The Real Prom Queens of Westfield High (18 page)

Josie tries to grab the remote from my hand, but I hang on tightly. “No. I want to see this.”

Grace's breathy voice says to Luke, “I wish your airheaded little ticket to St. James could see us now.” With that, the two of them launch into a duet of moans and kissing.

The camera zooms in on Grace's padded bra dangling from a mop handle as we hear their groans turn more primal.

The shot of the underwire cuts to a bright, loud commercial about the miraculous properties of lip stain as I stare blindly at the screen. Finally, Josie manages to seize the remote from my numb hand and she turns the television off.

PART FIVE

Project Runaway

I don't even cry this time. Luke and I don't care about each other anyway. Our whole relationship was just a constructed fantasy to make me look good for the cameras, and I refuse to be upset over his betrayal. I'm finished with allowing Luke and Grace to hurt me.

And I certainly don't sign on to the show's message board. Other people's opinions of me are none of my business. It's my opinion of myself that counts, and I'm ready to make some big changes so I can hopefully start to like myself.

After giving my reflection a bullhorn-worthy pep talk the next morning, I run into Mom on my way out the door. Between my crazy popularity schedule and her being busy at her office and with Thomas, it feels like we've barely seen each other in weeks.

“How's the show going, sweetie?” I notice her hair is in a tousled style instead of her usual mom-bob and she's wearing an awful lot of red. “You're certainly dressed well enough to be voted Prom Queen,” she says, which means she has actually been honoring her agreement to not watch the show. “We really need to get a date in the calendar to catch up.”

Or
maybe
she's just too busy to care.
We hug and go our separate ways, and I actually hope we get that date in the calendar really soon.

Since the show started airing, I've been proudly driving my Nőrealique Elite moving billboard of a car to school. But today when I pull up, I wish I'd driven Aunt Kate's old Coroda instead. People are pointing and talking behind cupped hands, not even trying to hide the fact that they're gossiping about me.

“Shannon's a useless bitch who deserved to get cheated on.”—
Yeah, sorta
. “Grace is a slut.”—
No, not really
. “What did you put for the definition of ‘impute'?”—
Um, this might be a good time to open a schoolbook.

Walking through the lobby, I'm faced with the damn giant-lipped Nőrealique TV looping the footage of our campy poses. It's become a joke around the school to imitate Kelly, Amy, and me, posing with pursed lips and flipping hair. It started off as a funny greeting when the television first arrived, but the hair-flipping gradually took on a mocking tone.

Kelly is waiting for me at the lockers, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her fitted jean jacket. I remember my declaration of war, and a wave of panic rushes through me. She draws her right hand out of her pocket, and I flinch.

She starts laughing as she holds her hand out toward me.

“Wha…” I'm confused.

“You thought I'd pull a shiv on you or something? I just want to welcome you back, Elf Ucker.”

I shoot, “Oh, like any of us ever had a real shot at becoming Prom Queen anyway.”

“I know, my glorious selling out, all for nothing.” Kelly laughs. “That'll teach the three of us to respect the social order.” She nods toward Grace, Deena, and Kristan across the hallway. I catch Grace covering her smile with her hand as if she's feigning embarrassment for double-crossing me. But her posture clearly betrays her pride at having her affair with Luke uncovered.

I can't help but think she must really love him to let him humiliate her all that time just so he could get a football scholarship. Of course, now all of that humiliation has been transferred directly to me.

I look over at Amy and George who are completely focused on each other. She survived her backslide into the territory of the terminally unpopular just fine. Because she stayed true to George.

“Hey, are you still seeing Raaauuul?” I whisper to Kelly low enough that the hidden ceiling cam can't hear.

Kelly gives me a threatening look and glances toward the camera. Besides a conflict of interest, Raul could go to jail if things got too serious between him and Kelly on account of her being underage for another two months.

“I was just wondering.” I shrug. I'm being honest. I wouldn't turn them in, and I'm not trying to psyche her out, but I do marvel at their willingness to risk a potential felony for the sake of their love.

Meanwhile, I never even gave Rick and me a shot. I wasn't willing to risk anything and claimed I wasn't sure I liked him.
Bullshit
. As if that dip I got in my stomach when he looked at me wasn't enough proof.

My mind conjures the image of Rick watching me in my car's rearview mirror at the beginning of the summer.
I
should've dropped Marnie off first
.

I know what I have to do now. Tossing my books into my locker, I slam the door shut and head directly for the Nőrealique Science Wing. I don't run, but my stride is wide and filled with purpose.

When I get there, I rush from window to window until I finally see a familiar silhouette with bad posture alone in one of the labs.
Rick
. He's hunched over, pouring a beaker of blue liquid into a graduated cylinder. He wears clear-plastic safety goggles that make his ears stick out goofily through his hair.

It's the hottest I've ever seen anyone look.

I throw open the door, and he slowly turns to face me. Our eyes lock through his goggles, and I don't want to wait one more second to get my kiss.
Just
look
at
those
tufts
of
hair
sticking
out
around
that
elastic
strap
.

I move toward him, and he pulls the goggles up to his forehead, exposing a red outline where they pressed across his nose and around his eyes.

“Hi,” I say.

He leans back against the lab counter, crossing his arms. Body language closing me off.

I need to do something drastic. Something that will prove how much I like him. How much I regret my choice to do the show. I look up at the watching camera and summon all of the confidence I've been pretending to have all year long. Striding toward him, I declare, “I have some pheromones for you to experiment on.”

His look of utter confusion is almost comical. With a grin, I grab him by the shoulders, close my eyes, and boldly press my lips against his.

I'm mashing my mouth around for a moment before I realize Rick isn't kissing me back. I pull back and open my eyes to see that his never closed. He's just standing there rigid, with my pink lipstick smeared all over his mouth.

Confused, I stammer, “I-I-I'm sorry. I thought this was what you wanted.”

He reaches for a paper towel and closes his eyes as he wipes off my kiss. Looking around for the first time, I see James and Mr. Hoovler staring at me from the front of the room. They're frozen, holding a beaker between them as they both blink at me though their goggles.

“I'm sorry, I…” Mr. Hoovler starts to say something, but James quickly puts the beaker on a stand and hustles Mr. H out of the classroom.

Rick has effectively removed most of my lipstick from his mouth, and his cheeks have turned bright pink when he finally looks at me.

He takes a deep breath. “Um. So. What the hell?”

“I'm so sorry. I just thought…”

“What? You thought since your jock turned out to be a player in more ways than one you'd come crawling back to me? Like I've been waiting here pining away for you all year?”

“It's not like that. I just realized what a stupid mistake I made.”

“Obviously. But you don't just get to call do-over, Shannon. You made a choice. Too much has changed. You've changed.”

“I know. I've been acting so different and I'm sorry, but none of it is real. I promise you, underneath all of this, I'm still me.” I smooth a hand over my designer dress.

“I think you need to go.” Rick pulls his goggles back on, and I'm left watching him stupidly.

He shakes his head as he turns back to his beakers, and his tufts of hair wag up and down. I extend my fingers toward those tufts, and a loud sob escapes from someplace deep. Rick turns back, looking surprised through the clear lenses. I spin around and charge down the hallway, my pumps clomping as I force my legs to carry me away from the pain of his rejection.

I have to accept it—I'll never see that special look from him again. And it's entirely my fault that it will stay trapped forever in the rearview mirror of my mind.

I pass Luke on my way back to my locker, and he grabs my arm. “Hey, listen, Depola, I'm really sorry you had to find out that way. Grace and I—”

“You and Grace deserve each other, fuckhead,” I say, which isn't exactly a carefully articulated response but it will have to do. I shove past him and display my signature flailing run that I've worked so hard to keep off camera.

Kelly and Amy rush over as I fall against my locker and start weeping. “I-I-III'm getting what I d-deseeeeeerve.”

“Easy there. Nobody deserves to be ugly crying on national television.” Kelly puts an arm around my shoulders.

“Come on, it'll be okay.” Amy comes around my other side.

I swipe my snot with my sleeve and allow the two of them to guide me down the hallway. “How did I get so caught up in this?” I ask between sobs. “And now Rick doesn't want me anymore.”

“Rick Shuebert?” Amy makes a face. “He doesn't really seem like your type.”

“He's
exactly
my type,” I practically screech.

“You're young, Shannon. You'll get over it,” Kelly says. When I start crying even harder, she adds, “Hey, listen, we're all in this up to our necks. Everyone's just doing their best to get through it.”

“You're right.” I nod and take a shaky breath. Looking back and forth between the two of them, I say, “This reality show is hell.”

“Who said anything about the show?” Kelly steers us into the girl's bathroom. “I'm talking about high school.”

I refuse to come to the door for Victoria when she shows up with my clothing allowance. Josie finally convinces her that it will be best for everyone if she just gives me a little space.
But
we'll take that sizable check, thankyouverymuch
.

I tell Josie to keep the money, and I drag armloads of fancy outfits into the bathroom where the cameras can't see me. Settling myself in the tub, I begin tearing seams and shredding fabric. I haven't held a needle in my hand since Victoria caught me sneaking a few stitches into a patch of material back at Prom Queen Camp. She'd acted so horrified you would've thought she caught me setting fire to the curtains.

The quilt I'm designing in my head will be covered with appliqués of hearts, smoke, and broken science beakers. I'm calling it
Chemical
Properties
of
Heartbreak,
and it perfectly expresses my pain over blowing things with Rick.

Now the image that replays in my mind is of him wiping my lipstick off his mouth with disgust.

In spite of my exquisite emotional agony, it feels amazing to be sewing again, as I violently cut and tear expensive designer clothes for material.

Josie is worried about me, so I tell her I'm just depressed over the horrible episode of
Wannabes
with Luke cheating on me. But when she catches me throwing away the remains of my shredded wardrobe items, she decides it's time to get Mom involved.

Josie sets her up so she can watch
The
Prom
Queen
Wannabes
on BubeTube in her study. When Mom emerges hours later, she hurries over to hug me tearfully. Josie has cleared out to a friend's house for a sleepover, and I lay my head on Mom's shoulder a moment before pulling back.

“Oh, sweetheart. I had no idea you were going through so much.”

“Well, now you get to say I told you so.”

She shakes her head. “No. I get to feel horrendous guilt for not protecting you. I thought the show might get you over your self-esteem issues. Then I saw how self-confident you seemed this year, and I figured everything was working out.”

I laugh. “Sure, everything worked out just great.”

Mom hugs me again, and I soak it up. She says, “Well, I'm not helping Luke negotiate any scholarships now. I can't believe he cheated on you that way.”

“It's fine, Mom. I'm over him. You should get that bonus. Especially since we're clearly not about to become millionaires.”

Mom laughs. “Did you ever really think this was a good way to become a millionaire?”

“Yes,” I say, “I guess I did. But I can see now it still wouldn't have been worth the price. Marnie isn't speaking to me, and she's worth a cool mil at least.” I don't add in the cost of losing Rick.

Mom pats my shoulder. “I guess there are some lessons you just have to figure out the hard way.”

“And some lessons I've needed to learn in front of thousands of viewers.” I pull my over-processed hair into a rough ponytail and flop onto the couch. “I can't believe how caught up I got.”

“Go easy on yourself, sweetie,” Mom says. “We all have our blind spots.”

When Thomas comes over, he assumes my presence in the living room means I want to watch one of the stupid old black-and-white movies that he loves so much. Mom sits beside me rubbing my arm while he works on his super-fattening cheesy dip in the kitchen.

The phone rings, and I look up at one of the cameras faithfully recording my abject misery. I resist the urge to rip the damn thing off of its mount and instead ask Mom, “So, any chance that TV contract you negotiated has an exit clause?”

She turns toward me, but before she can answer, Thomas hurries in, holding the phone to her. “It's Kate,” he says. “She sounds upset.” He stands, nervously squeezing the spatula, and I'm touched by the way he watches my mother take the call.

Mom's voice rises in alarm as she clutches the phone to her ear. She squeaks ominous one-word questions like “When?” and “How?”
Please, not Aunt Kate's dormant cancer
. I start to pray silently, feeling stupid for thinking I'm the only one in the world who has problems.

“I'll be right there.” Mom clicks the phone off and turns to us. Her eyes seem wild. “Kate's husband, John, just died.” She says it so simply. I'm almost relieved for a moment that it's not Kate's cancer before I feel the full weight of what she's just said. I've known him my whole life.
He
can't be dead.

“I'm an awful friend,” Mom says as she staggers about gathering her purse and keys. “I didn't even know he was back in the hospital. Things progressed so fast…organs started shutting down…”

“Stop,” Thomas says firmly, facing Mom and forcing a hug on her. She collapses into his embrace. “You are an excellent friend, and you need to be the strongest version of yourself, because Kate needs you
now
.”

Mom stands up straighter in his arms and nods. “You're right. Kate needs me.” With that, she draws away from him and strides toward the door.

“Whoa, hold on. I'll drive you,” he says.

“Oh, right.” Mom seems caught in a cloud of shock. “Let me get some things. I'll probably be staying the night.” Her eyes focus on me, and I wave her off, indicating that of course I'll be fine.

She heads to her bedroom to pack a bag, and Thomas and I stand awkwardly in the living room, the only thing we have in common gone. “Kate's lucky to have her.”

I nod. “They've been friends for forever.”

“It's a rare friendship that lasts a lifetime.”

Even though I know he's just making polite conversation, I can't help but crumple onto the couch. My life has turned to crap, and I need Marnie. Just like Kate needs Mom.

After a few moments of hyperventilating with my face in my hands, I take a hitching breath and rub the blur from my eyes. I expect to find myself alone in the living room, but Thomas is there, watching me with concern.
Wow, a guy who doesn't bolt at the sight of emotions? He's a keeper, Mom.

Thomas doesn't offer to hug me or anything—I suppose that would be weird—but he does walk over to the hutch to grab a tissue. Handing it to me, his eyes flick toward the hidden camera. My mind goes straight to
Is
he
having
inappropriate
thoughts? *ick*
But when I feel the weight of the tissue in my palm, I stop freaking out. Something wallet-sized, flat, and weighty is wrapped inside it. I'm careful to not react.

“No need to return that,” he says.

My heart is throbbing, but I keep my voice even. “You sure you don't want my snotty tissue back?”

Thomas gives the slightest smile as Mom reappears from the bedroom with an overnight bag over her shoulder. She pulls a tired smile from someplace deep and looks back and forth between us. “Thanks for understanding. And for the ride.”

Thomas and I assure her that the ancient movie we were going to watch can wait. As soon as they leave, I head to the bathroom. My camera-free zone.

Sitting on the edge of the tub, I look at the tissue cupped in my hands a few moments.
How
did
Thomas
know?

Finally, I unwrap the object he's privately passed to me. It's exactly what it felt like. A cell phone. A disposable cell phone that isn't set to record every conversation I have. A beautiful untraceable private cell phone that I can use to call Marnie.

***

I know I have no right to ask my ex-bestie for anything. Or to even expect her to take my call, but I need to try. I make a silent plea to the wart gods of friendship and dial Marnie's number. She answers after the second ring, which I think is a good sign, until I realize my name didn't come up on her caller ID. Her picking up just means Marnie answers calls from Unknown instead of letting them go to voicemail like I do.

“Uh, hi?” My voice cracks. “It's me. What's up?”

“Shannon?” She says my name with a whoosh of air. Like I surprised the breath out of her. When I don't reply, she says, “What's up? Well, let me see,
other
than the fact that we haven't spoken in about five months?”

I immediately start sobbing. What the hell was I thinking? I don't deserve to
speak
to her.

“So what?” she snaps. “Luke cheats on you and I'm supposed to clean up the mess?”

“It's not that. We never even really liked each other.”

“Then why the hell were you two going out?”

“I don't knoooow,” I wail. “I've spent the whole year manipulating people so they'll vote for me to be Prom Queen. I don't even know who I am anymore! And now, here you are, being nice to me, and I don't deseeeerve it.”

“This is
not
me being nice.”

“You didn't hang up.” My voice hitches. “That's nice.”

I continue crying, and she asks, “Would you feel better if I did hang up?”

“Infinitely! I've been so selfish…” The line goes dead. “Hello?”
I
can't believe she just hung up on me!
As I sit, staring at the phone in my hand, it starts vibrating. I hit Answer, and before I can say anything, Marnie shoots, “There. Feel better?”

“I…I'm not sure…”

“I can't believe you thought running for Prom Queen was a good idea.”

“I know! I'm a complete imbecile.”

“What the hell made you agree to even be a part of that show?”

“I don't know. I just really wanted to escape my life for a while. You know, see what it would feel like to not be the Elf Ucker.”

“I knew it! Shannon!” Marnie sounds so annoyed with me I want to hide under my bathroom sink. “I warned you that focusing on that horseshit made it worse. Now look at where it's brought you.”

“I know. I know!” I'm more frustrated with myself than she is. “I thought that getting even with Grace would make me feel better. But making her feel bad just made me feel even worse.”

“Yeah, I heard that song you made up. Much more creative than ‘Tiny Pecker' but equally wrong.”

“Watching myself sing it to her on TV made me see how ugly I was acting.”

“Nice if you could've seen that a little sooner. Like maybe
before
blowing senior year.”

“I'm sorry. This was supposed to be our best year ever.”

“Yes, it was.”

“I will still be saying I'm sorry to you when we are both one hundred.”

“That's a start.”

“I hate myself.”

“You should always love yourself, but it is good to acknowledge when you've been acting like a jerk or a conformist.”

“I've been mean and selfish and small-minded,” I list my offenses, eager for Marnie to forgive me.

But she just adds, “And
shallow
, not to mention becoming part of a branding spectacle that is sucking off the teat of a brainwashed consumerist system.”

“Um, okay. There's that.
Plus
, I blew things with a great guy who actually liked me for me.”

After a pause, Marnie asks, “Have you spoken to Rick?”

“I went by the lab the other day and er…saw him. Actually I kind of tried to kiss him.” I cringe at the image of him wiping his mouth.

“You're lying!”

“I wish I was lying. He totally rejected me. Thought I was just rebounding from Luke. It's hopeless.”

“Wow. I thought he still liked you,” Marnie says.

“Well, he's over me now.”

“I was shocked when I came back from the Bahamas and found out you two didn't hook up.”

“Um, I was surprised when I saw that you and James
had
. Marnie! I'm so happy for you guys. Is he a great boyfriend or what?”

I can hear the smile in her voice as she tells me about James realizing they were perfect for each other during a late-night study cram. Of course, Marnie already knew this, but sometimes boys need a little help catching up. She shares about the ups and downs of their relationship, and the time we've spent apart dissolves in our whispers and giggles.

It feels so good to be talking to her that I start crying again. Softly at first, but when Marnie asks, “Are you okay?” I curl myself into a ball on the bathroom rug and just go with sobbing. I don't hold back. Big wails mingle with anguished moans as I let myself feel every real emotion coursing through me. I cry long and loud over blowing things with Rick. I cry for Aunt Kate losing her husband. And I cry because of how horribly I've treated my best friend. And yet here she is—listening.

“Shannon?” Marnie's voice sounds concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.
*hic*
I'm fine.”

“You sure?”

“No, actually,
*hic*
I'm so
not
fine. But I'm not going to spend the whole night crying on my
*hic*
bathroom floor if that's what you're worried about.”

“Um, why are you on your bathroom floor?”

“Cameras.” I let out a shaky sigh. “Actually, Marns, do you think there's any
*hic*
chance I can—”

“—come over to my house for a sleepover?” she finishes my sentence for me. Just like old times.