Homecoming Queen (22 page)

But the last straw for DJ was seeing Conner and Haley in an embrace next to his red pickup. It felt like someone had twisted the knife in her back as she realized how happy they were together. And even though she prayed as she drove to her physical therapy appointment, she didn’t feel much better when she got there. And as she went through the exercises and even practiced walking with a cane, she felt like crying.

“You seem a little down today,” said Selena. “I thought you’d be a little more excited about getting off the crutches.”

“I am,” said DJ in a flat voice. “But I guess I’m just sick of everything. Sick of hurting, sick of being left out, sick of being incapacitated.”

Selena nodded as she adjusted a strap on DJ’s new walking boot — black this time. DJ knew she should be glad about that; but the truth was she didn’t care. She didn’t really care about anything.

“As you know, this is our last session, DJ.” Selena stood and placed her hands on her hips. “You’ll continue with the exercises at home, but you won’t need to come in here again.”

DJ nodded. “Yeah. Thanks for everything, Selena. You’ve been great.”

Selena smiled. “I wasn’t fishing for compliments. But before I sign you out for good, I have one last exercise for you.”

“What?”

Selena handed DJ a card with a name and an address written down. “Who’s Lacy Michaels?” asked DJ.

“Your final therapist.”

“Do I need an appointment?”

“I’ll call and let her know that you’re on your way.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.” Selena glanced at the big clock. “I’m letting you out twenty minutes early anyway, so I know you have the time. It’s less than three minutes from here.”

DJ thanked her again and drove over to what turned out to be the Ronald McDonald House, across from the hospital. It seemed weird to be without her crutches, and walking with a cane was awkward.

“I’m here to see Lacy Michaels,” she told the woman who opened the door.

“There she is,” said the woman, nodding to where a girl was sitting at a table coloring a picture of a horse.

“Are you DJ?” The girl smiled brightly at her.

“I am. Are you Lacy?” DJ was confused.

The girl stood and shook DJ’s hand. “Selena said you needed to talk to me about something.”

DJ wasn’t sure what to say. So she sat down and picked up a crayon. She knew that Ronald McDonald House was for kids who were sick. Did that mean that Lacy was sick? She looked okay.

“Do you have Ewing’s Sarcoma?” Lacy asked.

“What?”

“Bone cancer.”

“No.” DJ looked down at her leg. “You mean because of the walking cast?”

Lacy nodded.

“No. I broke my leg.”

Lacy brightened. “Oh, you’re that girl who saved that little boy, the one who was in the news, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” DJ smiled.

Lacy looked confused. “So why did Selena send you to talk to me?”

DJ considered this. “Do you have — I can’t remember the name — but do you have bone cancer?”

“I’m in remission.” Lacy stood now and pulled up her jeans to reveal a prosthetic leg made of metal and plastic. “They had to amputate my leg when I was six. That was five years ago. I come in for checkups once a year.”

DJ felt foolish. Obviously, Selena had sent her here in an effort to nip this little pity party in the bud. “So, how are you feeling now?”

“Really great.” Lacy grinned.

“Why are you here at Ronald McDonald House?”

“My mom and I stayed here when I went through my treatments — because it’s a long drive to the hospital from our house. Now we just spend the night here when I come for checkups. The people here are so nice. It’s always fun to see them.”

“That’s a pretty horse.” DJ pointed to the picture. “You’re a good artist.”

“Thanks. That’s Dandy, but he’s not mine.”

“Whose is he?”

“He lives at Sunshine Stables, the place where I take riding lessons.”

“You take riding lessons?”

“Dressage. That’s like English.”

“Oh.” DJ thought about this one-legged girl learning to ride a horse.

“My mom said I can get a horse of my own when I’m twelve.” Lacy giggled. “I used to be worried that I wasn’t going to make it to be twelve. But this morning the doctor told me I might get to be one hundred and twelve.”

“Do you think you’ll still be riding a horse then?”

Lacy laughed. “Yeah, I hope so.”

“Well, you’re an inspiration, Lacy.”

“Why?”

“Because I was feeling sorry for myself for having a broken leg.”

Lacy smiled knowingly. “That’s probably why Selena sent you to talk to me. I’ve talked to lots of kids about this stuff. I guess it’s kind of like therapy for me too.”

DJ nodded, feeling totally pathetic.

“Can I have your autograph?” Lacy tore the picture of the horse from the tablet then pushed the blank tablet toward DJ.

“Sure, but I don’t know why.”

“Because you’re famous.”

DJ picked up the red crayon and scrawled “DJ Lane” across the paper and handed it back. In the meantime, Lacy had written “To DJ” on top of the horse picture and “Love, Lacy” at the bottom. “Here,” she told her. “This is for you.”

“Thanks!”

“Are you going to be okay?” Lacy’s pale eyebrows drew together with concern.

DJ grinned. “Yeah, I’m going to be great.” They both stood, and DJ hugged Lacy. “Thanks for helping me.”

“You’re welcome. My mom says that I would make a good counselor someday.”

“Your mom is right.” Then DJ told her good-bye and slowly headed back out. Still, she felt strangely encouraged as she drove across town toward home. She felt sorry for Lacy — well,
sorry
wasn’t the right word. She felt some kind of empathy for the girl. And yet Lacy said she felt great. She really was an inspiration. And as DJ pulled into the driveway at Carter House, she was determined to learn from Lacy. Whether it was feeling sorry for herself for getting hurt by a car or hurt by a boyfriend, DJ was determined to have no more pity parties!

20

“YOU’RE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE THIS,”
said Rhiannon. DJ was on her way to U.S. History, her last class before lunch. And, still not used to walking with the cane, her leg was aching and she wasn’t moving too fast.

“Can it wait?” asked DJ. “I’m running late.” Then she laughed. “Okay, I’m not exactly
running
anywhere, but I am late.”

“I’ll walk and talk,” said Rhiannon as she went alongside her. “You just listen.”

“Okay.”

“Someone has decided to run a write-in campaign for you.”

DJ stopped walking now. She turned and stared at Rhiannon. “What?”

“For homecoming queen.”

DJ groaned. “Why?”

“Probably because people like you, DJ. And maybe they’re sick of the other options.”

DJ laughed and started walking again. “Like I’d even have a chance. The votes are supposed to be cast during lunch, right?”

“Right. But the word is spreading like wildfire. I can’t believe you didn’t hear about it yourself.”

“Well, it’s a crazy idea, but I guess there’s nothing I can do about, right?”

“I don’t see how. But I thought you should know. And I didn’t want you to hear it from Eliza. She’s not too happy.”

“Oh, great. She’s in my next class.”

“I know.”

“And Taylor too.” DJ frowned at the door to the classroom.

Rhiannon patted her on the back. “Good luck.”

DJ hadn’t even gone through the door before Eliza accosted her, pulling her off to one side of the hallway. “You’re not going to go through with it, are you?”

“What?”

“Being a write-in!”

DJ just shrugged. “It wasn’t my idea.”

Eliza smiled hopefully. “So, you’ll put a stop to it then?”

“How?”

“I don’t know. Go on the radio and tell everyone that you’re not interested.”

Now DJ felt offended. “Why wouldn’t I be interested?”

Eliza looked sheepish. “Well, you’re not, are you? I mean, here you are with your cane and your big funny boot. Surely you don’t want to be homecoming queen looking like
that.”

Something about the way Eliza said “that” just got to DJ. And suddenly, for no rational or explainable reason, DJ wanted to run as a write-in. Even if it was just to rock Eliza’s world. She smiled and began walking again.

“You’re not going to stop it?” Eliza frowned.

“I don’t see how I can.”

“But my parents are here. They came to see me crowned.”

“And they probably will see you crowned, Eliza.” DJ put a hand on her shoulder. “Seriously, what chance would I have against you?”

Eliza nodded. “Yes. You’re probably right.”

“So, chill, okay? We’re late for class.”

Of course, DJ found it impossible to think about history, U.S. or otherwise. All she could think was — how had this happened? Who had launched this crazy write-in campaign? And should she be flattered, or should she be scared? What if it was something Madison had schemed up, a prank? And suddenly, it seemed that had to be it. Madison was trying to split the vote. She wanted DJ to steal votes from Eliza enabling Madison to win.

As soon as class was over, DJ looked for Eliza. But she’d already taken off. Probably off to get more votes.

“I heard the news,” said Taylor as she came and walked alongside DJ. “Congrats.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Are you kidding? I think it’s cool.”

“Well, I don’t,” said DJ, trying to walk fast, which seemed hopeless. “I just figured it out. Madison is behind this. She wants to split the vote so she can win.”

Taylor laughed. “That’s not a bad theory, but it’s all wet.”

“How do you know?”

“I have ears.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve heard people talking. The write-in is because of you, DJ. People like you, and they’re not too fond of the other candidates. If you ask me, you’ve got the best chance of winning.” She grinned and slapped DJ on the back. “I know I’m voting for you.”

“No way!”

Taylor nodded and winked. “Oh, yeah. Way.” Then she hurried off toward the cafeteria where ballots would be collected.

Several people came up to DJ as she hobbled like an old woman toward the cafeteria. Some wished her luck. Some said they were voting for her. No one seemed to think it was a bad idea. Still, DJ knew better than to get her hopes up. That was crazy. By the end of the day, she’d probably get a handful of votes — the sympathy votes. But then it would be over. And she would be glad.

“We have breaking news,” said Garrison’s smooth voice over the school loudspeaker. It was last period, and DJ was in the locker room folding towels. She had PE, but since she wasn’t able to participate in class yet she was given oddball tasks. “The votes have been counted, and although the final outcome will not be revealed until the big game tonight, there has been a successful write-in candidate who will now be part of the homecoming court. Congratulations, DJ Lane —
you are a contender!
See you all at the game tonight. Go, Mighty Maroons!”

All the girls in the locker room cheered, and soon they were coming over to congratulate her.

Taylor didn’t cheer, she got serious. “We need to go shopping,” Taylor said.

“Shopping?”

“Oh yeah. You need a dress for tonight.”

“But I was going to swim — I promised my therapist I’d do three days a week.”

Taylor frowned. “But you need a gown.”

“This is crazy.”

“Crazy like a fox.” Taylor grinned now. “I have a plan. I’ll drive you to the pool and take your car to do some scouting.”

“Scouting?”

“For a gown.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll pick you up at four thirty. Can you be ready by then?”

“I guess.”

Taylor dropped DJ at the pool. “You be out here at four thirty,” she said. “Don’t be late.”

DJ promised. Her head was still spinning from this strange development. She wondered if she really had to go through with it. But then she thought of everyone who had congratulated her. She thought of kids who’d said things like, “Wouldn’t it be cool if a nice, normal girl won this year?” She thought of the girls in PE and friends on the volleyball team — all who’d been happy for her. Could she really let them down?

“Congratulations, DJ,” said Haley as DJ hobbled across the deck with her cane.

DJ blinked in surprise. “Uh, yeah, thanks.”

“That’s really cool.” Haley nodded. “I voted for you too.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“Uh, I was wondering, do you have an escort?”

“An escort?”

“You know. All the candidates are supposed to have an escort.”