***
The next day, at the beginning of band, I waited until Ms. Nakamoto turned on her microphone and started explaining what we would do that period. Then I set my drum on the grass—Will watched me curiously but didn’t ask what I was doing—and I walked through the band and up the stadium steps. Ms. Nakamoto didn’t seem to notice Harper walking down the steps in another part of the stadium. She’d gotten out of last period to take pictures and document the coming event for the yearbook.
Ms. Nakamoto kept talking to the band until I stopped right beside her. “Yes, Ms. Cruz?” she asked.
“May I borrow that?” I asked, reaching for the microphone. “Just for a sec.”
Surprised, she handed it to me.
I cleared my throat and read from my notes. “We—” My voice boomed around the stadium. The band yelped a protest, and the cheerleaders slapped their hands over their ears. I backed the microphone away from my mouth. “Sorry. We the students present to you, Ms. Nakamoto, the Sawyer De Luca/Will Matthews Heat Relief Proposal. We understand that dress codes are necessary for schools to function in what the faculty thinks is an appropriate manner. However, our school, in allowing students to disrobe partially during summer practices on school grounds, has already acknowledged that its dress code is not always comfortable for its students, or even safe. We would like that exception to be extended to practices outdoors year-round. We would like you, Ms. Nakamoto, to be our advocate in presenting this proposal to Principal Chen. In the interim, while the proposal is being considered, we respectfully request that you stop enforcing the dress code during afternoon practices on the field.” I pulled off my shirt.
That was the cue. With a prolonged whoop, all the cheerleaders and the entire band took off their shirts—the girls were wearing bikini tops underneath—and threw the shirts up in the air. The cheerleaders unfurled a long paper banner they’d made like their spirit signs for football games. It said REMEMBER THE FALLEN PELICAN.
When the rainstorm of shirts cleared, Harper still stood on one of the benches along the sidelines, snapping pictures. Besides her, only Will was still fully dressed, because he was left out of Kaye’s student council call tree. He looked around at the half-naked band, bewildered.
Ms. Nakamoto glared at my bikini top, then at me. “I told you I wanted you to take on more responsibility, and this is your first foray?”
I put the microphone down where it wouldn’t pick up what I said. “Yes ma’am,” I told her. “You weren’t here when Sawyer fainted yesterday.”
She nodded and seemed to search my face for a moment. “Okay,” she finally said.
I put the microphone to my lips again. “Mr. Matthews,” I said in Ms. Nakamoto’s voice, “you may take off your shirt.”
The band whooped again, the cheerleaders clapped, and the drums yelled “Take it off!” through cupped hands. Will shrugged off his harness, slowly and sexily pulled off his shirt, balled it up, and hurled it toward the goalpost, just like he’d thrown his phone on the first day of practice.
Ms. Nakamoto was glaring at me again. Hastily I handed her the microphone, dashed down the stairs and across the field, and loaded my drum harness onto my shoulders.
As she resumed her announcements, Will leaned over. “Did you do this for me?”
“I felt really bad about Sunday,” I whispered. “I shouldn’t have broken up with you that way.” I looked into his eyes, as best as I could guess through both our sunglasses. “I shouldn’t have broken up with you at all. And I honestly wasn’t doing what you thought I was doing with Sawyer. But as you said about putting your hand on Angelica at the beach, you and I aren’t together, so it doesn’t matter whether you believe me or not. I just wish you did.”
He put his drumstick on my drum and circled it slowly. “What if we went back to hooking up, like you wanted at first? We tried it my way, and now we’ll do it your way. You can be with other people, and I won’t get jealous.”
I raised my eyebrows at him.
“Okay, I will,” he acknowledged, “but I won’t make a stink. I feel like we’re meant to be together. We just haven’t figured out how. And I would really like to get in trouble for touching you right now.”
I crossed my hand over his to place my drumstick on his drum. “What if we tried it your way again? I’ll give it more than twelve hours this time.”
He grinned. “What are we talking? Eighteen? Twenty-four?”
“Three days,” I suggested. “Until the first football game, and then we can decide whether we want to renew our contract.”
“Why don’t we wait until after the first football game to talk about it?” he suggested. “At whatever party we go to. Or at the beach, in my car.” Ever so slowly, watching Ms. Nakamoto, he edged toward me. His earring glinted in the light. He turned and kissed the corner of my mouth while I giggled.
Ms. Nakamoto called through the microphone, “Mr. Matthews, get off Ms. Cruz. I’m starting to sound like a broken record.”
Down the line of snare drums, Jimmy tapped his watch and said, “Seven minutes.”