Major Crush(14)
Author: Jennifer Echols

“Right,” I said, nodding. “People get very, very touchy when you mess with their traditions.”

Drew poked me once in the ribs. I might have flirted back with him, or at least stepped a little closer to him. Except that a poke in the ribs meant nothing next to a love pat to the derrière.

Mr. Rush continued like he hadn’t noticed Drew touching me. “Separate but equal. Illegal. A nd I said so loudly enough in the faculty meeting that the tradition is no more. From now on, the girl who gets the most votes will be Miss Homecoming. A nd the runner-up will be Miss Victory. No matter what race they are.”

I thought about how this would affect A llison. She probably would be a candidate for Miss Homecoming/Miss Victory when the nominations were counted next week. She’d always been a maid on the homecoming float. She expected to be Miss Victory. Probably everything would stay the same under Mr. Rush’s new rules.

Mr. Rush still ranted. “You can’t designate school positions by race. I don’t care what the tradition is. A nd I don’t care what the principal thinks of me for saying so.”

Drew and I looked at each other again.

“Okay, that last part is bullshit,” Mr. Rush admitted.

Drew gestured toward the senior bus. “What’s Ms. Martineaux here for? Your bodyguard after the faculty meeting?”

“I almost forgot to tell you,” said Mr. Rush. “Morrow, you and Sauter will be in charge of the freshman bus.”

I hadn’t wanted the freshmen, but now that part of my responsibility was being taken away, I wanted it back. I didn’t need Drew’s help. I said, “The bus is packed. There’s not enough room for Drew to have a seat.”

“Share a seat,” Mr. Rush said. “In fact, share the backseat. Lord knows we don’t want kids feeling each other up back there.”

I felt myself flash red at the idea. I must have looked like a traffic light every time I got around Drew and Mr. Rush started in with his comments.

Worse, Drew didn’t hide that he hated this idea. “I’m supposed to be on the senior bus”

“Right, with your squeeze,” Mr. Rush said. He reached up to grip Drew’s shoulder sympathetically.

“Squeezes,” I corrected him.

Mr. Rush laughed. “Good one.” He gripped Drew so hard that Drew winced. “You’re out of luck, Morrow. The flag coach is chaperoning the sophomores, I’ve got the juniors, and Ms. Martineaux has the seniors. We need to break her in gradually. I don’t expect seniors to throw each other out the window. Freshmen, I’m not so sure. It may take both of you to handle them.”

“We don’t need another chaperone,” I said. “I can handle the freshmen fine.”

“He’s using this as an excuse to come on to Ms. Martineaux,” Drew said.

Mr. Rush folded his arms and gave Drew the stare.

Drew folded his arms and stared right back.

This went on for a few seconds. Finally Mr. Rush said, “Try to foil me, Morrow. Cross me, and I’ll cross you.” Drew and I watched him walk to the junior bus.

I turned and looked up at Drew. “What was that? Some secret guy code?”

“Yeah,” Drew said without meeting my eyes. “I’d better get my uniform.”

I climbed onto the freshman bus and announced that everyone on the left side had to move up one seat. This was the equivalent of throwing a hurricane onto the bus, but it seemed more fair than telling the people in the backseat that they had to move to the front. People fought for the backseat like it was a backstage pass to a Maroon 5 concert.

The couple in the back didn’t appreciate my kindness at all. They wouldn’t budge. I tried to explain the situation in terms they could understand: Mr. Rush was crazy.

Drew climbed onto the bus and walked down the aisle behind me, towering over the freshmen. He said to the couple, “Move.” They scrambled into the next seat. He dropped his uniform bag on the floor and slid next to the window.

Drew was the real drum major, and I was someone to be ignored. But standing there in the aisle with my hands on my hips didn’t do any good. The bus was starting. A nd Drew couldn’t even see me being mad, with his head leaned back on the seat and his eyes closed.

The bus lurched forward. I had to sit down next to him before I fell. “What’s your problem?” I asked. “Did you get guff from the Evil Twin because you’re not riding to the game with her?”

He opened his eyes and looked at me uneasily. “Could you hear her yelling all the way in here?”

I shook my head.

He closed his eyes again, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly through his nose. “It’s kind of a relief not to have to deal with that for three hours.”

Was he saying he’d rather be around me than the twin? Knowing the twin, this wasn’t saying much. But he was dating her. He was saying I was better than his girlfriend. Right?

Seems like he did care what I thought of him, at least. He opened his eyes, sat up, and asked, “A re you mad at me?”

I batted my eyelashes at him. “Why in the world would I be mad at you, Drewkins?”

He pursed his lips to keep from laughing, an expression I was growing very fond of, unfortunately. “The way you were looking at me outside the bus before Mr. Rush came down.”

“I was looking at you that way because your girlfriend was shooting daggers at me through her own eyeballs.”

“She’s not real into you. She thinks I like you.”

Oh, interesting. “Why would she think that?”

“Because we’re getting along now. A nd because of the dip. A nd sitting in the backseat of the bus together isn’t going to help.”

I wanted to ask, “Well, do you like me?” But of course I didn’t. This was actually sort of somewhat halfway serious drum major business, for the good of the band and getting along and all that. I said, “It’s your job to keep her off me. If you can’t keep your girlfriend from talking ugly about me behind my back, you’re not keeping up your end of the bargain for us to be friends.”

“But that would be if we were real friends. I thought we were fake friends.”

Maybe he was just making fun of me for what I’d told him about my nose stud last Tuesday. While I was still trying to work this out in my head, he asked, “Have you been talking to the band about what happened at the game on Friday?”

I wondered if he was angry that I’d run the public relations campaign behind his back. “Some,” I said cautiously. “Why?”