The Real Prom Queens of Westfield High (21 page)

I spot Marnie at the door to the library-turned-dressing-room, arguing with a man in a headset wearing all black. She points to me as she pleads with him, but he shakes his head and keeps his hand up, blocking her way. I rush over to the door and say, “It's okay, she's with me.”

“Nobody but Prom Queens and Wannabes in this room,” he says gruffly.

“Fine.” I take Marnie's hand and head out.

Mickey calls after me, “We're about to begin, Shannon. You need to stay here.”

“Gotta pee! Real bad! Right now!” I pull Marnie down the hallway to the extravagant marble ladies room.

“Is Rick still here?” I ask as soon as we're inside.

“For now.” Marnie admires the fabric of my dress again. “We're doing our best, but I don't think he'll hang around all night.”

“Argh!” My frustration echoes off the marble walls, and I take a deep breath of perfumed toilet air. A few female prom-goers are milling about the bathroom, each admiring my dress. Then one of them points to Marnie's one-of-a-kind green Day-Glo creation and covers her mouth, snickering.

I grab Marnie's hand off the skirt of my dress and tell her, “We're trading.”

“Wha…?”

“I mean it, Marnie, please trade me prom dresses.”

“Come on.” She shakes her head. “There are about a thousand dropped stitches on this thing and you're going up onstage.”

“Yes, I see the dropped stitches, but Marnie I would be so honored if you'd please allow me to wear the dress that you sewed.”

She eyes my dress. “Who's the designer?”

“Okay, so it's some
fabulous
new guy working exclusively for Nőrealique Fashions. But not that awful one who says he won't design clothes for fatties. And anyway, this is a chance for you to rescue me from my sentence as an unwilling on-air promoter of their fashion products.”

“So this is a case where
not
boycotting will make more of a statement,” she says.

“Shannon! Are you in here?” A desperate-sounding voice echoes off the tiles as the clicking of heels grows closer.

Marnie and I dive into separate stalls.

“Shannon?” It's the frazzled girl with the headset.

I balance my crystal slippers on either side of the toilet seat and hold my breath.

“I saw the bottom of your white dress, Shannon.”

I sigh and step down off the toilet. With a flash of inspiration, I lift my dress and move my shoes into position. “I must be nervous or something because my stomach is a mess,” I call out.

I make a farting noise with my mouth on my forearm and Marnie joins in from the stall beside me. “That's awful!” she says. “What crawled up your butt and died?”

Trying not to laugh, I continue mimicking flatulence and let out a couple of convincing groans. “Oh, yeah. That's better,” I say between fart sounds.

Finally the assistant calls, “I'll just wait outside. Please hurry.”

“You betcha,” I say and pull the white dress over my head. Standing on the toilet, I look over the divider into Marnie's stall. She's laughing hysterically as she claws her way out of her asymmetrical creation.

“Too bad the cameras weren't rolling for that.” I toss my white dress, and it floats down to her. Then she heaves her wadded-up Day-Glo green ball over the divider in my direction. “And don't worry, I'll make sure breaking your boycott is totally worthwhile.”

With a smile, she finds the label in the back of my dress and tears it out. “Some sacrifices are easier than others.”

“Careful,” I tease. “That was the reasoning that led to me dating Luke Hershman.”

I hear her laugh as I pull her green dress over my head.

Marnie looks so heavenly when she emerges in my white dress that I can't help but think I'd make a pretty decent fairy godmother myself.

I give her a hug just as the freaked-out assistant reappears in the doorway. “
Ugh!
” The girl wrinkles her whole face. I sniff the perfumed air and then realize she's referring to my dress. “What are you wearing? We are about to go
live!
”

“I'm ready,” I tell her and give Marnie a wink as I lead the disgusted girl out of the bathroom.

When we reach the library, my wardrobe switch is met with gasps of horror. Fortunately, we're out of time and there isn't a spare gorgeous designer gown lying around.

Gathering my garbage bag from the dusty corner where the assistant-wench stuffed it, I squeeze between Kelly and Amy on the custom Nőrealique-lip-shaped couch with my project on my lap. Marnie's dress is big on me, and her rough seams scratch a bit, but I smile, thinking about how beautiful and happy she looked in my white one. Patting down my huge plastic-covered heap as best I can, I feel the anxiety in the room swell as the television monitor counts down from ten to “Action!”

Victoria stands onstage and launches into a recap of how this whole spectacle is the “most unusual reality show ever conceived.” The camera pans to the crowd, showing our classmates grinning and nodding energetically. Suddenly, the monitor shifts to the same view I'm facing in the library. I look over my shoulder to see a longhaired cameraman zooming in on the Queens posing and primping. He smoothly swings the shot over to us Wannabes sitting on the lip-shaped couch. Kelly and I are mostly obscured by my black garbage bag, and Amy is making unflattering warm-up shapes with her mouth.

“You girls ready back there?” Victoria calls from the front stage.

We nod dumbly at the camera, and Kristan gives a loud “Woo!”

“Well, okay then!” Victoria practically squeals. “Performances will begin right after
this
commercial break!”

The monitor flips from Amy, Kelly, and I sitting like lumps on the lips couch to the commercial the three of us shot earlier in the season. “Okay, runway girls, let's go.” An assistant herds Kelly and Grace toward the door.

“Hey, Kelly,” Grace shoots. “Don't pull a
Shannon
and fall on your ass.” The shot of me sprawled on the ground is one of the most-played clips of all time, so Grace's comment is pretty funny. But it's also a really stupid thing for her to say. Kelly straightens up like she's just resolved to win the whole stupid walk-off.

Which she does. Grace looks like amateur-modeling-day-at-the-mall compared to Kelly's fierce runway strut. Watching their “fashion show” on the monitors, it's obvious.
Grace
should
head
straight
for
the
after-prom.

When they're done, Victoria goes in for a congratulatory hug, but at Kelly's glare, she reroutes and gives a feeble handshake to Kelly's forearm. “Remember,” Victoria says to the camera, “when the polls open, you can vote for Kelly by dialing or texting 888-555-5401, that's oh-one to vote for Kelly.” She glances over, and I think she actually expects Kelly to hold up a giant foam finger or something. But Kelly just stands with her hands on her hips, looking ultra model-esque. Victoria puts an arm around Grace's shoulder and recites her voting number next. Grace holds out two wiggly number fingers and smiles pleadingly at the camera.

Victoria announces, “After the break, we'll see Wannabe Amy Waller performing with our other two Original Queens!”

My arms are sticking to the plastic garbage bag, and I realize the other girls must be headed to the stage already because I'm alone in the giant library. I look at the ornate light fixture on the ceiling and take a deep breath. The show is going much faster than I'd imagined, and I'm not sure I'm ready for this. I look around at the old books lining the walls and have a sudden urge to snuggle up with one of them and be left alone.

“Depola!” a headset-wearing assistant barks. “You're on standby in five. Better move stage-left with your, er…parcel.”

I stand, staggering awkwardly under the bulk of my black plastic bag, and make my way to the side of the stage where I'm hidden from view.

The music starts pulsing, and Amy and the girls charge through a cloud of smoke. I can feel the energy of the crowd rising from where I stand watching. Kristan and Deena are really great dancers, and it turns out those dresses they're wearing are very stretchy. They perform mirrored leaps that slide into splits and high kicks that show they're both wearing sparkly shorts underneath their gowns.

Amy's singing is totally rocking the whole room, but the other girls don't give up trying to grab the spotlight. The two of them go off-routine with growing enthusiasm, and before long they're both gyrating back and forth trying to out sex-face each other. Finally, Deena “accidentally” whacks Kristan in the head with a high kick and sends her sprawling. The crowd absolutely loves it.

I want to abandon my big black yard bag and run flailing from the prom.
There's no way I can follow this high-octane performance
.

Wild applause explodes as the song ends. Victoria announces the call-in numbers and all three girls do their cheesy number-fingers. For the eternity of another commercial break, I carry my bag toward the middle of the stage, shuffling my feet and wishing I were wearing my old boots rather than these clear crystal pumps.

The monitor in front of the stage shifts to a ridiculous shot of an enormous wad of levitating black plastic. Marnie's asymmetric florescent green hem peeks out from the bottom, and Victoria's voice comes from offstage. “And lastly, we have Wannabe Shannon Depola with um…her act.”

Crowd energy? Gone.

The silence stretches out until someone coughs uncomfortably. I drop my plastic bundle in front of my feet with a
splat.
Looking at the camera, I laugh nervously. Off to one side, I notice a small team of uniformed paramedics standing by, probably hoping I pass out right now. They may get their wish.

Victoria is twirling her finger around in a circle, indicating I need to start doing something before she forces the cameras back on herself.

The crowd of my peers stretches out before me, watching with open pity. I'm doomed. Then I spot Marnie. She looks downright angelic in my white dress, and I'm filled with hope as she grins at me encouragingly. My swirling thoughts stop. No more tangents.

With a deep breath, I point my finger in the air, displaying an item that shocks the prom-goers into a collective gasp.

“This,” I announce, “is a finger cot!”

The murmuring starts as I'd expected. “I dropped one of these in tenth grade gym class and was given the nickname…” I shout, “The Elf Ucker!”

Victoria gasps, laughter breaks out, and
this
time, I laugh right along. “Yes, that's right. It's me, the Elf Ucker.” I give a small curtsy, and the room quiets down to see where I'm going with this…
where
am
I
going
with
this? Oh yeah.
“The reason I never explained about the finger cot is because I use it for a hobby that I thought was super-embarrassing.” The murmurs start up again, this time sprinkled with a few
Ooooo
's. “Okay, okay. It's not actually
that
embarrassing.”

I lunge for the bag at my feet. Crawling over it, I rip off the black plastic in giant strips, wishing I'd used a much less durable trash bag—or at least thought to wear stretchy shorts underneath my gown. I feel a side-seam give a little and steal a glance at the monitors where I see myself sprawled awkwardly with my enormous Day-Glo green butt in the air.

Snickers start erupting from the crowd as I step on a corner of the trash bag. My crystal pump slips on the plastic and I fall forward onto the bag.
Nice
way
to
bookend
my
reality
show
experience
. At least the cameras won't cut away as long as I continue humiliating myself.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of white floating toward me. It's Marnie. James is giving her a boost onstage and she moves to help me.

I'm intensely grateful, not just for her support, but also because now I'm not the only girl in a prom gown pawing about onstage. The two of us laugh together at the ridiculousness of our situation as we rip into the bag. Finally, we each latch on to an end and hold up my project together.

I hear someone in the crowd gasp, probably some 4-H fanatic. Looking at the television monitor displaying my handiwork, I have to admit it is a truly beautiful quilt. The colors and patterns swirl together in a mesmerizing dance. The crowd actually seems somewhat impressed. At least the snickers stop.

“The hobby that I love,” I say, “the one that I thought was more embarrassing than living with the nickname Elf Ucker…is
quilting
.” I pause, waiting for gasps of horror that never come. So I go on. “High school isn't easy for any of us. We all have parts of ourselves we're ashamed of and want to hide. Some of us are desperate to fit in. Maybe even dream of being voted Prom Queen.
What
a
great
concept
for
a
reality
show!
” I mock, winning a few laughs.

Glancing to the spot where Marnie emerged from the crowd, I spot James grinning at her. And beside him I see Rick, eyeing me skeptically.
He's still here!
My heart starts beating harder, and I feel a renewed focus.

I pull up the edge of my gown and wipe off my signature pink lipstick into a perfect lip shape. Holding it up I say, “I didn't need Nőrealique lipstick to rescue me from being a wannabe. I was a little odd, maybe, but at least I was genuine. This show is what turned me
into
a Wannabe.”

The camera's little red light continues blinking as Victoria strides angrily across the stage toward Marnie and me. I hold the quilt up higher. “This quilt represents what I gave up to become popular,” I say. “It's a friendship quilt for my best friend. Those of you at home may not recognize Marnie without a blur across her face.” To her, I say, “Thanks for signing that release.”