Prom Queen of Disaster (24 page)

“He cheated on her,” my mom huffed. “Are you accusing my daughter of this?”

“Mom,” I said, pausing her. “It’s fine. You can check my car; it’s not been used since I drove home from school yesterday.
Actually
, I probably went for a Starbucks about 7 PM.”

They nodded again, sizing me up, looking at my arms, very slim, not the arms you’d see swinging a baseball bat.

“It could be anyone,” I said. “Dylan and Char, the girl he cheated on
me
with, probably have a lot of enemies, after what they did, I’m surprised someone hasn’t done worse. I mean, they screwed over a lot of people.”

My mom reached out and massaged my shoulder with a hand. “It’s okay, Zoey,” she said. “I’m glad you’re throwing yourself into school instead of being destructive.”

They nodded, taking in everything we did and said. Their beady eyes, stared back, making mental notes. “We’ll be in touch,” Officer Franklin said. “If you have any information in the meantime, don’t hesitate to contact us.”

After they left, my mom made more coffee and we sat at the table. She stayed quiet for a moment. I drank the coffee, although what I really needed was sleep.

“You can tell me,” she said.

I closed my eyes, opening them to look directly at her. “I didn’t want to,” I said, hoping to see disappointment. Instead, her blue eyes welcomed it. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” she said, holding a hand up to me. “You’re not the one who needs to be sorry. He cheated on you, sweetie. I don’t think you need to destroy anyone’s personal property, but what is done is done, and you can only ask for forgiveness.”

“I don’t think he’ll forgive me,” I said.

“Not Dylan,” she said with a smile and pointed upward. “Prayer. I know, you’ve heard me talk endlessly, but in the end, it’s only Him who can judge you, and only He can forgive you.”

“Like, out of my mouth, or in my head?”

“Whichever you feel comfortable with, as long as you believe in it.”

I went back to my room with coffee in hand. I sat on the end of my bed, my knees close together, my elbows on my knees, and my head dipped into my arms. I pressed my palms together and thought.

Please—please forgive me, I understand you’re the one in charge, but I couldn’t help taking it into my own hands. Now I ask for forgiveness, not for what I’ve done, but lacking control.
I bowed.
Amen
.

I sat back in bed, my mind clear of thought. Oreo purred at me, pushing his head into my fingers.

“You make everything okay,” I said, but I wasn’t okay.

Everyone had questions. They wanted to know what happened to Dylan’s car. I told them it wasn’t me, but they knew it was. Their faces said as much, the half smiles as I walked the halls with a little more confidence; my head high and my shoulders back.

“Did you do it?” Celina, a girl in the art studio asked.

I didn’t respond. I glared and smiled.

“Did you total his car?”

That was a lie. Only the windshield and rear-view mirror were hit. That’s all, but gossip always had a way of creating fictions of itself. “I wish I did,” I said.

“He deserves it,” she said. “Char’s a whore. I can’t believe she’d do that.”

“Me either,” I shrugged, going back behind my canvas. I’d been given the go-ahead to start the pieces. Every collection needed a title, as I sketched out the bones on the first canvas, I mused over titles.
Fight for prom queen, teens and tiaras, popularity princess
. I scoffed, hoping nobody noticed.

“Coming along well, Zo,” Mrs. Galloway said.

I turned to her talking with Mr. Brooks. He glanced at my canvas. I was never usually conscious, but by the the way he looked at it, he was analyzing and judging it.

“What do you think?” I asked him.

“I’ll have to see it as a collection,” he said. “You can’t make comments based on a sketch, let alone a painting.”

The judgement was still there, but what was expected when someone’s deep wrinkles were set in their ways. Perhaps he wanted to ask if I trashed Dylan’s car, everyone else had asked.

Before fourth period I bumped into Dylan, my head in thought as I texted Mila, she wanted to meet later, she had
new
ideas on getting back at Char.

“Shit, Zoey,” he said, collecting himself.

“Yeah?” I said.

He stared down at me. “Sorry,” he said, again. I heard him say it more this past week than any time before. “Are you happy?”

I smiled. “Very. Why?”

“About my car.”

“What about
your
car?” I said, my heart beating in my ears.

He sneered and grit his teeth. “I didn’t do it on purpose, Zo.”

“Which part?”

People stopped in the hallway, waiting for something, perhaps an explosion, but I wasn’t going to let that happen. I’d let out my anger already; it wasn’t
all
out, but I’d balanced myself out enough to keep from staying in bed eating cartons of ice cream.

“I had the ring already,” he said. “I’m doing what’s best.”

Heat rushed to my face. I knew I was moments from bawling my eyes out and becoming a mess again. “I give it a year before one of you cheat.”

They stood around, gasping and gawking, but neither of us were winning, we were just cutting deeper into each other.

“Break it up,” a teacher said, scattering everyone.

Mila found me. She tugged on my arm and pulled me into a room where the girls, Heather, Mila and Kirsten had gathered. From what I knew, it wasn’t a free period, I was on my way back to the art studio when they’d stole me away.

“Did you?” she asked, closing the door behind us.

“What?” I asked, always oblivious to vague questions. I’d learned to ask
what?
from Char when she would get us to gossip about each other.

Kirsten laughed, an abrupt
ha
. “You totally trashed his car, didn’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter if you did or didn’t,” Heather said. “It happened, and it happened for a reason. He deserved it.”

“I would’ve,” Mila said, and they all agreed on it.

I gave a shrug. “Whoever did it, hasn’t gotten Char yet,” I said.

“That’s what we’re here for,” Mila said.

“I doubt Benny would,” I added. “Although he was cheated on, he doesn’t seem the type to cry over it.”

“For what it’s worth, we thought you were high school sweethearts.”

I thought so too, and now the phrase
high school sweethearts
irritated me. I thought we’d be together forever, as sappy as it was, it was what I felt deep down. Right at the core.

“That’s not happening now,” I pushed on forward.

“We want to make sure you’re okay,” Mila said. “And we have some more ideas on what to do, but the whole poisoning ideas were tossed because she’s pregnant. We’re bringing it down a little, just sticking to the prom idea.”

“I wanted to give her a ridiculous haircut,” Heather said. “But what would that achieve? She’d grow it out, or style it.”

“I’m okay,” I said. “I think pregnancy is punishment enough.”

“Well, yeah. She’s gonna get fat. I don’t think she’s been heavier than 135 pounds,” Mila said.

I was a little mouse around three hungry cats. They picked at wounds and reopened emotions. I told them I had to leave, but I’d be back during free period so they could tell me more of their ideas, like I had a real say in what they wanted to do to get their own back on Char. I had anger in me, real anger, what they had compared to me wasn’t real.

I ran to the bathroom. Ava stood at the sink, blotting tears from her face. She looked at me in the mirror. We were the only two people in there.

I stood quietly. “What’s up?”

She sucked back on a few breaths. “Did you hook up with Kaleb?”

“What? No!”

Slapping her hands on the marble sink, she bared her teeth at me. “Don’t lie to me! I knew as soon as it was over with you and Dylan, you’d move on,” she said. “Plus, Kaleb is at your house all the time.” She slapped her hands again.

“I wouldn’t,” I said. “You’re together, I’d never do that.”

Sobbing into the piece of tissue, she looked up at me, shaking her head. “He broke up with me,” she said. “He didn’t say why.”

I tried to reach out for her, but she moved, she threw my hand away with her arm. “Don’t,” she snapped. “If I find out you screwed him, I will make your life a living hell.”

“Ava, why would I?”

“You’ve always been jealous,” she said. She turned her back. “You thought Char was bad, I’ll go zero to the Hannibal Lecter.” She walked out, leaving me staring at my reflection.

There was nothing between Kaleb and I, except a few unwanted kisses, but even then, that was on him and not me. I continued to tell myself this as I looked myself in the eyes. “Screw them,” I said, forcing a smile on my face.

I skipped the art studio and went straight back to Mila. They stood around, laughing and giggling with each other.

“Zoey?” They looked shocked.

“I wanna know why you hate Char,” I said. “What did she do to you?”

Mila smiled and took a seat on the edge of a desk.

“I was friends with Char when we were younger, our parents were besties,” she said. “We did the whole pageant thing for a while, we were like 8 or 9, and I’d been winning against her in some circuits. Her mom hated it, she hated me, and one day, she took me and Char for haircuts, and she cut most of my hair off,” she said.

“Oh,” Heather looked at Mila. “I didn’t know.”

“The hair idea was good, but it’s been done,” Mila said.

“And that’s nothing to Char,” I said. “It’s all about taking the crown, her cheer captaincy and any hope of a scholarship.”

“We’ve talked about rigging the vote,” Heather said. “They wanted to turn everything into voting with your phone, but we’ve kept to paper ballots.”

“You have this in the bag,” Mila said.

“Don’t
you
want it?” I asked.

Mila shrugged. “I told you, it won’t hurt her as much as you winning. Winning, for me would be to see her face, and to see how much weight she gains.”

They were both the same. Mila and Char, but Mila hadn’t done anything for me to hate her, or even dislike her, she’d said things in the past, but she was doing that because we’d done the same thing, and she’d never hooked up with my
ex-
boyfriend.

“Prom is only a few months away,” Kirsten reminded us.

I’d have to finish my art work before I’d even think about prom, although my work was inspired by it. So I thought about prom a lot. Everything else took a backseat, even replying to text messages.

“How are you doing the ballots?” I finally asked.

“There’ll be pre-votes a week before prom, then the top four girls and the top four guys are put on the main ballot. This isn’t a couple’s vote; you vote for who you want. We can fix that, but you’ll win,” Mila said.

Brittany and Delilah joined us after fourth period.

“I’ve just seen Char,” Delilah said. “Is it me, or are her ankles swelling?” she laughed.

“They’re recruiting for the cheer squad again,” Brittany added, giving me the poster. “I think Char’s gonna quit, unless she wants it popping out while doing handsprings.”

“Brit,” I said, “you’re in class with Bex, right?” She nodded. “Bex is assistant cheer captain, if anything happens to Char, she takes over.”

“We’ve never spoke,” Brittany said.

“Me and Bex go way back,” Kristen said. “She’s got a bad side, y’know. Plus, she doesn’t like Char either.”

“At the moment, who does like her,” Heather laughed.

“She’s gone too far, for too long,” I mumbled.

We gathered around in a circle. Although I’d moved from one group to another, there was something equal about this group, the only sense of entitlement came from Mila as the president of the student body.

“In a few weeks we’ll be doing headshots for the yearbook,” Mila said, she pulled out a small notebook. “I’ve got facial swelling written down here,” she said.

“Does pregnancy do that?” Heather asked.

“Probably, but so does Photoshop,” Brittany added.

Mila scrolled her finger down a few more lines, voicing more suggestions, whether it’d been done before, and no matter how ridiculous they sounded, she said them. “I know the woman who does most of Char’s dresses from her pageant days, maybe she’s doing her prom dress too.”

“Someone will have to tailor it,” I said. “She’s jumping from a zero to an eighteen.”

“Is she having twins?” Kirsten laughed.

“Get her to make the dress tighter.”

Brittany snapped her fingers. “Maybe she won’t show up.”

I rolled my eyes. “We can’t have that,” I said. “She needs to show up.”

“She will, just not in the dress she’d dreamed of,” Mila said. “After trying to pin that punch bowl poisoning on us, she deserves it.”

I hated being part of that. I knew the truth; they’d tried to blame them.

“Sorry,” I said.

“It’s fine,” Mila laughed. “They had nothing on us.”

Heather flicked her hair back. “So, when’s the baby due?”

The question killed me inside, hit me with a sucker punch to the stomach. “They screwed each other in November.”

“So.” Kirsten counted on her fingers. “August.”

“She looks
heavier
,” Brittany said. “Are you sure?”

“There’s only so many hoodies she can wear before she’s in a sack,” Mila said.

I had a nagging suspicion Char would be one of those parents who didn’t put on any weight when they were pregnant, like an episode of HELP! I DIDN’T KNOW I WAS PREGNANT, where the skinniest girl at school drops to the floor in the middle of class to find she’s about to give birth.