Free Rival by Sara Bennett Wealer Page B

lets out, I’m still obsessing about it. I want to go home and practice, but Chloe’s waiting by my locker. Her normally perfect makeup looks faded, and her eyes are bloodshot.
    â€œHave you been crying?” I ask.
    â€œNo.” She presses her cheeks with her fingertips. “It’s just allergies. You’re the one who looks like crap.”
    â€œGee, thanks,” I say, and start on my locker combination.
    â€œSo,” she says through a stopped-up nose. “What’s the matter?”
    I take a breath. Maybe if I say it, then I’ll feel better.
    â€œKathryn.”
    Chloe scrunches up her face. “Kathryn who? Kathryn Pease?”
    I nod, and Chloe’s expression gets darker.
    â€œWhat about her?”
    â€œKathryn is…” This is music related, so I know I’ll have to ease Chloe into it. “Kathryn is driving me crazy.”
    â€œBut I thought we took care of her last year.”
    â€œWe did,” I say, remembering. “I mean, I did.”
    â€œRight. So what’s the problem?”
    I try again. This time with a little more detail. “You can talk all you want about ‘taking care of her.’ But that didn’t make her disappear. She’s a good singer.”
    â€œExactly my point.” Chloe throws her hands up. “She’s a music freak.”
    â€œShe got a solo today in choir and I didn’t.”
    â€œDevastating, Brooke. Really.”
    â€œIt sort of is.”
    I slam my locker door. Harder than I need to, but Chloe doesn’t seem to notice. “Forget about Kathryn,” she tells me. “Right now you’ve got bigger things to worry about.”
    â€œOh yeah?” I say. “Like what?”
    â€œLike this.”
    She pulls a sheet of paper out of her bag and hands it to me. It’s the Spirit Committee’s list of Homecoming court nominees. “Nobody’s supposed to see it until tomorrow. Don’t say I never do anything for you.”
    I read all of the names. Mine is first on a list with four other girls. Angela Van Zant, Kiersten Coons, Celina DeGraff, Madison Verbeck…
    â€œYou’re not on here,” I say.
    â€œOf course I’m not. I’m organizing the whole thing, so it would be a total conflict of interest for me to be a candidate, too.”
    I look into her eyes, which are definitely red. She coughs and rubs her nose.
    â€œAre you sure you’re okay with this?” Chloe’s been dying to be in the Homecoming court ever since junior high, when Brice and Bill would take us to high school football games. Afterward, she would dress up in my mom’s old cabaret gowns and practice blowing kisses to my stuffed animals.
    â€œI wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it,” she tells me. “Besides, you need me, Brooke. Without my help you’d squander an opportunity like this.”
    She looks so serious that I have to laugh. “Was ‘squander’ on one of your vocab tests this week?”
    â€œIndubitably. Now give me that before anybody else sees it.” She takes the list back, but not before I check out the guys. I find John Moorehouse’s name, third down.
    â€œSo,” Chloe says. “Have you thought about your campaign?”
    â€œPlease,” I groan. “You’re not serious.”
    â€œI’m dead serious. See, Brooke? This is why you need me so much.”
    â€œBut campaign? Even you said it was stupid.” A few years ago, the school board decided the Spirit Committee needed to do more than just organize parties and pep rallies. So they came up with this thing where the people nominated for Homecoming court have to pick some kind of cause they want to represent. When everybody goes to vote, they pay a dollar. However many votes you get, that’s how much money goes to your cause. It sounds good in theory, but only about half the people in our school actually vote. With ten people on