Chapter Fifteen

After my initial meeting with Isaiah, plus an idea that comes to me in the middle of the night (the best ones always do), I’m beyond eager for the next Fall Fest meeting.

I don’t even mind that Isaiah will co -lead this meeting with me, especially because he lets me kick things off.

“So, it became pretty clear in our first meeting that the Fall Fest was basically on life support,” I say.

“I’ve been brushing up on my CPR,” Isaiah jokes.

“Isaiah and I spent some time envisioning what this new version of the Fall Fest could look like, and I think we’ve got things going in the right direction.” I pull up a short presentation I threw together. “These slides will hopefully give you an idea of what we landed on.”

“And when she says we, Whit really means herself. This is pretty much all her. Turns out her spreadsheet wasn’t so outrageous after all,” Isaiah teases.

I give him a wel l- deserved eye roll. “My thinking is that we can bring the Fall Fest back to what it was originally intended to be: an over-the -top, incredible ode to autumn and the harvest. For the dance, I would love to go with a retro theme, sort of 1970s. I feel like that’s trendy and fun without being forced.”

Sophie and Marisol are nodding encouragingly as I speak. I switch over to some color swatches and outfit examples, explaining that I think the dance itself should be seventies-themed, and then show off some sample decorations we could draw inspiration from: disco balls, glitter walls, shiny red garlands, that kind of thing. I end on the vision board I showed Isaiah, the one that got him in line with my vision.

“The seventies theme is so good!” Sophie gushes. “I love that whole feel.”

Hudson actually claps his hands together. “This is perfect, Whit. It feels so chic! So fancy! So . . . opposite of a homecoming dance desperate to be deemed cool!”

I practically beam, especially when some of the other classmates chime in with their support. I grin at Isaiah, who tilts his head at me as if to say, See? I told you they’d like it!

“This is going to be so much better than those tacky other homecomings,” Marisol says, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “People aren’t going to know what hit them. Whit! You rocked this!”

“I’m so glad you all like this so far! And Isaiah actually had a pretty great idea, too . . .”

I k ick things over to him so he can present on the carnival.

People are equally enthused by that suggestion, and Isaiah even looks pleased with himself. But as he starts to wrap up, preparing us to move on to the execution discussion, I interrupt, riding high from everyone’s eager attention.

“There’s one last thing I wanted to mention,” I start, glancing at Isaiah. He shoots me a confused look, since this wasn’t part of our presentation, but lets me continue. “So, while we’re making changes to homecoming court, I’d like to propose adding an additional couple of honorees called nobility to the court. I was thinking these spots could honor some of the students at our school who are part of our special education program. What do you think?”

There’s a soft murmur from some of the committee, but my eyes cut to Isaiah first— I’m hoping to gauge his opinion. I’m expecting him to be nodding along, maybe with his jaw open a little, impressed by this grand epiphany I had.

He doesn’t really look pleased, though. In fact, the muscles in his jaw are clenched and he’s not meeting my gaze at all. Confused by this, I look to my classmates, and I’m relieved when they appear to have received the idea much more positively. Everyone seems to approve.

“Thank you, Whit and Isaiah. Wonderful job,” Ms. Bennett says. “Why don’t you take your seats and we can open the floor for feedback and a vote?”

On my way back to my seat, Sophie squeezes my hand. “Such good ideas! You two killed it.”

“You know I live for throwing a wrench in tradition, so I’m all in,” Marisol adds.

After a brief discussion among the committee, the group votes. We easily agree to the seventies theme; Hudson Moore’s suggestion to move homecoming court crowning to the dance from the football game; and the more inclusive homecoming court titles. The carnival is also enthusiastically approved, though my proposed Wear Your Coziest Sweater and Build Your Own Scarecrow days both get nixed. But I don’t care because we end with a unanimous vote in favor of creating a new “nobility” category, just like I suggested. All I think of is Lily.

At the conclusion of the meeting, Isaiah slips out of the classroom before I can even congratulate him on a job well done.

“Great job today, Whit,” Ms. Bennett says as I’m packing up my things. “I knew you and Isaiah would be great together!”

I smile at her. “Thank you. We had a surprisingly great first meeting. I’m feeling really optimistic.”

“Wonderful! I hope it continues. We’re making excellent progress already.” She gives my friends and me a little wave and the three of us walk out of school together.

“I’m so excited about officially opening the crown to everyone, without forcing folks to fit within a binary or deal with heteronormative bullshit,” Marisol gushes. “I can practically taste the win!” She mimes putting a crown on her head.

“You know, Queen Sophie and King Noah has a nice ring to it,” Sophie teases, pretending to rip the crown from Marisol and place it on her own head.

Marisol flips her hair over her shoulder. “Oh, it’s on!”

“I’m teasing. You know I have no interest and would do anything for you and Ari to win.”

“I know, Soph. I love that about you,” Marisol says with a smile. “And how great is the idea of adding extra honorees to the court? I feel like Lily could be a total shoo -in, i f she wanted!”

“I hope so!” I hold up my crossed fingers. “Hey, so, did Isaiah seem a little off to you in the latter half of that meeting?”

“Off how?” Sophie asks.

“Quiet?”

Marisol shrugs. “Hmm, I hadn’t really noticed. Maybe?”

“Now that you mention it, he was definitely more talkative during the first portion when you were presenting,” Sophie says. “Maybe he was just tired?”

“Hmm . . . maybe.” But I’m not convinced. Marisol pokes me in the side. “You worried about your man?”

“Yeah, you got me.” I roll my eyes. “Anyway, can I catch a ride home with you guys?”

“Only if we can stop for iced coffee,” Marisol says. “I’ve been craving one all day!”

It’s not long before we’re sipping Dunkin’ as we cruise toward my neighborhood. Sophie starts talking about a new podcast she’s created, but admittedly, I’m only half listening. What was up with Isaiah this afternoon?

I’m determined to find out.

The next day, I seek him out at lunch, and find him and his friends skateboarding in the back parking lot just beside the courtyard.

My inner rule-fol lower notes that they’re not technically supposed to be skateboarding on school property, but I tell her to shut up.

I catch Isaiah’s eye from where I’m standing and wave him over. He skates toward me.

“What’s up?” he asks, an edge to his voice as he continues skating.

“Hey. Sorry to track you down like this, but we didn’t get a chance to catch up yesterday after the meeting. I thought it might be good for us to get together this weekend to talk about homecoming,” I explain.

“I’m busy this weekend.” Isaiah loops around me. “But you’ll probably have no problem deciding everything for yourself. That’s what you want anyway, right?”

“What?” I ask.

He grinds his board to a halt and kicks it into his hand. “I got that sense during yesterday’s presentation when you totally blindsided me with an idea we didn’t even talk about.” He shakes his head. “You know, I thought we were on the same page, but if you’re still stuck on calling all the shots, go for it.”

“Wait, what? I wasn’t trying to take over.”

“Sure felt like it,” he says. “Why else bring up an idea without even talking to me first? I’m supposed to be your number two.”

“You are!” I insist. “I should’ve told you. Sometimes, I don’t know. I guess I can be a little . . .”

“Bossy? Single-minded? Unbelievably frustrating?” he suggests.

My stomach drops until I notice the corner of his mouth curving into a slight smile. He’s annoyed, yes, but also messing with me. So he can’t be that angry.

I breathe a laugh. “You forgot perfectionist.”

“Oh, I could’ve kept going. I just stopped for your sake.”

“In that case, thank you,” I say. “And I’m sorry. I got a little carried away. It was just that I came up with that idea late last night and I couldn’t even text you because I didn’t have your number or anything. I honestly didn’t think you’d care!”

It feels like a perfectly logical thing for me to say, but I can immediately tell it wasn’t. His face goes hard again. “Why wouldn’t I care?” When I don’t have an answer, he purses his lips. “Right. You assumed. I told you I thought this could be fun, and I meant it. I do care, and I feel like I’ve made that clear. And like I said, I have college applications to worry about, too, you know.”

Right. Of course. I hadn’t even stopped to consider that his interest was legitimate.

Embarrassed at my faux pas, I rush to apologize. “You’re absolutely right. I’m really sorry, Zay.” I don’t intend to call him by the old nickname and I feel my cheeks go warm at the slipup. “Isaiah. I meant Isaiah. Sorry.”

I expect him to be extra annoyed at the use of his old nick name— he’s been known as Isaiah for years now but instead, his lips tug into a true smile. “Wow. Haven’t been called that in a while.”

“God, I wasn’t even thinking. On all counts, apparently.”

“You’re good, Whitney.” And just like that, his icy demeanor is gone again and he’s back to being warm, easygoing Isaiah. “I guess in fairness to you, you’re right. You don’t have my number, so you couldn’t text.”

“I really couldn’t! And you’re not on social media. I looked.”

Isaiah’s eyebrows go up. “Oh?” He motions with his hand and says, “Gimme your phone.” I dig into my bag and pull it out, unlocking it and handing it over to him. A few quick taps and he hands it back. “Text me your big, brainy ideas next time, all right?”

I take the phone back and tuck it away in my bag. “Promise.”

“And maybe we can get together this weekend and put in some work,” he adds.

At this, I grin. “Thought you were busy?”

He tosses his skateboard on the ground and steadies it with his shoe. “I think something might’ve just opened up tomorrow night. But it probably won’t stay open for long.”

“Guess I better text you, then,” I say.

Isaiah hops up onto his board. “Guess you better.”

Without another word, he skates back to his friends, and I have to swallow down the jolt of excitement I feel at whatever this exchange just was.

Because I haven’t even been broken up with Aiden for a week. So there’s no reason for me to feel electrified by this.

Whatever Or might be.

After school, Marisol and I plan to get a bite to eat before we head to Sophie’s concert, the first of the semester.

“Where to?” she asks, buckling her seat belt.

“Mimi’s?” I suggest, referring to a tiny mom-and-pop restaurant that serves the most delicious Puerto Rican food downtown.

“It’s like you’re reading my mind!” Marisol pops on her sunglasses and rolls down the windows so we can enjoy the surprisingly warm day.

We sing along to the radio on the drive over, shimmying shoulders and dancing. When we arrive at Mimi’s, I offer to grab a table outside while Marisol goes in to order. Her Spanish is way better than mine, so I’m more than happy to let her take the lead, and I’ll Venmo her after.

While I wait, I pull out my phone and send a text to Lily.

Me: Hello?

Me: Is this Lily?

She writes back immediately.

Lily: Ya

Lily: What do you want?

Me: Sorry, it’s just been so long since I saw you, I thought maybe you’d changed your number, too!

Lily:

Lily: I’m home tonight. Abuela and I are playing dominoes.

Me: The one night I have plans!

Lily: Omg. You’re so dramatic.

Lily: Like you haven’t been busy, too!

I sigh. She’s right. I hate when she’s right. Can’t she just let me guilt her in peace?

Me: I know

Me: I just miss you, hermana!!!!

Lily: BYE

“What’s so funny?” Marisol’s voice asks as she sets our tray of food on the table.

“Nothing. Just annoying Lily,” I say, holding up my phone. “I’ve really been missing her lately, you know? It’s like overnight, she just grew up.”

“It must at least be nice to be in the same school now.”

“You’d think, but I feel like I barely see her! She doesn’t sit with us at lunch—”

“She has her own friends,” Marisol points out.

“— and she won’t even let me walk her to her locker anymore.” I frown.

“She probably wants a little independence.”

“She can be independent with me!”

Marisol makes a face. “That’s the opposite of independence, girl. And you know it. Just let her live a little is all I’m saying.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I say.

Marisol unwraps her sandwich, the delicious aroma of her tripleta wafting through the air, while I pull the clear plastic top off an aluminum container and practically drool over the arroz con gandules and chicken in front of me.

Between bites, I change the subject and ask, “How’s everything going with you?”

“It’s going,” Marisol says noncommittally.

“You’re gonna need to give me more than that!”

She sighs. “Mami has been on my ass about college applications. How fair is it that just because my older sister is ‘el ángel perfecto’ and got into an Ivy League school, now I have to worry about that shit, too? Sorry Natalia is such a freaking loser she has no life whatsoever and can dedicate her entire being to studying, but that’s not me. It’s so irritating.”

“Ugh, I’m so sorry,” I say, feeling a wave of gratitude over the fact that Abuela mostly leaves me alone about that kind of stuff.

Marisol grabs a tostone from the plate we’re sharing and pops it in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully for a moment. “It’s fine, I guess. I know she wants the best for me, but I have it handled, especially now that debate club is a thing.” She shrugs. “Anyway, what’s up with you?”

I shake my head. “Nothing, really. Just obsessing over Fall Fest.”

Her mouth quirks into a small smile. “I asked about you. Or are you Fall Fest?”

“Funny,” I say dryly.

When we finish our food, we order a giant slice of dulce de leche cake to split with Sophie after her performance. Soon, we find ourselves in the auditorium of Elmwood High, snagging front-row seats so we can cheer loudly for her (though, sadly, we didn’t bring foam fingers or paint our faces).

Sophie’s violin playing is serene, beautiful, and even though I’m not much of a classical music fan, the entire orchestra kills it, which will make the celebratory dulce de leche that much sweeter.