Cool for the Summer, Dahlia Adler [classic literature list .txt] 📗

and get some space from the other girls. Chase is having a great time—that much is clear—and it’s a little infectious. I do my best to let go of the digs and champagne headache and enjoy the night like I’m supposed to. When Chase kisses me, I kiss back. When he grinds against me on the dance floor, I press right back against him, feeling how badly he wants me. I smile for pictures, smile when people comment on how adorable his asking me to the dance was, smile when recent graduates come over to say hi and compliment him on his season, smile when Dee Harker, who was on the JV squad with me when I was a freshman and she was a sophomore, says, “I guess it’s true that patience is a virtue!” and nods in his direction.

Even people who’ve graduated can’t see me as anything more than The Girl Who’s Always Loved Chase Harding.

Onstage there’s a tap at the mic and a screech of feedback. My stomach sinks. The time has come to announce Homecoming King and Queen. Even through all my dreams of standing alongside Chase in our crowns, I’ve never really believed that Homecoming Queen is a title I could win—not as long as Shannon’s around. And that’s fine; it’s only a cheap plastic crown. But it was a fun dream … or it was until I realized it might be more than that. Judging by the amount of attention we’re getting tonight, I might actually have a shot.

I don’t think anyone has ever wanted a crown less.

They announce the court for the guys, and we cheer as Lucas, Chase, and a bunch of other guys jog to the stage. Immediately, the crowd starts chanting “Harding! Harding! Harding!” and Vice Principal Kanner smiles wryly and says, “Well, I guess your Homecoming King won’t come as any surprise—Chase Harding!”

I don’t know how to whistle, but I try, and I clap along with everyone as my boyfriend bends to accept his crown. It looks perfect on him, like it was always meant to sit on his head and bring out the sparkle in his eyes.

How would I look in the matching crown?

Would it look like it was made for me too?

I don’t have to wait long to find out whether I’ll be joining him. The more boring job of crowning one of the guys in near-identical tuxes is done, and it’s time for the queens. They announce Shantay Reynolds and Christina Morse and, bam, there it is—“Larissa Bogdan!”

And, quieter but still audible, Shannon and Jasmine’s whispered “Chase’s girlfriend!” and peals of laughter that follow me all the way to the stage.

I’m seething as the rest of the names are called, including Shannon’s, and I watch her sweetly preen like she didn’t just mock her best friend as a pretender ten seconds earlier. For the first time in our lives, I want to beat her, want to yank this dream of hers she’s acting like she never had all the way out from under her.

And then, I do.

“Your Homecoming Queen is … Larissa Bogdan!”

The room bursts into applause when my name is announced as the winner, and sure, maybe it’s because I’m Chase’s girlfriend, but I don’t give a damn. I smile so brightly at the sound that I’m sure Jasmine can see it from wherever she is, and Shannon can’t avoid it from her vantage point on the stage. I don’t want them to miss a single clap as the crown is placed on my head, and I certainly don’t want them to miss Chase sweeping me into a dramatic movie kiss as the entire room explodes.

“Congratulations, my queen,” he murmurs with a smile. “As if there was any doubt.”

“I believe it’s time for us to dance, my king.”

We head down to the dance floor and it feels like I should be wearing something dramatic and floor-sweeping rather than a sparkly full-skirted cocktail dress that barely clears my knees, but the way Chase looks at me when the spotlight finds us in the crowded gym makes it clear he thinks I look plenty regal. I try to focus all my attention on him, and while I succeed in ignoring the people snapping pics of us to post with crown emojis, I can’t help searching for Jasmine in the crowd.

I want her to see this, how real it is, how real we are.

But when I find her, she’s making vomiting motions at Kiki, who mercifully refuses to laugh.

Suddenly, I can’t see Chase or the spotlight or anything else other than red.

How fucking dare she? What is her absolute need to make sure I’m miserable at all times? She chose to drop out of touch with me and send me back to my life without so much as a note that whoops, by the way, she’d be moving here and I’d have to see her every fucking day. What am I supposed to do with that? What am I supposed to do with this?

The minute the dance ends, I tell Chase I’ll be right back. I have never appreciated more that he is not a follow-up–question kind of guy. He gives me a quick kiss and turns to his buddies, and I grab Jasmine by the wrist and yank her out into the hallway without giving a single damn who might be watching.

“What the hell, Lar—”

“No,” I cut her off. “That is not your question. That is my question. What the hell happened to you, and why do you hate me?”

“God, Larissa, could you be any more dramatic?”

“Cut the shit, Jasmine. You’ve spent the entire last month acting like I barely exist, like last summer never happened. It happened. We spent every damn day together. Every damn night together. Did it all really mean so little to you?”

I expect a smartass answer, but she draws herself up to her full height, towering over me in her glittering stilettos. She’s shaking, anger radiating off her skin. “You don’t get to ask me