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  She grins, her eyes reflecting warmth. “Based on what I’m hearing, I believe it is, Charlie. Good luck. Now let’s get some more photos.”

  Todd has me stand in front of the white backdrop. I strike a pose, arms up, one leg extended like I’m about to run across the mat for my floor routine.

  “All right, beautiful! Let’s see those dimples.” Todd hops sideways and then darts forward to move a piece of stray hair out of my face. “Perfect. Relax. Keep that smile. There you go.”

  The camera shutter chatters.

  I bring my arms down, extend them out, make them parallel with the floor. I toss my head back. I’ve posed for enough photos to know my good side.

  “Love your shining eyes! You’re made to be in front of a camera, you know that? You sparkle.”

  He’s a total cheeseball, but I do feel pretty sparkly.

  “Let’s get some on the beam,” Marcia says. “That’s her strong suit. You don’t have to actually do a routine. Simply balance yourself on the beam.”

  “But where’s the fun in that?” I ask saucily.

  So I do a couple of forward flips, backflips, and a few other maneuvers. Todd’s laughing, telling me he’s getting some great shots. I’m having so much fun hamming it up that I forget about the time. It’s only when my mom-radar picks up her face peering anxiously at me through the glass of the parent viewing area that I remember there’s a time limit.

  “Oh gosh,” I say. “I’ve got to get to school. Did you get enough shots?”

  Todd lowers the camera and steps back, flipping through the images on his camera. “What do you think?” he asks Marcia, who moves in to better see the photos. They talk among themselves for a minute as he flips through the shots.

  “You did great,” he finally says. “Sure, if you’ve got school, you’ve got school.”

  Mom waves me over. “How was it?”

  “Fantastic!”

  “You’re glowing.” Mom touches the tips of my hair. “You look beautiful, honey. I’m sure it will be a gorgeous spread with you and Gwen.”

  I nod. “I can’t wait.”

  As I hurry to the locker room to change from Charlie back into Charlotte, I can’t curb the tingles that reach to the ends of my fingertips. If I make the Olympics, I’ll be doing this sort of thing all the time—but it won’t be limited to media coverage that only gymnasts know about. It’ll be broader outlets that appeal to a wider audience. I’ll be public, out in the open. My life will never be the same. . . .

  I’m not sure if I’m excited or terrified.

  Chapter Nine

  * * *

  I arrive at school in time to hear the bell signaling the beginning of lunch. Before making a mad dash for Mr. Alto’s classroom, I have to check in and get an absent slip for the two classes I missed. Because I didn’t have a lot of time, at the gym I changed out of my leo into a long T-shirt, leggings, and sandals. In the car I swapped my contacts for my glasses and brushed out my hair so that it now flows past my shoulders.

  I’m out of breath and a little nervous when I finally make it to Mr. Alto’s classroom. Not too tardy, but I’m apparently the last to arrive. I have no time to settle in and get comfortable with this situation.

  Most of the desks have been pushed back, leaving room for a dozen to be arranged in a circle. Seven girls and four boys are occupying the seats, and the students all look at me, those with their backs to the door turning around. I stare in disbelief. Bobby Singh is glancing over his shoulder at me. His mouth spreads into a wide grin.

  Mr. Alto is sitting on the edge of his desk. “Come on in, Charlotte,” he says. “Take your seat.”

  Which must be the empty one, the one directly across from Bobby. Trying to hide the fact that I’m flustered by his presence, I drop into place. I let my hair fall into my face as I slowly unfold the top of my paper lunch bag and draw out my mostly squished turkey sandwich and my hulking bag of fresh veggies.

  Mr. Alto clears his throat. “Everyone, say hello to Charlotte. She’s agreed to fill in while our secretary’s out of commission.”

  There are a few murmurs, but the only voice I really hear is Bobby’s saying, “Hey.” I don’t know why I’m so tuned in to the sound of his voice, except that it’s deep and rich and shivers through me.

  “Charlotte, you probably know who everyone is, but if not, you’ll learn their names when you call roll.” He hands me a sheet of paper with a list of names on it.

  “Is this within the rules of our student government?” a girl sitting beside Bobby asks, giving me a small smile of acknowledgment. I know who she is. Everybody does. Kristine Altman is student body president and captain of the girls’ varsity soccer team. “I mean, can someone just come in here and fill in for someone without being elected?”

  Kristine’s words aren’t mean-sounding, but they are pointed, as though she’s truly challenging the legalities of my substituting for the secretary. I wouldn’t have even thought to care if it was okay for someone to replace someone else without an election.

  “I’m your adviser,” Mr. Alto says, his big voice filling the classroom. “The bylaws state that yours truly has to approve a fill-in, and since I’m appointing the fill-in person, I’m pretty sure it’s okay.”

  “But shouldn’t we get to choose?” another girl asks. I have no idea who she is, but she and the girl next to her have their hair arranged in matching topknots. They’re also wearing matching yellow-and-black Jefferson High Yellow Jacket hoodies with a soccer emblem on the shoulder, signaling that they’re also on the soccer team. Their desks are so close to each other, their shoulders touch. “I mean, I can think of tons of people who would love to fill in. What about them? This doesn’t seem fair.”

  I take an awkward bite of sandwich. I so wish I weren’t sitting in this room right now. Maybe Mr. Alto should have warned them about me before I actually showed up.

  Bobby is shaking his head, tightening his mouth as though to stop himself from speaking. He seems impatient with the questioning of my right to be here. I wish I’d paid more attention to the student council. If I’d known he’d be here . . . Well, I still wouldn’t have said no to the opportunity to bring up my grade, but I wouldn’t be sitting here wondering what he thought when Zoe wouldn’t give him my number. Since he smiled at me, he couldn’t have been too upset.

  “I’m the adviser,” Mr. Alto repeats, more firmly this time, bringing my attention back to him. “It’s only a couple of weeks. I’m excited for Charlotte to see what student government’s all about. She’s a girl with a good head on her shoulders, a hard worker, and I can tell she’s a great leader. A diamond in the rough, just waiting to find her place of leadership in our school. I’d like to encourage that. So, again, I’m appointing her temporarily. When Mandy gets back, Charlotte will have to step aside and wait till next year, when she can run for an office.” He winks at me. Embarrassment causes heat to rise in my cheeks. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m glad Mr. Alto thinks so highly of me, but did he have to say all that in front of the entire student council? In front of Bobby? He’s going to think I’m the teacher’s pet. No one likes a teacher’s pet. Although, why do I care if he likes me?

  The boy to the left of me is tapping his pen against the desk, obviously bored.

  “Thanks, Mr. Alto,” I say belatedly, because everybody seems to be waiting for me to say something.

  “All right.” He slaps his hands together. “Let’s get this meeting under way, shall we? Kristine?” He wanders over to a seat in the corner and settles in, crossing his arms over his chest, grinning contentedly.

  Kristine shuffles some papers. “Okay. I hereby call this meeting to order.”

  I take another quick bite and fold the front cover of my notebook back, click my pen so that it’s ready.

  “Do you have the agenda?” Kristine asks, eyeing me.

  I swallow my bite of sandwich too early and have to take a gulp of water to get it down. My eyes are watering by the time I can answer. �
�Uh, sorry. I didn’t know I had to do that.”

  She flicks her blond hair over her shoulder. “I provide the talking points, but Mandy always puts the agenda together because she is amazingly organized. So I’ll just work from my talking points. Go ahead and take the roll.”

  “What’s the point?” Bobby asks. “We all know everyone is here.”

  “Mandy’s not,” Kristine says.

  “That’s obvious,” Bobby tells her. “I just don’t think we have to be so formal.”

  “Then you should have run for president. I want the roll called.”

  I appreciate Bobby trying to make things easier for me, but I just want to get this done with as little trouble as possible. I rattle the paper Mr. Alto handed me. “I’ve got it. No problem.”

  I call the roll, grateful for the opportunity to put a name with every face.

  “All right,” Kristine says when I’m finished. “The first item to discuss is prom.”

  There’s a collective groan from the four boys in the room. I kind of get their lack of enthusiasm. I know Zoe really wants to go, but I haven’t given it much thought. It’s not like I have a guy in my life who would be willing to shell out the money it takes to go to prom. Then there is the fact that he has to be a junior or a senior. And with the trials coming up, I’ve been pretty much ignoring everything else. Which might be one reason why I’m here.

  “I know, I know,” Kristine says, waving her hand. “It’s not something that student council usually involves itself in, but some of us are very, very concerned that this year will suck if we don’t step in. The prom committee”—she sniffs—“hasn’t even selected a location yet, and prom is only three weeks away, which is why I made an executive decision and told Deidre that we were taking over. I mean, we owe it to the juniors, and especially to the seniors, since it’ll be their last prom. So the first order of business is to come up with a theme.”

  Tasha Nguyen raises her hand. She’s one of the topknot girls. She has black hair, while the other topknot girl—Jane Stables, I learned during roll call—has blond hair.

  “Yes, Tasha?” Kristine says.

  “How about Frozen? We could have ice sculptures and—”

  “What are we? Twelve?” Kristine asks.

  Tasha’s cheeks burn a bright red. I feel sorry for her. I thought her idea had potential.

  One guy’s hand shoots up.

  “Brandon?” Kristine calls on him.

  “How about a Star Wars theme? We could call it Prom Wars.”

  “Yeah!” the other guys shout. The ones sitting near Brandon knock their knuckles against his in a show of solidarity.

  Kristine rolls her eyes. “No.”

  “This isn’t a dictatorship,” Brandon says. “You have to put it to a vote. Isn’t that right, Mr. Alto?”

  Mr. Alto looks up from his phone. “That’s right.”

  I have to admit that I’m finding it a little interesting that everyone is taking the workings of the student council so seriously. It’s remarkable that they not only know all these rules but care about them. It matters to them that things are handled correctly.

  Kristine sighs. “All right, then. Do I have a motion?”

  Brandon raises his hand again. “I move that the prom theme is Prom Wars.”

  “I second,” a guy named Alex says.

  “It has been moved and seconded,” Kristine says. “All in favor raise your hand.”

  Four hands shoot up. All belonging to the guys. Bobby catches my eye, gives his head a little jerk like he has the power to mentally raise my hand. But I have visions of a sci-fi convention atmosphere. If Zoe’s wish comes true and Michael asks her to prom, she would kill me if lightsabers were being wielded.

  “Ah, come on,” Brandon whines. “Don’t y’all want the guys to want to go to prom?”

  “It’ll become a costume ball. They’ll all dress up like Han Solo,” Tasha says.

  “What’s wrong with that?” Brandon asks.

  “Everything,” Tasha says.

  With a huff of air Brandon slouches down in his chair. “You guys are no fun.”

  “The motion does not carry.” Kristine looks pointedly at me. “Did you get all that for the minutes?”

  I give her a thumbs-up. “Got it.”

  “Okay, so any other theme suggestions?”

  I glance around. The girls’ brows are furrowed in concentration, although I suspect that most just don’t want to have their ideas shot down by Kristine. The guys have all crossed their arms over their chests in defiance. I guess they’ve given up.

  I’m trying to think of something that could be fun and different. Last year I competed in a world competition in Paris. Gwen brought home the gold with her bar routine, while I brought home a gold on beam. We didn’t get to do a lot of sightseeing, but still I fell in love with the City of Light. Tentatively I raise my hand.

  “Charlotte,” Kristine says.

  “I’m not sure if I’m allowed to contribute—”

  “You’ve been appointed to replace Mandy,” Kristine cuts in. “You have full student council member status.”

  She has such confidence, has obviously devoted some time to learning the rules. I have to admire that.

  “Okay, then. What if our theme is A Night in Paris? Paris is the city of love. We could put twinkling white holiday lights all over the ceiling and—”

  “Boring,” Kristine says.

  “I like it,” Bobby says.

  Kristine glares at him. “Really?”

  The three other guys are looking at Bobby like he’s lost his mind.

  “Prom is in three weeks,” Bobby says. “We’re short on time, so it’s not like we want anything elaborate. Maybe we could create a little river, make it romantic. You want romance, right? I just think it has potential.”

  “Okay.” Kristine smiles at him sweetly, like he’s special. I can’t blame her. He has definitely won her over with the romance aspect. He has won me over as well. It’s too bad I won’t be going to prom to see his vision of my theme. Even if by some miracle I were invited, it’s too close to Olympic trials. I have to cocoon my thoughts that close to competition. I can’t allow any distractions. Prom would be a major distraction, with shopping and appointments for hair, nails—

  “Vote!” Brandon yells, and I realize that just thinking about prom is distracting. I almost forgot I am supposed to be taking notes.

  The vote is nine to three in favor—Bobby is the only guy to vote in favor. It gives me an awesome sense of satisfaction to make a notation that I brought forth a motion that carried. Maybe I misjudged how much fun government could be.

  Of course, I also have to acknowledge that if Bobby hadn’t supported my idea, it might have gone nowhere.

  “Okay, next order of business is a venue-scouting expedition. Unfortunately, at this late date we have only one possible alternative to the gym, so we’ll check it out Saturday night,” Kristine says. “Everyone meet at the Roll-R-Rama at eight to evaluate its potential. Then we’ll discuss and vote at the next meeting.”

  “Cool, a roller rink,” Brandon says. “I could get into Rollerblading at prom.”

  Kristine rolls her eyes. “We won’t be skating at prom. We just need to visualize the venue’s suitability.”

  My hand shoots up, and Kristine calls on me, obviously impatient. But she’s not the one my question is for. “Mr. Alto, I don’t have to go Saturday, right?”

  “Of course you do,” Kristine says impatiently before he can answer. “You’re the appointed secretary.”

  I’m still looking at Mr. Alto, who’s studying his phone as though it’s the most important part of his world. “But you said I would have to participate only during lunch.”

  He finally lifts his gaze to me. “Government is not always predictable. You made a commitment. You have to see it through when something unexpected comes up.”

  I know all about dealing with unexpected issues—like when my dad got laid off from his job. I don�
��t need this class to teach me that. Nor do I need it to teach me about seeing things through. Even when I’ve known that my performance in the first two events of an all-around competition wasn’t good enough to receive a medal, I still gave the last two events my all. I didn’t stop giving it my best. I want to continue to argue that he’s reneging on our arrangement, but not with eleven other students as witnesses to a battle I’m probably going to lose. Okay, to be honest I don’t want to lose in front of Bobby Singh. So I clamp my mouth shut and decide to just be glad that it’s Saturday evening, when I don’t have practice.

  “Can we move on now?” Kristine asks me with a pointed look.

  I nod. “Sure.”

  “All right, then. Our last bit of business is to divide up into committees,” Kristine says. “I have them mapped out here. Bobby and I will handle the music, find us a good DJ. Who wants to be on the decorating committee?”

  By the end of that discussion, I’m on the refreshments committee with the guys—minus Bobby—with Brandon serving as chair. The remaining council members are on the decorating committee, and Jane is their chair.

  The bell rings.

  Grateful that I survived, I slap my notebook closed and push to my feet, very much aware of Bobby standing and waiting, his gaze on me. I give him a shy smile as I reach him.

  “I didn’t know you’d be here,” he says.

  I shrug. “It just came up yesterday.”

  “I was wondering how my I SURVIVED A CHICK FLICK badge was coming.”

  “Sorry. I haven’t had time.”

  “Yeah, Zoe said you were really busy. I had fun Saturday.”

  “Me too.”

  “But you don’t want me to have your number.” Statement, not question. I feel bad that I told Zoe not to give it to him; plus now it’s awkward.

  “Life is a little crazy right now.”

  “I have no problem with crazy.”

  I don’t know what to say to that.

  “Bobby!” Kristine calls out. “Got a minute? I need to talk with you about something.”