Lacy sat on the beanbag chair, tracing the zigzag edge of her paper crown. Colorful streamers crinkled overhead, and a balloon kept bumping her shoulder. Across the room, Bill, Stan, Richie, Eddie, Bev, Ben, and Mike were laughing together. She listened to their voices, the bass from the boombox thumping through the floor. She couldn't remember when she'd stopped feeling like the new kid.
Weeks earlier, she'd dragged her suitcase across Bev's gravel driveway. The stones crunched loudly under her shoes — too loudly, like everyone could hear how out of place she was. She stood at Bev's door with her knuckles raised, heart hammering. One knock. Two knocks. Then the door swung open.
"She's with us now," Bev announced to the room. Cards rustled. Snack bags crinkled. From behind a poker table, a group emerged — Richie, Eddie, Ben, Stan, Mike, Bill. They were all looking at her, all smiling. Richie immediately shoved a deck of cards into Lacy's hands. Eddie pressed a bag of sour gummies against her palm.
Lacy clutched the cards to her chest. The plastic wrapper of the gummies crinkled softly. Her shoulders dropped — really dropped this time — and for the first time all day, the tight knot in her throat loosened. She looked around at their faces, all lit up in the basement's warm glow. "Thanks," she whispered.
Later, Ben reached behind his back and produced a lopsided paper crown. "The new Loser gets a crown!" he declared, holding it up for everyone to see. Stan unfurled a banner that read WELCOME LACY in wobbly, hand-drawn letters. Mike dug into his pocket and pulled out a small brass key.
Mike pressed the key into Lacy's palm. It was cool and heavy, its teeth catching the fluorescent light. "For the club's secret locker," he said. Lacy closed her fingers around it, then looked up at each of their faces — Bev's bright smile, Ben's proud grin, Stan's wobbly banner still held high. They were all looking at her like she was one of them.
Back at the party, someone queued up a silly song on the boombox. The floor vibrated beneath Lacy's feet as the beat thrummed through the basement. She leaned her head against Bev's shoulder, watching the others dance and laugh. The streamers swirled above them like a rainbow canopy, catching the light.
Bev hummed along to the music, her head tilted back, eyes closed. Lacy watched her friends — Richie flipping cards, Eddie popping gummies into his mouth, Ben and Stan showing off their new banner to no one in particular. The balloon bumped Lacy's shoulder again. She laughed, and the sound surprised her. It sounded like hers.
Lacy looked down at the key in her hand, still warm now from being held. The paper crown sat crooked on her head, one peak dipping lower than the other. She thought about the gravel driveway, the knocking, the way her throat had been so tight she could barely speak. Five minutes. That's how long it had been since Bev slipped this crown onto her head.
But five minutes felt like forever, too. Or maybe it felt like nothing at all. The streamers kept crinkling. The boombox kept thumping. Bev kept leaning against her, humming that silly song. Lacy traced the crown's edge again with her fingertip. She was still Lacy. But she wasn't the girl who had knocked on a door anymore.
She was the girl who belonged. Lacy smiled, the crown sliding a little lower over her eyes. She pushed it back up with her thumb, then let it fall where it wanted to. The song changed, faster now, and everyone jumped up to dance. Lacy got up too, the key still in her pocket, the crown still on her head. She was home.
Lacy sat on the beanbag chair, tracing the zigzag edge of her paper crown. Colorful streamers crinkled overhead, and a balloon kept bumping her shoulder. Across the room, Bill, Stan, Richie, Eddie, Bev, Ben, and Mike were laughing together. She listened to their voices, the bass from the boombox thumping through the floor. She couldn't remember when she'd stopped feeling like the new kid.