Homecoming Court Quotes

I'd always thought death would be some sort of peaceful homecoming - a sweet, sad lullaby to usher me into whatever waited afterward.

less than an hour ago, all I'd wanted was detention. Now, I was nominated for homecoming court and going to the big dance with the hottest guy in school. Somewhere out there, God was laughing at me. I was sure of it.

The senior class already nominated Beth for homecoming court and Ryan is dating her.' I become a rock. This isn't how I wanted my parents to find out.

So," Benji says when Chloe finds Georgia next to him, "I know things have been crazy, but I just wanted to say, oh my god! Shara Wheeler is in love with you, and Georgia has been secretly dating a member of the Homecoming Court. Like, what is going on?? Also, when do I get a hot person??" "I saw you flirting with Ace," Chloe counters. "Yeah, he's, like, Dodge Truck Month level straight. I'm not wasting my time.

I waved away a fly that buzzed in my ear, my hand caked with blood both my own and foreign. I’d always thought death would be some sort of peaceful homecoming—a sweet, sad lullaby to usher me into whatever waited afterward. I crunched down with an armored boot on the flagpole of a Loyalist standard-bearer, smearing red mud across the tusked boar embroidered on its emerald flag. I now wondered if the lullaby of death was not a lovely song, but the droning of flies. If flies and maggots were all Death’s handmaidens.

I'd always thought death would be some sort of peaceful homecoming- a sweet, sad lullaby to usher me into whatever waited afterward.

I expected to be happy, but let me tell you something. Anticipating happiness and being happy are two entirely different things. I told myself that all I wanted to do was go to the mall. I wanted to look at the pretty girls, ogle the Victoria's Secret billboards, and hit on girls at the Sam Goody record store. I wanted to sit in the food court and gorge on junk food. I wanted to go to Bath and Body Works, stand in the middle of the store, and breathe. I wanted to stand there with my eyes closed and just smell, man. I wanted to lose myself in the total capitalism and consumerism of it all, the pure greediness, the pure indulgence, the pure American-ness of it all. I never made it that far. I didn't even make it out of the airport in Baltimore with all its Cinnabons, Starbucks, Brooks Brothers, and Brookstones before realizing that after where we'd been, after what we'd seen, home would never be home again.

As I thought about endings and – being a lover of fairy tales – I knew immediately that the deeply rooted last line in folk stories, ‘And they lived happily ever after’, is the core of what we think we know about endings. We hear it always in our hindbrain because it’s the last line most of us in the West have grown up with. That line stops the story at the point of greatest happiness. The wedding, the homecoming, the mystery unraveled, the villain disposed of, families reunited, babies born. If we went on in the story Cinderella, she might be whispered about in court: after all, her manners are not impeccable, she always has smudges of ash on her nose, and no one can trace her bloodline back enough generations. Perhaps she has grown fat eating all that rich food in the castle, and the prince’s eye has strayed. If we went on in The Three Little Pigs, the brother who builds with bricks will have kicked the other two lay-abouts out of his house, or hired them to run his successful company and they – angry at their lower status – plot to kill him. But, having little imagination, do it the only way they know how, by trying to boil him in the pot that still holds the memory of the wolf’s demise, so of course the brick building pig finds them out. But modern books pose a different problem. They present harder choices. It’s no longer fairy tale endings we are talking about, but the other stuff, more realistic, stronger, difficult, and maybe not happy-ever-after stuff.

I heard that every time Sarah takes a shit, she saves it in a plastic bag and she’s planning to throw it on the homecoming court.

I’d always thought death would be some sort of peaceful homecoming—a sweet, sad lullaby to usher me into whatever waited afterward.

I'd always thought death would be some sort of peaceful homecoming - a sweet, sad lullaby to user me into whatever waited afterward... I now wondered if the lullaby of death was not a lovely song, but the droning of flies. If flies and maggots were all Death's handmaidens.

It’s homecoming week at school and I’ve been nominated to the Homecoming Court and voted “Leading Leader” of my senior class. Soon after my release from the mental hospital, I sit on the edge of a convertible in a pretty blue suit, waving to crowds of people lining the sidewalks for the homecoming parade. My mother and grandmother drive me through the crowd and I can feel their hope. We’ve been through so much and here I am, being admired. It feels like victory to them. But I know the truth. You have to be known to be loved, and none of these waving people knows me. They only know my representative. This is not a victory parade for me, but for her. She is the one waving. I am the one holding my breath again, underneath. She is the star; I am the mental patient.

By lunchtime, the cafeteria was buzzing with homecoming news. Ava had decided to join my friends and me at lunch, much to their dismay. “We don’t have any time to waste,” she announced, dropping her salad and water bottle onto the table. She was right. It was Wednesday and the votes for homecoming court were going to take place the following Monday. That left me with two days to get votes. “I don’t know, Ava. I’m not going to be baking cupcakes and putting up a million posters. If people want to vote for me, they will.” Ava shook her head. “No way. We won’t be doing any of that basic stuff. Leave it to me. I have a plan.” Before she could tell me what her plan was, Lucas joined us. He gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “Guess who got nominated for prince.” I had already heard, and I wasn’t surprised. Everyone loved Lucas. What was there not to love? He was cute and had an awesome personality. There wasn’t a mean bone in his body. “Congratulations,

I am now a girl who, even when she’s forty-four years old, can roll her eyes and mention, offhandedly, well, I was on the Homecoming Court. Others will roll their eyes, too (high school!), but they will also register: Ah. You were Golden. Golden is decided early, and it sticks, somehow, even when we are grown and know so much better, so much more. Once Golden, always Golden.