Prom Queen, The (Life at Kingston High Book #3) (4 page)

O
ver the next few days, Megan went out of her way to be friendly with everyone who crossed her path. Sometimes she received pleasantly surprising results, like when Dayton Moore complimented her on her outfit (somewhat concerning since she was wearing a T-shirt that Mom had accidentally shrunk in the dryer), but then he asked her to help him with an essay. Dayton was an athletic hero but something of an academic zero. Not that it had seemed to trouble him much. But unfortunately his senior year had become a challenge because he needed to have at least passing grades to get into the small college that was offering him a football scholarship.

“I’ll help you with your essay,” she promised him, “if you’ll help me to campaign for prom queen.”

He looked somewhat shocked. “You’re running for prom queen?”

She placed a forefinger over her lips and grinned. “Don’t tell.”

“Uh, okay. But I heard that Amanda Jorgenson was going to be prom queen this year.”

Megan frowned. “How could anyone possibly know that? It’s an election, Dayton. The students get to vote for prom queen.”

He gave her a blank look.

“You think it’s no contest?”

Now he shrugged.

“Do you want help with your essay or not?”

He grinned. “Yeah, sure.”

“So you’ll help me in my campaign?” She smiled sweetly.

“Sure.” He nodded. “Why not? Amanda wins everything. It’s about time someone else had a shot.”

Megan knew that Dayton had dated Amanda some time ago and that Amanda had been the one to dump him. He’d likely never gotten over it. Perhaps Megan could work that in her favor.

Megan and Dayton shook hands on this new alliance, and Megan headed off to choir feeling like she was at the top of her game. But on her way, she noticed Zoë Evanston standing in the shadows of the music building. Zoë and Megan had been friends back in grade school, but by middle school Zoë had started getting wild, and they parted ways. She hadn’t had a real conversation with Zoë in years.

“Hey, Zoë,” she said in a friendly tone.

Zoë just glared at her.

“I haven’t seen you around much,” Megan persisted, trying not to stare at the huge silver lip ring and numerous
eyebrow studs. Didn’t Zoë know how ridiculous that stuff made her look? The black leather jacket didn’t help much either. “How’s it going?”

“What do you care?” Zoë shot at her.

Megan’s smile faded. “I was just saying hi.”

“Well, save it for someone who gives a—”

“Sorry.” Megan held up her hands. “Excuse me for being friendly.”

Now Zoë stepped out in front of Megan, putting her hands on her hips and blocking the path. “Friendly?” Zoë demanded. “You think you’re friendly? Give me a break, you stuck-up—”

“Why are you so angry?” Megan nervously glanced around to see if anyone was nearby to witness this unexpected little scene. Not that she was particularly worried, but the dark, threatening look on Zoë’s face was a little scary. And hearing the tardy bell ring suggested that everyone else, or at least the law-abiding students, had probably gone to class.

“Maybe I’m sick of people like you,” Zoë practically spat into Megan’s face. “Maybe I wish people like you would just bug off and leave people like me alone.”

“Okay.” Megan stepped back. “Excuse me.”

“I would if I could think of one.” With dark, narrowed eyes, Zoë stepped aside and let loose with some off-color language. As Megan scurried past, jogging to the choir room, she figured she probably wouldn’t be getting Zoë’s vote this year.

By the end of the week, Megan knew she had her work cut out for her. She hadn’t gone public in her quest for
prom queen yet; only her closest friends were in the loop. But her “make new friends” campaign definitely had its challenges. She found that she received several different reactions. Although most of her peers returned her friendliness in kind, a number of them responded with indifference, some acted suspicious, and a few others, like Zoë, were downright hostile.

“This isn’t as easy as I thought it would be,” she confessed to Chelsea on Friday night. The four friends had gathered for a makeover-sleepover. Chelsea’s stepmom Kate had taught them some beginning yoga steps, and a friend of Kate’s had demonstrated some products and shown them how to give each other facials. Now, with their paste-covered faces in various stages of treatment, they were just finishing up an old Sandra Bullock movie,
Miss Congeniality
.

“Whether or not you run for prom queen, I think this has been fun,” Lishia told Megan.

“It would be more fun if we had some good old-fashioned junk food.” Janelle held her carrot stick like a cigar. “Instead of this rabbit chow.”

“Kate thought it would be helpful to detox,” Chelsea whispered. “You know, so that our complexions would look good. But I hid some goodies in my room for later. I figured we’d be dying of hunger.”

“Hunger,” Lishia said suddenly. “That reminds me, I signed up to work at the soup kitchen tomorrow for lunch. Anyone else going? I could use a ride downtown.”

“My mom committed me to babysit for my aunt tomorrow afternoon,” Janelle told her. “Believe me, I’d rather be at the soup kitchen than with my bratty cousins.”

“I’ll go with you to the soup kitchen,” Chelsea offered. “I’ve been meaning to sign up for it, and it’ll be more fun going with someone I know.”

“Maybe I should go too,” Megan said. “In fact, I actually need to find some kind of a good cause.”

“A good cause?” Lishia made a confused frown.

“You know, for prom queen,” Megan told her. “A good prom queen candidate always has a good cause. It’s part of being well-rounded.”

“Speaking of well-rounded, I need junk food!” Janelle proclaimed. The girls raced up to Chelsea’s room, where they put in another movie and totally pigged out. Megan, however, practiced some restraint. She knew that if she wanted to be a serious contender for prom queen, she had to get into better shape. And a little past midnight, she decided that if she wanted to be photogenic in the morning, she’d better get some beauty sleep. So despite her friends’ attempt to pull an all-nighter, Megan called it a night and slipped over to the guest room across the hall where she went to sleep.

The next morning, Chelsea and Kate went to work giving Megan her makeover. Between hair, makeup, and a black sequined dress that once belonged to Belinda, Megan actually felt surprisingly pretty by the time Kate began to take photos of her. Of course, the shots wouldn’t reveal how the dress was gaping in back. Unable to get the zipper up on the fitted garment, Chelsea had come to the rescue with safety pins.

With all her friends urging her to strike poses and ham it up while the camera clicked, Megan realized she was actually having a good time. Halfway through the session, she switched out of the black number for a red silky dress she’d
worn to homecoming last year. This dress actually fit and was easier to move around in.

“This is so out of my comfort zone,” Megan confessed to Kate after they finally finished up. “It’s always been my older sister who does this kind of thing. She’s the pretty one. Belinda loves posing for the camera.”

“Sounds like it’s your turn for the limelight.” Kate put her camera lens away.

“Thanks,” Megan told her. “Thanks so much for everything!”

“It’s time to head over to the soup kitchen,” Lishia announced. She pointed to Megan. “Do you want to change first?”

Megan shrugged. The truth was, she wasn’t ready to give up the red dress quite yet. It was fun feeling this pretty. And after all, wasn’t she supposed to act like she was already the prom queen? “I think I’ll just go as I am,” she said on impulse. “Maybe the people at the soup kitchen will enjoy seeing something like this. Add a little color to their world.”

Chelsea looked uncertain and Janelle rolled her eyes. “Whatever,” Lishia said as she started stuffing some clothes into her bag. “But we need to get moving.”

As they gathered up their things, Megan was having second thoughts. Perhaps going to the soup kitchen in a red silk dress was a bit much. “Maybe I should change,” she said as they were heading outside.

“There’s no time now,” Lishia insisted. “We have to be there at eleven.”

As Megan drove them downtown, she felt a little silly for not having changed clothes. Both Chelsea and Lishia were
wearing jeans. Really, what had she been thinking? So after parking in back, she grabbed her bag, thinking she’d take a few moments to change her clothes once they were inside.

“Here comes our girl now,” a gray-haired woman called out as Lishia led them into the kitchen. “It looks like she’s brought helpers too.”

“Good thing since we’re shorthanded today,” a skinny bald guy said.

Suddenly the gray-haired woman, Bertie, was shouting out orders. Lishia was sent out to set up tables and chairs, Chelsea was put in charge of a big mixer, and Megan was instructed to peel potatoes.

“You seem a mite overdressed for the kitchen,” Bertie said as she handed Megan an apron.

“Yeah, we don’t usually get kitchen help this fancy.” The bald guy chuckled. “We’ll have to let you be a server today. Might impress our guests.”

“I, uh, I was going to change.” Megan nodded to the bag she’d tossed in a corner. “I have some jeans—”

“Not now,” Bertie told her. “Right now we need to get those taters peeled and into the oven.”

Megan focused on the potatoes, peeling as fast as she could and the whole time feeling out of place, conspicuous, and slightly silly. Finally, when the last potato was peeled, she started to take off the apron.

“Not yet,” Bertie told her. “Those taters need to be cut first.” She grabbed a knife and cutting board and demonstrated how she wanted the potatoes sliced. “Unless this is too hard for the fancy girl to do.” Bertie chuckled, but her brow creased with what looked like disapproval.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Megan assured her. She started slicing the potatoes and layering them in the oversized aluminum pan Bertie had set nearby. She could hear the others busily working too, chatting and joking cheerfully. But as she sliced and layered, she felt strangely removed from them, as if she had separated herself from everyone else simply by deciding to wear this silly red dress.

Finally the last potato slice was in the pan, and Megan laid down the knife. “I’ll just go and change now,” she said quietly. Thankfully no one tried to stop her as she grabbed her bag and went off in search of the ladies’ room. But when she found the restroom, she also found a line of women waiting to use it. She could tell by their clothes and conversation that they were either homeless or down on their luck.

“Looks like someone must’ve had a busy night,” a young woman said when Megan went to the end of the line. The woman with her laughed loudly, and an older woman told them both to shut up.

“I used to be real pretty too.” The older woman patted her thinning brown hair, revealing a set of dirty fingernails. “A girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do.”

The younger women snickered, and Megan stood a little straighter. Were they suggesting what she thought they were suggesting?

“Don’t pay no attention to them,” the older woman told Megan. “They’re probably just jealous.”

“Excuse me.” Megan backed away from the line. “I, uh, I don’t really need to use the restroom after all.” She hurried outside and shoved her bag into the trunk of her car. Why had she agreed to do this? Would anyone care if she just left?
She could call Lishia’s cell and make up an excuse. But that would leave them without a ride. No, Megan decided, better to stick it out. Isn’t that what a prom queen would do? Holding her head high, she returned to the kitchen where she was now given the task of peeling carrots.

“This is really fun,” Chelsea called out. “I think I’ll become a regular here.”

Megan glanced over her shoulder to see Chelsea scooping batter from the big mixing bowl and pouring it into muffin cups. It didn’t really look like much fun, although it had to be better than being stuck at the sink. Megan felt like the peeler queen. Finally, after what seemed like hours, it was time to serve up the food, and Bertie, true to her word, insisted that Megan should be a server. Megan tried to talk her out of it, but Bertie wouldn’t back down.

“You look so festive.” She gave her a firm but gentle shove. “You go on out there and cheer up the good folks. You can dish up them taters you helped make.”

Wearing a forced smile and vinyl gloves, Megan took her place in the serving area and obediently scooped out the scalloped potatoes. But instead of the diners being cheered up, it seemed that they just looked at her with suspicion and maybe even hostility. If she didn’t put enough potatoes on their plates, they let her know. However, when they got down to where Chelsea was handing out muffins and cheerful chatter, they actually thanked her. How Chelsea was able to act like she was having a good time was a mystery to Megan. The sooner she finished up here, the happier she would be.

It was close to three o’clock by the time the kitchen was cleaned up and the girls were excused from their stint of
volunteering. As they walked out to the car, Megan’s feet were killing her, and her favorite pair of heels were now splattered with pieces of vegetable peelings. Why hadn’t she at least thought to change her shoes? Megan felt completely drained as she started the car. “Are you guys as exhausted as I am?” she asked.