
“Oh, no?”
“No, literally. He can’t. It’s
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