Awkwardly Ever After (22 page)

“A
re you out of your
freaking
mind? You don't even like Chelsea Halloway!”

Mackenzie glanced up at me sheepishly from her bedroom floor. “Wow, Corey. Way to give me a heads-up. You know there is this thing called knocking. Maybe you've heard of it?”

“There are also these places called mental institutions. Girls who create posters for their boyfriend's ex-girlfriends should probably live there.”

She tried to wipe her hands off on her jeans, but succeeded only in sending glitter flying everywhere. “It's not that weird.”

“Chelsea Halloway for Prom Queen,”
I read aloud. “Seriously, Mackenzie? You can't post these up at school.”

Mackenzie shook her head. “No way. I've put too much time and effort and . . .
glitter
into these things not to use them. And I have a very small window of opportunity here. Just because I got Chelsea's name on the prom ballot doesn't mean anyone will actually vote for her.”

Careful to avoid any airborne sparkles, I sat cross-legged and checked out her work. The signs looked like they had been created by a well-intentioned preschooler, but I decided to keep that thought to myself.

“Want to tell me why you're campaigning for a girl who single-handedly made your life a living hell for three years?”

Mackenzie rolled her eyes. “You're exaggerating. Chelsea didn't even know I existed for most of that time. And now that she's going to a different high school and has a new boyfriend and y'know—”

“Isn't trying to convince Logan to dump you?” I suggested.

Mackenzie winced. “Right. Well, now that she's not doing
that
anymore, we're actually almost . . . friends.”

“Bullshit.” I crossed my arms and waited for the truth to come bubbling out of her. Mackenzie has never been particularly good at keeping her own secrets, especially around me.

“Okay, ‘friends' might be overstating it a little. We aren't enemies, though.”

“And for that she gets campaign posters?” I tapped one of the glittery signs for emphasis. “I don't think so.”

“Who else do you think is a contender for the crown?” Mackenzie demanded. “If Fake or Bake wins, one of them will only become more obnoxious—if that's even possible. And if by some fluke, I get a pity nomination because of the whole YouTube thing . . . that's even
worse!
”

“I don't know why you're so against the idea,” I said honestly. “I think you'd make a great monarch. Long live, Mackenzie.” I pretended to raise a goblet of wine. “Queen of the Geeks!”

Mackenzie laughed. “Thanks, but no thanks. Did you know there is a special dance for the king and queen? Seriously. They rule the dance floor while everyone else gawks at them. That's way too much pressure for me. I'd much rather dance with Logan when nobody is paying any attention to my moves.”

I could understand that. If I thought I could avoid all the openmouthed stares by creating a few posters, I'd be coated from head to toe in glitter too. Although I suspected that the decoration on my posters wouldn't look disturbingly like a cross between an octopus and a unicorn.

I picked up a glue bottle to test that theory.

“Do you, uh . . . ever wish you weren't dating Logan?” I asked nonchalantly, as if that were a perfectly normal question. “If the two of you weren't a couple, you wouldn't have to be dealing with all of
this.
” My gesture nearly splattered glue everywhere.

“Sure.”

I jerked my head up as I searched her familiar brown eyes for any sign that she was messing with me.

“Seriously?”

Mackenzie laughed. “
Of course,
I do! Every time someone gives me a slow once-over and then shakes their head because they still can't figure out what Logan could possibly see in me . . . that hurts. And yeah, my life would be a whole lot simpler without him. I'd have more time for my homework, that's for sure.” She glanced ruefully at a stack of textbooks that were piled precariously on top of her desk. “It would be easier to catch up with Jane. Although now that she's busy running
The Wordsmith
and dating Scott, that might be wishful thinking.”

“So then why don't you do it?” I sprinkled some pink glitter onto the petals of the flower I had outlined in glue. It wasn't half bad.

Mackenzie looked at me like I'd lost my freaking mind. “Off the top of my head? Because he makes me laugh and he doesn't care that I'm America's Most Awkward Girl. He wants to be with
me,
even when I make a complete idiot out of myself in front of his ex-girlfriend . . . even when I'm a total wreck after seeing my dad. And I don't want to change him either. Not his dyslexia, or his popularity, or even his past with Chelsea freaking Halloway.” She glanced away from the rose taking shape on my poster and then glared at what I assumed was a horribly misshapen heart on hers. “Don't you feel that way about Tim?”

“Tim never dated Chelsea freaking Halloway,” I said evasively. “I'm pretty sure he'd have mentioned her by now if he did.”

Mackenzie laughed. “Probably. Although the two of them would have the most insanely beautiful children the world has ever seen.”

I had no trouble picturing a little toddler with Chelsea's huge blue eyes and Tim's thick jet-black hair. Fast forward a few years and the kid would probably be ruling the preschool through sheer force of will—when not crawling the red carpet, of course.

“Okay, so I will never suggest using her as a surrogate,” I said, pretending to really have to think it through. “I can live with that.”

Mackenzie nodded. “The human race thanks you. But seriously . . . how are things with Tim?”

I began creating a long stem for the rose and then added thorns. Lots and lots of thorns. “In the wise words of Facebook: It's complicated.”

“Yeah? Well, why don't you talk and we'll try to uncomplicate it.”

That was the reason I had driven to Mackenzie's house, but now I wasn't sure I wanted to speak. Hanging out with one of my best friends was comforting. Just the two of us.

It was so easy to pretend that nothing had changed.

“I don't know, Mackenzie!” The words tumbled out in a rush. “I have no freaking clue, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? Tim just
does
things and then he expects me to get onboard with them. I kept telling myself the problem was that we were long-distance or that we could never get alone time together . . . but I think it's me. Or maybe it's
him.
I don't know anymore.”

“Wow,” Mackenzie said. “Okay. Here's a crazy idea: Have you tried talking to him about this?”

I squirted way too much glue onto one of the posters, leaving a goopy mess that rivaled Mackenzie's ugliest attempts at flowers. “When
exactly
do you think I should bring it up?” I growled sarcastically. “Right after he said he wanted to uproot the band to Portland for me? Or maybe in the principal's office when he negotiated our prom experience in front of my parents. I know, I should totally bring all of this up at prom. Nothing like getting into a huge fight in front of the
entire
school.”

“Are you so sure you'd get into a huge fight?” Mackenzie asked tentatively. “He loves you, Corey. There's got to be a way to work this out.”

“Do you know how to call off the paparazzi constantly hounding us? Because if you do, I'm all ears.”

Mackenzie grabbed my hand, preventing me from sprinkling blue glitter on the blob and forcing me to meet her eyes. I instantly wished I hadn't glanced up, because the concern in them was almost too much for me.

“If you can't handle the rock star lifestyle, there is no shame in that,” Mackenzie said quietly. “Not everyone is cut out for a life in the spotlight. Trust me, I get it. Just like not everyone can handle a relationship with someone in the military. It doesn't mean you don't love him.”

“I thought love was supposed to triumph over everything.”

Mackenzie nodded, but her smile twisted with sympathy at the bitter words. “Yeah, but that doesn't mean the timing can't suck.”

I rubbed my face absentmindedly with my hand, realizing too late that I'd just coated myself in glitter. “God, I can't believe I'm acting like this! Remember when we mocked kids who thought they met the love of their life in high school? When exactly did I become one of those idiots?”

Mackenzie laughed. “Hey, right there with you. Sometimes I still glance at Logan and think,
Um . . . sorry. When exactly did he fall for me? Can someone explain how that happened?
” She gestured at the posters sprawled out at our feet. “I'm making prom posters for
Chelsea Halloway!
I think it's safe to say that nothing has turned out the way I expected.”

“You really think you'll be together with Logan in college?” I felt like a jerk for even asking the question, for putting voice to a fear that probably crept in whenever she poured over college brochures.

She shrugged. “I hope so. But even if we're not . . . it won't change the way I feel about him right now. That's enough for me.”

I laughed hoarsely. “Okay, who are you and what have you done to my geeky best friend?”

Mackenzie grinned, dipped her finger in a thick puddle of glue, and swiped the tip of her nose with it. “How's that? Recognize me now?”

“Nope, but I think you're getting closer.”

She nodded and released red glitter, except instead of coating the tip of her nose, she accidentally breathed some of it in. “Oh crap. Bad life decision. Very bad life decision!” Mackenzie managed to say as her nostrils flared wildly. “You don't have to laugh quite that hard at me, you jerk!”

But I did.

“I love you, Mackenzie.”

She looked like an elementary school kid who had gotten a bit overenthusiastic with a Valentine's Day project, but she accepted my statement with a nod.

“I love you too. Always have, always will. Now, will you
please
help me finish these stupid posters?”

Yeah, that I could handle.

I
agreed to drive Mackenzie back to school in the dead of night.

Well, okay, it was more like eleven o'clock by the time we got there, but it felt a whole lot later. Maybe because we had spent hours bedazzling every inch of the posters. They still looked like the work of amateurs to me, but I was hoping that would win over the “nonconformist” kids at our school.

I didn't really see anything nonconformist about wearing lots of black and trying to out-indie their friends by listening exclusively to bands they had found from low-budget movie soundtracks. But it was entirely possible that they would be the swing vote that determined who'd get the crown.

Which meant that it was essential we kept our identities a secret. Mackenzie's plan would only work if voting for Chelsea seemed like an obscure prank that the out-crowd was pulling on the current batch of Notables. So even though Smith High School was pretty much the last place on earth I wanted to be on a Thursday night—or ever for that matter—I patiently taped a sign that read,
CHELSEA HALLOWAY MIGHT NOT DESTROY YOU . . . BUT WHY TAKE THE CHANCE
? to the outside of the cafeteria.

“Are you sure about this one, Mackenzie?” I asked, trying to keep the skepticism out of my voice.

Mackenzie admired our handiwork. “Definitely. I think it strikes just the right amount of fear.”

“I thought you were against underhanded tactics.”

Mackenzie shrugged. “If there's one thing I've learned from politics, it's never to underestimate the power of blowing a valid concern way out of proportion. And when it comes to Chelsea . . . they should be afraid. Very afraid.”

I burst out laughing. “Well, it's definitely more original than the fliers Patrick and Steffani handed out yesterday. Did you know they were dating? I only found out when I saw them acting all couple-y by the ticket booth.” I gestured at the glossy poster of the Notables that was taped only inches away from Mackenzie's creation. “Maybe I should make a little addition?”

Mackenzie crossed her arms and examined Patrick's pearly-white smile as if she were in a modern art museum trying to make sense out of a particularly bizarre exhibit. “What do you have in mind?”

“We could always adjust their tag line,” I suggested. “
Let's Make Prom Better Together
seems like faulty advertising to me. Let's Make Prom
Bitchier
Together, on the other hand—”

She shook her head regretfully. “As lovely as that sounds, I want to beat them in a fair fight.”

I shrugged. Maybe my willingness to draw a mustache on Steffani's upper lip meant that my moral compass was skewed. But after all the crap those two Notables had put my friends through, I didn't really care. As far as I was concerned, the jerks had it coming. “Your call, Mackenzie. But keep in mind that prom voting will begin”—I glanced down at my watch—“nine hours from now.”

“I doubt anyone is buying into their Abercrombie and Fitch ad campaign. So I am way more curious about the money trail.”

“The
what?
”

Mackenzie pointed at Steffani's face. “This picture has obviously been retouched, airbrushed, and professionally Photoshopped. Considering that they weren't even dating two days ago, that's a pretty tall order for a photographer. Jane told me that Scott was impressed with the quick turnaround. So how exactly did they afford it?”

I couldn't stop myself from rolling my eyes. “They're
Notables,
Mackenzie. I'm sure their parents agreed to foot the bill.”

She didn't stop staring at the poster as she considered my explanation. “I don't think their parents are loaded. Remember when Patrick accused me of being a gold digger for liking Logan instead of him?”

“Yeah, because when I think of you, ‘gold digger' is totally the first adjective that comes to mind,” I scoffed. “That guy is an idiot.”

“No debate here. But if his parents would pay for a huge expenditure like this, why would he ever consider money as a factor?”

That was Mackenzie; always trying to find a reasonable explanation for everything. Even when the answer couldn't be any more obvious.

“You hurt his manly pride.” I thumped my chest with a closed fist. “We're a whole lot more sensitive than we like to let on.”

Mackenzie rolled her eyes. “I refuse to dignify any of that with a response.”

I grinned. “You're overthinking this. Patrick wanted to get back at you for turning him down. That simple.”

“I guess . . .” Mackenzie looked far from certain. “It's weird that he's trying this hard to be voted prom king, though, right?”

I burst out laughing.
“You are trying even harder to get Chelsea Halloway elected prom queen!”

“Yeah, but that's different.”

“Newsflash, Mackenzie: Not everyone lives in fear of big social events. Some people even look forward to them.” I pointed at the smarmy smile on Patrick's face. “Case in point.”

“What about you, Corey? Do you want to be crowned prom king?” The laughter on Mackenzie's face vanished when I didn't immediately answer. “Holy crap. That honestly didn't occur to me until right this second. I am the worst friend ever.” She grabbed my arm and began pulling me toward the deserted parking lot. “If we go back to my place right now, we can make half a dozen posters for you before school starts. I can also—”

“Wow, Mackenzie. Calm down, okay? I don't want to be crowned prom king.”

She stared up at me intently, searching for any sign that I might be lying. “Are you sure about that, Corey?”

I pictured the big romantic scene featured in most high school movies, the majority of which involved a staircase, a spotlight, and a stunning ballgown. The dress didn't do anything for me, but the thought of that one perfect moment—yeah, I wanted it. I could picture it too. Having my name called out . . . climbing the stairs onto the podium . . . spotting a beaming Tim standing right next to Mackenzie and Jane. And yeah, in real life, I'd probably hear Alex Thompson snarl,
Who voted for the homo?
while everyone else pretended not to notice.

But what really sucked was knowing that even if I landed the crown, I wouldn't be allowed to dance with my boyfriend.

I shuddered. “Positive. Now can we please get out of here? This place gives me the creeps.”

Mackenzie glanced around the empty school and a mischievous twinkle sparkled in her eyes. “Do you think it's haunted by the ghosts of unhappy high school students?” She raised her arms and altered her voice to make it sound more otherworldly. “Corrreeeey! I am coommming for yooooouuuu!”

I knew it was stupid, but I scrambled to put more space between us as I headed for the car. “Very funny, Mackenzie.”

“Whoooo issss thisssss Mackenziieeee?”

“I hate you right now.”

“Ammm I offfennnding yooooour mannnnnly pride?” Her voice cracked with laughter on the “manly,” but that only made it sound creepier.

I briefly considered lying, but decided to go with the truth. “Absolutely. If you keep this up, you'll be finding your own ride home.”

“Okay.” Mackenzie instantly dropped her arms back to her sides. “Would now be a good time to mention that I'm thinking of dipping into my college fund for a car?”

I raised an eyebrow. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I was kind of hoping I could practice my driving. In your car. What do you think, buddy?”

I burst out laughing. “Never going to happen. Not until you can tell your left from your right without thinking about it for fifteen minutes.”

“I'm not
that
bad.”

I pretended to seriously consider the request. “True, you're worse.”

She shifted back into her zombie pose and I gave up on all pretense of manliness by sprinting for my car as Mackenzie snickered at my retreat. I couldn't shake the feeling that someday I'd think back to my time in high school and this chilly night, dodging my best friend while we acted like complete idiots, would be one of the few memories I'd recall without fighting the urge to cringe.

The real question was whether prom would make that list too.