Free The Funeral Singer by Linda Budzinski Page A

sure no one will care. They’ll all still be in a daze after listening to you sing ‘Awake.’” I turned to Lana. “You should hear him. He’s amazing. But I can have you next to me toooo-daaay. ” I did my worst imitation of Pete’s croon, holding onto the last note until he wadded up his straw wrapper and threw it into my mouth.
    “Ack!” I spit the wrapper out onto the table.
    “Nice shot,” Lana said. She held up her hand and gave Pete a fist bump.
    “Thanks.” Pete pointed to the spit wad. “Best part is, with The Funeral Singer’s spit on it, I could probably sell that baby on e-Bay tonight for twenty bucks.”
    I gave him a stare. “But you won’t. Because that would be exploiting our friendship.”
    Pete juggled his hands in the air as if he were weighing the options. “Hmm. Let’s see. Last time I checked, I couldn’t buy that recording app I want with our friendship.”
    I picked up the spit wad and threw it back at him. “You suck.”
    Pete dodged it, laughing, but then he became serious. “What are you going to tell Jensen? Are you going to tell her the truth or make up an excuse?”
    Good question. What possible reason could I have for missing an entire week? An emergency funeral job would work once, maybe even twice, but not all three times. Same with feeling sick or having a dentist appointment or just about any other excuse I could dream up. I sighed. “Guess I’m going to tell her the truth and hope she understands. Anyway, it’s not like I’m cutting to go partying or shopping. I’ll be singing. That counts for something, right?”
    Pete looked doubtful, and even I didn’t quite buy it.
    “Whatever. The worst she can do is kick me out of chorus. And I sincerely doubt she’d do that.”
    Pete shrugged. “As they say, it’s your funeral.”
    “Hah. You’re a real comedian.”
    “You made your casket, now you have to lie in it,” Lana chimed in. Another fist bump.
    “Glad you two are having so much fun with this.”
    “Hey, we know how to put the ‘fun’ in funeral,” Pete said.
    “Okay, that’s enough.” I picked up a piece of pepperoni and aimed it at them.
    Pete reached over and gently lowered my hand. “We’re done. Now, here’s a question for you. Who are you going to prom with?”
    I choked on my Diet Coke. Had Pete actually brought up prom with Lana sitting right next to him? Had he forgotten the Moment That Would Never Be Discussed? No, not a chance he’d forgotten. Last year, Pete had asked Lana to Homecoming. She’d laughed. Not because she wanted to be mean, but because she genuinely thought he was joking. When I explained to her later that he’d been serious, she felt horrible, and things had been awkward between them ever since.
    When my choking fit subsided, I recovered enough to ask, “What is this sudden fascination with my prom plans? Hannah Massey asked me the same thing this morning. Prom is, like, a month away.”
    Pete’s eyes widened. “You haven’t heard, have you?”
    “Heard what?” Lana and I asked simultaneously.
    “Oh, man. Neither of you have heard.” Pete was practically bouncing in his seat. “This is classic. I’m so glad I get to see your faces when you find out.”
    “Find out what?” Lana asked. “Less mystery, more info, please.”
    “We need a drum roll for this.” Pete beat his fists against the table and spoke in his best announcer’s voice: “You, Melanie Martin, have been nominated for the title of Edison High School Junior Prom Queen. Your opponents are the Lovely Yet Dim-Witted Hannah Massey and the Reputedly Very, Very Easy Molly Gibbons.”
    Lana squealed. “No way. For real?”
    “It was on the school website this morning,” Pete said. “Doesn’t anyone else ever read the announcements?”
    I took another bite of my pizza and chewed slowly. Prom queen? Me? “I don’t even know what to do with this information,” I said. “What happens when you’re nominated for prom queen? Do you campaign?