The Real Prom Queens of Westfield High (11 page)

Grace's victim body language shifts to aggressor so fast it's terrifying. I continue to mime confidence as my eyes dart around for the best escape route.

“You may have just pulled your head out of a vat of bleach,” Grace says icily, “but you'd best remember who you're speaking to, because last year just called and it wants its biggest nobody back.”

Technically, I was only the third biggest nobody.

I step backward as Grace leans in for the kill. “Did you honestly expect anyone to be impressed by some lame makeover that won't last into next week?”

“Hi, Shannon. Love your hair.” Kristan Bowman has precision timing. I give Grace a smug look, hoping the hidden cameras are catching every second.

“Don't waste your breath, Kristan,” Grace says. “This bitch will be off the radar by sixth period tomorrow.” She hooks her arm in Kristan's and guides her away, calling to me over her shoulder, “I just realized you must be all dressed up for a special date…” She turns and walks backward a few paces as she gives the game-over blow, “Elf Ucker!”

“I don't have a…date with…elf…,” I say lamely as Grace cackles in victory. She launches into an off-key rendition of “We Wish You a Tiny Pecker” as she drags Kristan down the hallway.

Mickey and Victoria have gravely underestimated the innate evilness of our school's reigning Alpha Queen. My hatred for Grace burns with reignited passion. I glance around, hoping the cameras didn't capture that after all, and spot Marnie staring at me.

“Shannon! What happened to you?”

“What?” I hold up my palms innocently.

“You changed this summer.” She pulls me aside. “Maybe you lost too much weight or something and it's making you act out.”

“Marnie, please, I'm not acting out.” I smile at a random group of girls walking by.

“You just picked a fight with Grace Douglas,” she says. “That's not something you do. That's not something anyone does.”

“Well, maybe it's something I do now. You know I have a valid reason to hate her.”

Marnie shakes her head. “Your hatred shouldn't be what directs you, Shannon.”

I fold my arms. “She started in on me and I had to fight back.”

“Defending yourself is great,” she says. “But put-downs are not a competitive sport.” I don't correct her even though I have literally hours of training that contradict that statement. Finally, Marnie backs away. “I've got to go. I'll see you later in class.”

“Sure.” I smile. “We'll catch up then.”

Except that, here's the thing—I'm not going to be in any of Marnie's classes. Mickey and I decided that all the new extra-curricular “popular girl” activities I'll be enrolled in will make my advanced class-load too much to handle. We also decided that dropping all my advanced classes for my senior year is a minor detail my mother doesn't need to know about.

Fortunately, Mom's been pretty distracted since I got back from camp. Josie and I suspect she's seeing someone, but our mother has never been very open about her dating life. Which is probably for the best because,
Yuck
.

Amy shows up, opens her locker, and immediately starts preening. I give her a subtle elbow prod. We're supposed to portray the perfect balance of looking good without seeming to care. Prom Queens do
not
primp too much in public.

I spot Rick's hunched figure striding in our direction.

My heart spasms as I grab Amy's locker door and hijack her mirror, pawing at my Blonde. With a
hmpf,
she shuts the door in my face and strides away, leaving me no choice but to face Rick half primped. His eyebrows jump at my seductive, open-lipped smile, and he flashes his loopy grin.

“Hey there.” I shift my body to inviting without even thinking about it. My feet turn toward him as I tilt my head to the left and make dreamy eye contact. I'm playing with a strand of my hair when I realize what I'm doing and clear my throat.
No
need
to
use
my
flirt
training
with
Rick
.

“Quilting all summer can really change a person, huh?” he says. I nod with a fake smile as I run through a catalogue of reasons why he might think I've been quilting all summer.
Got
it
. I told him that.

Rick has moved into my personal space and his pupils are dilated, a sure sign that he likes what he's seeing. Except he isn't looking at my outfit or even my blonde hair. He's looking directly into my eyes. Looking at me. He gives me a crooked smile, and I notice the sun has lightened the ends of his hair over the summer.

“So,” he says, “about that very small gathering…”

“Just the two of us?” I ask, leaning toward him. Scanning my face with his blue eyes, he slowly leans in.
Is
he
seriously
going
to
kiss
me?
Right
here
in
front
of
everyone?
And I remember the cameras. And I hesitate.

And then the bell rings.

I look around and see we're alone in the hallway. And late for class.

“Oops, late for science.” He grins, seeming content to stand staring at me for the rest of the period—and FYI, science is his very most favorite subject.

“Oh yeah,” I say. “Marnie told me you and James have a cool project already started for the fair.”

“Technically we just started this morning.” He winks and my insides dip. “It's against state rules to start early.”

“What's your project on?”

“Very top secret stuff.” He holds a finger to his lips, and I stare at them distractedly until they ask, “What class do you have now?”

“Oh, um…” I fumble my schedule out of my pink leather Nőrealique clutch. “I'm in room 125 for Spanish.”

“I'll walk you.” He puts his arm out in mock formality, and I take it playfully.

“Won't you be late for science?” I ask. “Oh, but wait, you already met with Mr. Hoovler. This morning? Um, about your project?” Why am I acting like a spaz?
A
whole
summer
of
Prom
Queen
training
shot
to
hell
.

“My, aren't you up on all the juicy gossip.” He bumps me teasingly with his shoulder. “Oh, but you have
got
to check out the new science wing! So much better than the antique collection of broken Bunsen burners we used to have. There are digital microscopes, Shannon. Digital! Some makeup company donated everything, Nosealette or something.”

“Nőrealique,” I correct.

“Yeah, that's it. Their logo's on everything.” He laughs. “It's silly, all these kissy lips everywhere.”

“Maybe they're trying to encourage more girls to pursue science?” I give him the line I've been fed.

“Well, either way, I'm
loving
the new equipment! It'll help me and James kick ass with our project.”

“So, do I even get a hint about this big secret project you'll be
kicking
ass
on?” We arrive at the door to the Spanish room, and Rick unhooks our arms and cradles my hand in his. A flash of warmth runs through me as he leans in slowly.
He's about to kiss me for real
.

I tip my head upward and close my eyes as my lips tingle with raw anticipation. I feel my hair being brushed away from my ear and Rick's warm breath on my cheek as he whispers, “Pheromones.”

I breathe out a soft, “Oh,” as I open my eyes to him smiling and backing away. He flashes me another wink and turns toward the new, sponsor-infused Science Wing. I sigh, admiring his butt a moment before turning the handle and walking into Spanish class.

Mrs. Laconi turns from the chalkboard and says, “
Gracias
por
llegar
mi
Reina
,” which basically means, “Thank you for joining us, your highness.”

Maybe
I'm giving off queenly vibes already
.

Mrs. Laconi's smile turns acidic. “
¡Siéntate en el asiento y no llegues tarde a mi classe nunca más!
” Which, loosely translated, means something along the lines of, “Now get your ass in a chair and don't be late to my class again!”

So
much
for
my
royal
vibes
.

As the class laughs at Mrs. Laconi's cleverness, I sink into the closest empty desk. Verbal sparring with Grace is one thing, but getting bested by my middle-aged Spanish teacher will not help me get elected Prom Queen. I sit back, determined not to cause any more disruptions, as my mind begins to replay my most recent look from Rick.

***

The onscreen version of that look plays on the television in our living room. Experiencing it as I stand shoulder to shoulder with Victoria and Mom is somewhat less exhilarating.

Victoria showed up an hour after I got home, handed me my sizable weekly wardrobe allowance, and explained she'd be acting as my Social Advisement Coach now that school has started. When Mom asked what her qualifications were, Victoria assured her that in addition to her vast reality show experience, she'll be consulting with a panel of experts regularly and passing their advice on to me at our weekly meetings.

“We're more like a Social Advisement Coach
Committee
.”
Just
what
I
need
. My very own SAC Committee.

Victoria's gaze is stern as she asks me, “What do you plan to do about this Rick character?”

“He seems nice enough,” Mom says. “I just don't know if now's a good time for you to have a serious boyfriend.” I resist the urge to call her out for being a hypocrite since I heard her singing an off-key love song in the shower the other day.

Victoria says sharply. “Our experts have reviewed his file, and we do not believe there's
any
benefit to your entering a relationship with this boy.”

“Rick and I are just friends.” I think of the way he looks at me and feel obligated to add, “Mostly.”

Mom moves to the couch. “You're only in high school. You don't want to narrow your options for the future…”

“Mom, stop,” I cut her off. “One conversation in the hallway at school does not mean I'll end up a pregnant teen like y—” I stop at the look of horror on her face. All three of us glance at the ceiling where a camera is watching. Victoria seems pleased by my near tangent, but when our mother/daughter moment doesn't escalate into a scream-fest, she asks if she can talk to me alone.

“Fine,” Mom says. “I need to talk to Kate before I head out anyway.”

“Who are you going out with, Mom? Anyone I know?”

Her face turns red, and I want to tell her about Larry's trick to stop blushing. Finally, she says, “I'm meeting a
friend
. His name is Thomas.”

I smile. “Why didn't you just say so?”

Mom heads to her study and shuts the door. Probably so she can talk privately with Aunt Kate about me acting like a giant hormone. I feel bad and remind myself to keep my aggression aimed at Grace and the Alpha Queens from now on.

Once Victoria has me to herself, she turns all business. “Now then, we are quite pleased with your peer's response to your new Per-style-ality™ and use of body language. Grace Douglas is obviously a problem but you handled yourself fairly well. Good start.” She nods and goes on. “
But
, if you want an honest shot at winning the
One! Million! Dollars!
you are going to need a
lot
of help.” She looks grave. “Your embarking on a committed relationship is not the problem. In fact, studies show that 92 percent of all Prom Queens have boyfriends at the time of their coronation.”

“So Rick and I…”

She holds up a hand. “The
problem
is with this
particular
boy.” She points to the screen, still paused on Rick's face. His mouth is frozen in an awkward midsentence twist and his eyes are half-closed. I snort a small laugh. It's just like him to look so super-dorky.

Victoria continues with her relationship statistics. “Of those 92 percent, the varsity quarterback is the most common romantic companion, with 58 percent of Prom Queens dating the captain of the football team.” I wonder who on earth is compiling all this data.

She points the remote toward the television and replaces Rick's pre-sneeze-like features with a shot of me walking down the hallway toward my locker. It was taken right as I left Spanish class, and I have to admit my makeover looks great on camera.

The shot suddenly veers to the right and closes in on Luke Hershman's face as I walk past.

“He's totally checking me out,” I blurt. “Luke Hershman looked at me!” Which, if you knew Luke Hershman, you'd understand this is about the most amazing thing that could ever happen in my life.

I mean, even more amazing than being on some reality show about trying to become Prom Queen. You see, Grace Douglas is insanely protective of her boyfriend, and girls have fallen from social grace just for accidentally flipping their hair at him. Luke is like a trained pack mule who always keeps his eyes front and center to avoid stumbling into Grace's wrath. But he stole a look at me this morning.

“Luke and Grace broke up over the summer,” Victoria says casually. Which is like casually mentioning a meteor just slammed into the cafeteria. This has been my impossible dream ever since the two of them tag-teamed me into social exile. No wonder Grace was so cranky this morning.