Sure, I would tell him. I was taking a lot of perverse pleasure in making him realize he had chosen the wrong girl. I said without missing a beat, “She meant that I’d better not try to steal you from her.”
5
“You’d better not steal me from Addison?” Max repeated, sounding confused.
“Yes, and she’d better not steal Carter from me, either.” I pretended to ponder the possibility, as if such a misfortune would be very grave indeed. Then I laughed it off like I’d convinced myself I was being ridiculous. Dearest Addison would not steal my boyfriend!
“It’s our coach’s idea,” I explained. “Mrs. Baxter.” I said her name with my nose in the air. “She’s a million years old, and she runs the majorette line in a very traditional way. That’s not all bad. There are certain things we concentrate on, like following through with movements”—I reached my right arm in an arc as if I were holding a baton—“and putting our heads down when the baton goes down, and popping them up when the baton goes up.” I showed him the proper head movements with my long ponytails flying around and tickling my neck. “If you’re doing it right, you get your bouffant hairdo stuck in your tiara.”
“Tiara!” he laughed, incredulous.
“Yes!” I said. “The thing is, judges at band contests are looking for this sort of old-school follow-through, so our majorette line gets terrific marks. But the downside is that Mrs. Baxter is old school in other ways too. She is watching us.” I moved in and gave Max the evil eye just like Mrs. Baxter did.
“We’re not supposed to steal each other’s boyfriends or get in arguments in the lunchroom,” I said. “We are supposed to behave like young ladies, and she had better not hear anybody talking about us behind our backs. She says we have to keep our noses clean, and when she says this, she actually touches her finger to her nose, just like Addison did.” I repeated the gesture. “I guess I shouldn’t have a problem with any of that. I’m not the boyfriend-stealing type.”
“You’re not?” he asked.
“No. Sorry.” I patted his knee playfully and wished he really did look rueful.
“But I resent this old lady getting all up in my business,” I said. “I just want to twirl, you know? She acts like we’re role models for the rest of the school. I’m thinking . . . on what planet? We’re dancing with batons in skimpy, glittery outfits in front of any lecher who pays for a ticket into the football stadium. We are the modern-day equivalent of the dance hall girl.”
Honestly, I was still doing my extroverted act, trying to get through this awkward time with the guy my best friend had already claimed. I didn’t expect him to be interested. Or to converse with me. When several seconds of silence passed, I figured he’d zoned out.
Then he said very seriously, “Football players get that role model speech too. When adults say shit like that, I guess they’re thinking you’re always a role model when you can do something that takes guts and concentration. Though I’m not sure why guts and concentration are so important in the adult world. It’s like they want all of us to grow up to be high-rise construction workers.”
I giggled. “Or dance hall girls!”
“Or something,” he agreed.
“Anyway, we majorettes have to keep our noses extra clean for the next few weeks,” I said, “because we have a vote coming up right after the first game—the game we play against you guys—to see who will be next year’s head majorette.”
“And you’re up for head majorette?” he prompted me.
Me? “Yeah, technically, Addison and a girl named Delilah and I are all up for it. We’re the only three rising juniors on the majorette line. The rest are seniors. It has to be one of us. It’s definitely not going to be me. Delilah has stage fright. Addison isn’t worried. She’ll get it for sure.”
“And you don’t want it?” he asked.
I should have said no. Instead, I shrugged, as if the answer might be yes. I had no idea why I did that. The vote for head majorette was just another popularity contest, this time among the majorettes rather than the whole school. I didn’t want to win a popularity contest over Addison. I didn’t care at all. Did I?
But because I didn’t give Max a firm negative, he looked at me probingly for another long moment. Then he asked, “What are your duties as head majorette?” Funny, he phrased it as if I were actually going to get this position.
And as I described it to him, for the first time I pictured myself in the role. “I would stand in the middle of the football field and twirl my baton on the fifty yard line, while my fellow majorettes were banished to the forty-five and the forty and the thirty-five. And whereas all the other majorettes would wear a blue sequined leotard, I would wear a white one, appearing to glow like a gargantuan pearl, which is what every girl dreams of. I would greet the visiting band officers during games along with the drum major of the band, the drum captain, the flag captain, and so forth. I would be an ambassador of the baton, if you will.”
Max laughed a deep belly laugh as he coughed out, “But why do you vote this year for next year’s head majorette?”
“Well, you’re the head majorette–elect. You watch the current head majorette and learn from her. The rest of the junior majorettes have to try out again in the spring to make the squad for their senior year, but the head-elect automatically gets on the squad.”
Max grinned. “Like on a reality show? She’s granted immunity and can’t be voted off the island?”
“Exactly!” I exclaimed. “And there’s a reason. If we didn’t have a head-elect who was immune, it’s conceivable that when Addison, Delilah, and I tried out next spring, none of us would make it. An entirely different set of girls could be on the squad. So you’d have a whole team of first-year majorettes, and nobody would know what was going on. Mrs. Baxter wants somebody with experience to help her out.”
“That makes sense.”
“Yeah. But it’s not fair. We perform at one game and vote for head majorette at the end of it. It’s just a popularity vote—and a continuation of the whole tryout process. Did you know we had to do a routine in front of the whole school? Most of the people voting for us had no idea how good or bad we were. They were voting only for how we looked. It’s a miracle I made the line.” I shook my head, thinking back to that awful day last April. “I was heavier then, and I lost sleep over it. Judging people on how they look isn’t fair.”