Me, You, & The Party Rock Crew

“Did you hear my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism, like some kind of congressman?” -Taylor Swift, Anti-Hero, 2022. 

The school bell rang, and the hallways erupted with chatter as students rushed out, buzzing with excitement. By tomorrow, they’d be scrambling–nearly toppling over each other–to get ready for the dance. Some might even get pulled out of class early for last-minute hair appointments. Izzie allowed it. She understood the struggle. 

Today, however, was different. 

She had deliberately blocked off her afternoon for one thing: troubleshooting the wires with Simon. 

Right on cue, her phone rang the moment she stepped toward the gymnasium. His name and face lit up her screen again. She really needed to change that contact photo–something more neutral, or maybe something ridiculous. 

Taking a breath, she answered. 

“Hey, Simon, thanks for calling again,” she said, injecting as much cheer as she could muster. 

“Just here to help an old friend,” Simon chuckled. 

His laugh twisted something deep in her chest, coiling in knots she didn’t even know could still form. She had to stay focused. She had maybe an hour tops before he went home to her. And after that? She’d pretend this conversation never happened. 

“I’m just entering the gym now,” she said, gripping the door handle. “I’ll turn on FaceTime as soon as you’re ready.” 

“Yup, I’m ready.” 

She flipped the camera the moment the call connected, making sure it stayed pointed at the wires. It wasn’t that she didn’t look good–she damn well looked good. Her back-length Senegalese twists gleamed, honey blonde with streaks of platinum, catching the light like gold thread. She looked radiant. Like the sun. 

He didn’t need to experience all that. 

Not yet, at least. 

“Okay,” Simon said, scanning the video feed. “Seeing these up close doesn’t make it too bad at all. You’ve got all the materials handy, right?” 

“Yup, I do.” 

Jose was proactive. In case this fix didn’t work, he had bought a box of Christmas lights and borrowed a few strobe lights from Diana–the same ones they used for their Friendsgiving rager. 

Now here Izzie was, kneeling on the gym floor, looking completely idiotic–she was sure of it–with her now ex-best friend guiding her through reconnecting loose and frayed wires. 

“First thing you want to do is cut some electric tape. Do green for the green wires, we can start off with those first,” Simon instructed. 

“You always start with green,” Izzie teased. 

“Green for good luck.” 

“Or because it’s your favorite color,” she shot back, rolling her eyes as she set the phone down. She cut a few strips of tape and held them up in her dominant hand. 

“Good, that’s a good size. You’re going to want to tape the frayed wires now and wrap them around. Just like we used to do in crew.” 

“Gotcha, give me a sec.” 

She focused on the task, willing herself to push aside the memories of Crew–short for theatre crew. After all, he was engaged to the one person who nearly got her kicked out in the first place. She shook the thoughts away and finished taping, then held up the wire to show Simon. 

“Good, that’s good,” he said approvingly. “Alright, next one is red. Staying in the Christmas spirit and all. Use the black electrical tape this time. You’re going to want to cut longer pieces and tape it down lengthwise to create an insulation tube again. Best to cover it twice.” 

“I can do that,” she nodded. 

However, the moment she touched the wire—

ZING. 

“Fuck!” she yelped, jerking her hand back. 

“Izzie, are you okay?!” Jose and Simon both said in unison. 

She shook her hand off, feeling the faint tingle of the shock. “Uh…I think we have a live wire.” 

Jose’s eyes widened in alarm. He could’ve sworn he turned off the light system. Without hesitation, he bolted to unplug it, shaking his head. 

“Sorry about that, boss.” 

“Someone plugged it in earlier,” she sighed, flexing her fingers. “Jose, I’m going to have you finish what I started, alright?” 

“Izzie, are you sure you’re okay?” Simon’s voice was laced with concern.  “Maybe you should get that checked out.” 

“It’s fine, it was a minor zap. My knees just need to take five. I don’t have the knees of a 20-year-old anymore,” she groaned as she slowly pushed herself up, her knees cracking in protest. 

“DAMN,” Jose covered his mouth, barely holding in his laughter. 

“Shut UP, Velasquez,” she shot him a glare. 

“Relax, relax, I’m kidding! Don’t hit meee!” Jose laughed, ducking playfully. Simon’s laugh echoed from the other side of the phone. 

“Izzie, I told you, the knees thing was gonna happen in no time!” Simon called out. 

“Oh, shut up, Mankowski, you jinxed all of our knees!” 

“No, ‘pos wow,” Jose muttered under his breath with a smirk. 

Did he know the history? Mostly, yeah. After a bottle of tequila and a long walk helping a drunk Quinn find his truck, Izzie had drunkenly spilled the whole epic saga of Simon Mankowski. To hear the man now, casually reminiscing like they were still friends, was a little more than ironic.  

“Alright, Jose, you ready to walk through the rest?” 

“For sure, bro. Talk to me.” 

Izzie paced slowly around the gym, trying to get movement back in her knees. As she did, she heard the two of them chatting like it was the easiest thing in the world. Her heart sank a little. He was still so stupidly charming. Any second now, Jose would start singing his praises, and that would be it. 

“Yo, Izzie!” Jose called out. 

“Did you guys get it?” she asked, heading back over. 

“Yeah, but…this cord,” Jose held it up in his hand, “It’s a clean cut.” 

“You have any idea who might be trying to sabotage the dance?” Simon asked. 

Izzie rubbed her temples, trying not to spiral. Her mind flashed with images–Sammi’s smirk, Elaine’s side-eyes, Heather’s smug look–and the simmering anger threatened to boil over. 

“Is she–” Simon began.

“Let her cook,” Jose hissed. 

“Can it be fixed?” Izzie finally asked, her voice flat. 

“Very easy fix, boss. Don’t even worry about it,” Jose assured her with a smile. 

“I’ll talk to Amy and Jorge. From now on, only school personnel are allowed in the gym,” she said sharply, turning on her heel and walking out. 

She was seeing red. All she wanted was to take Heather by the hair and drag her straight into the middle of the street. 

That was the thing about Izzie. On the outside, she looked calm–composed, even. But inside? She could level the entire Los Angeles metropolitan area with how hard she burned. 

“Huh…” Simon murmured. 

“The PTA moms here are pretty vicious,” Jose pointed out. 

“PTA moms everywhere are vicious,” Simon chuckled. 

“Ehhh, I don’t know how Chicago gets down. Santa Monica’s a whole different breed,” Jose replied. “We’re LA-adjacent out here. Gotta have moxie to survive…and Izzie’s got it.” 

Simon wanted to say to this guy–say that he knew Izzie like the back of his hand. That they’d been best friends since they were terrified 14-year-olds, trying to survive the chaos of high school. 

But before he could, both men froze at the sound of a distant, muffled shriek. 

Izzie had let out her rage in a full-throated scream. 

Jose shook his head and picked up the phone, carrying it with him. 

“She never ceases to scare the shit out of me,” he muttered under his breath. 

“That’s just Izzie things,” Simon chuckled. “As our crew used to say back in the day.” 

Jose raised an eyebrow–but Simon didn’t catch it, luckily. 

This foo swears he knows Izzie, Jose thought. But he still hurt her? 

Didn’t add up. But whatever. He’d vent to Tania about it later–maybe she’d have a better read on the situation. 

“Izzie, you good?” Jose called out as he opened the hallway door. 

Izzie was standing there, wiping tears from her face, her shoulders rising and falling as she tried to pull herself together. 

“Yeah,” she sniffled. “I’m good. Totally good.” She took a breath, squaring her shoulders. 

“Hey, Iz, I’m here if you want to–” 

“Simon,” she cut in, taking the phone from Jose and turning the camera to face herself at last. Her face was raw, vulnerable, but set with determination.

“Holy shit–you’re blonde now?” he blurted.

“Yeah,” she said, rolling her eyes with a shaky laugh. “Listen, I have to go. I’ve got things to handle. Okay?”

“Okay,” okay he said quietly. 

And just like that, the call ended. She took another breath, deeper this time. Calmer. 

Jose glanced at her, concern etched across his face. She gave him a small, confident smile–one he recognized not as peace, but as a warning. 

It was the smile she wore when she was ready to fight. 

And not fairly. 

Not clean. 

“Where’s Maribel?” she asked. 

“Room 206–since you know, no gym,” Jose replied, a little wary. 

“Let’s go have a chat with her,” Izzie said, her voice dripping with honey and venom. 

Her smile sent goosebumps racing down Jose’s arms–and not in the good way. It was the kind of smile you’d swear a lion might flash, and for a moment, you’d think it meant no harm. But it wasn’t a smile at all. It was the baring of teeth. The warning before the kill. 

She started up the stairs, sneakers thudding against the tile with steady precision. Her keychain jingled along with every step: bright, cheerful, and deceptive. 

Rule #1 of going into battle: gather your allies. 

Maribel Ruiz was her biggest one at SaMo Middle School. 

Her right-hand woman. Her ride-or-die. The one going toe-to-toe with Heather if it came down to it. 

As Izzie turned the corner and knocked on the classroom door, Maribel was hunched over a clipboard reviewing logistics. Her group leader, Lenora, was in the middle of organizing the sixth-grade crew–Green Group–lining them up to head outside. 

As soon as Izzie stepped inside, the sixth graders erupted with cheers. 

“Alright, alright,” Izzie laughed. “Get back to listening to Ms. Lenora!” 

She shot Lenora an apologetic glance. The other woman waved her off with a grin–after all, Izzie was the principal. 

“Ms. Wallace,” Maribel smiled warmly. 

“Ms. Maribel,” Izzie replied, mirroring her smile. “Can I steal you away fro a few minutes?” 

“Of course. What’s going on?” 

It didn’t take long for Izzie to explain everything: the suspicious wire, the near shock, Simon, and Jose’s discovery. 

Maribel’s brown eyes widened with every word. 

“Woah,” she breathed out. 

“I know,” Izzie sighed, rubbing her temples again.

“Heather, of course, is willing to stoop down to any level,” Maribel muttered. “She’ll throw on her little white woman tears and play innocent.” 

“Well, if she goes low, I’m going to hell,” Izzie grinned. 

“Isabella,” Maribel warned. 

“What? It’s my school, and she tampered with school property,” Izzie huffed. 

“Okay, but let’s be strategic. You can’t just bull your way through this,” Maribel said firmly, giving her a knowing look. 

“I know…” Izzie sighed, letting out all the frustration she’d been holding in her shoulders. 

She hated that Maribel was right in this aspect. 

Play checkers, not chess. 

Oversimplify the hell out of it and make Heather look like an idiot in front of the whole school. 

“Locking her out of the school is step one, right?” Maribel asked. 

“Right,” Izzie nodded–then paused. 

She spotted them. 

Alexis. Maya. Mila. Jennie. 

The daughters of the PTA’s most diabolical quadrant–roaming the hallways like they owned the place.

“On second thought–” she began, her voice trailing.

“My dad’s making carne asada tonight,” Maribel jumped in, catching on immediately. “We can strategize there. You know–where the walls don’t have ears.” Her smile was all teeth. 

“Ugh, say no more, I’ll be there,” Izzie groaned, already picturing the Ruiz family’s legendary carne asada tacos. Honestly, who could resist? 

She straightened up and turned her attention to the girls. “Ladies,” she said crisply, voice echoing just enough to command authority. “Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere?” 

“Our moms asked if we could check the PTA closet in the gym for something,” Maya said sweetly. 

Heather’s daughter. A clone in every way–from the orange-tinted spray tan to the overly bleached hair and calculating blue eyes. 

“That won’t be necessary,” Izzie replied with a smile sharp enough to slice. “I’ve locked up the gym for the evening. We’re prepping for tomorrow’s dance.” 

Maya exchanged a look with the others–Alexis, Mila, and Jennie. Something in that glance screamed, busted. 

“Oh,” Maya said, putting on the most dramatic pout. “Well, my mom just wanted us to–” 

“Did you forget something in there?” Izzie asked calmly. 

“Well, no, but she asked Mr. Velasquez about seeing the lights–” 

“She just missed him. By now, he should be out of the building.” 

“Well, we were wondering if we could maybe–” 

“No.” 

The word cracked through the hallway like a whip. 

It was firm, direct, with zero room for negotiation. 

Izzie was not about to get into a stand-off with a 14-year-old mini-Heather, no matter how much her inner teenager itched to do so. She was the adult here. 

“You’ll see the final results tomorrow,” Izzie continued coolly. “If your mothers have any concerns, they’re welcome to email me tonight.” 

Maribel returned with her tablet just in time, standing tall beside her. 

“You two were assigned to Red Group. So why are you wandering the halls?” Izzie’s eyes flicked to Alexis and Mila. 

Caught. 

Both girls gave sheepish smiles and scampered off toward Room 210 without another word. 

“And Jennie,” Maribel turned to the last girl. “Your dad signed you out over an hour ago, and your mother isn’t even here. Why are you still on campus?”

Izzie’s gaze darted between Maya and Jennie, eyebrows raised. 

“Huh.” 

“W-Well, my mom–” Maya started.

“Your mom broke school rules, then,” Izzie interrupted smoothly. “Unless Jennie’s mother was on campus to supervise, there’s no excuse. And both of you know better.”

Her voice turned sharp. 

“Both of you. My office. Now.”