The Real Prom Queens of Westfield High (5 page)

I immediately launch into a very off-key and audibly painful version of “Lousy Romance
”
and drive directly to Rick's house.

When I stop the car in his driveway, he opens the door quickly, gets out, and slams it shut. My arm is resting on the edge of my open window, and when I put my head out to say good-bye, he leans down at the same time and startles me.

The two of us are nose-to-nose as his blue eyes stare into mine. I think about reaching out to touch his hair but pull back and drop my gaze to his lips. Imagine drawing him close…“Shannon?” He gives me a loopy grin.

“Sure, yeah…I mean, what?” I stammer, pulling my arm back into the car and refocusing. “Uh…what?”

“Goodnight.”

I smile and turn the key in the ignition. Of course, the car is already running, so it makes that angry grinding sound that I hate. “Oops.” I wave as I back out of Rick's driveway. He laughs and watches until we're out of sight.

“I thought for sure you were going to drop me off first,” Marnie says.

“Oh yeah? Why?” I ask, keeping my focus on the road.

“Shannon, really!” she says. “That
look
? Between you two?”

“What? During the game? We were acting.”

“Neither one of you can act.”

“Gee thanks.”

Marnie stares at me. “You are
not
going to try to tell me there's nothing's going on between you and Rick.”

“There's nothing going on.” I laugh. “You know. We're friends.”

“Okay, you can believe that if you want to,” she mocks lightly. “But I'd swear I saw you crushing on him tonight.”

“Crushing? Naaah.” I glance her way. By the dashboard light, I can see she knows I'm full of shit.

“Well, we'll see what happens.” Rolling down her window, she says casually, “Slow down?”

We're passing the BG gas station on Route 8, and BG happens to have caused the most recent disastrous oil spill. Marnie throws her head out the window and screams at the top of her lungs, “Burn in hell, BG!” She calmly rolls her window back up and asks me what I plan to do if Rick calls.

I tell her I don't think him calling would mean anything, but it isn't easy for me, driving and lying at the same time. I'm not great at multitasking. I pull into her driveway, and she jumps out of the car moments before curfew.

“Love you,” I say, putting the car in reverse. “Have fun saving the world one beach at a time.” I've been teasing her about going to such an amazing spot on a “mission trip,” but apparently the island she's going to was ripped up by a recent hurricane and people are now homeless.

“Love you too,” she says. “Promise me you won't totally isolate? Quilting while you watch
Pretty
Woman
on repeat is no way to spend your summer.”

I wave and start backing slowly down her driveway. She calls after me, “Say you'll try something you've never done before!”

“I promise to try something new,” I call back. Which is the truest thing I've told her all night.

At least at home I don't have to pretend everything is normal. It clearly isn't, as evidenced by the fact that Josie and I are getting along. We're talking late into the night about the show and what it can mean for each of us. I warn her that she might not be on camera all that much. “My school life will be the main focus once the season gets rolling,” I say, but Josie's clearly psyched to be getting that cool older sister she's always wanted, and she's determined to help me prepare.

“A girl from
Make
Me
a
Model
said the best advice she got was to take her top off when she was too cranky to deal with the cameras,” she tells me. “You're still underage, so they can't film you nude.”

“Um, thanks?” There's no way I'm taking my shirt off in front of anybody.

The two of us are sitting on the couch in the living room with the first season of
Biting
Reality
playing on instant watch. Josie keeps pausing the show to make comments. She thinks I should focus on riding this opportunity to bigger and better things. “Like the ultimate, writing books!”

As she goes off on a random tip about how to be the center of drama without being labeled a drama queen, I watch her happy expression and feel warmth toward my little sister. She genuinely wants to help me do well, and I realize I've underestimated the sister bond that—My phone rings from where it rests on the coffee table, and Josie lunges to grab it before I can see who's calling. “Hello, Shannon Depola's phone,” she says as I try to snatch it back.

She hits mute. “
It's a BOY!
” she says. “Who's Rick?”

My heart beats in my ears. Slashing my arms back and forth, I mouth an exaggerated
NO
.

“So sorry, Rick,” Josie tells him. “She's out and forgot her phone here at home.” After a pause, she laughs. “Yes, it
is
just like her.” She catches my eye and says, “I'm not sure when she'll be back. Can I give her a message?” Josie happens to be a great liar. I suspect it's a standard popular-girl feature, but she's usually not a bitch about her powers.

After she hangs up, she threatens to call Rick right back and tell him I've got herpes if I don't give her the scoop. Like I said, she's
usually
not a bitch.

“I do appreciate your sudden interest in my life,” I say, “but there is no scoop here. That was just Rick.”

“That much I know. He says to call him when you get in. I want to know why his call made you freak.”

“I think he may be kind of into me,” I say. “That's all.”

She repeats “
That's all?
” as if a guy being into me is a holy miracle. “How do you feel about him?”

I think about the way our eyes kept locking in the rearview mirror. I shrug, but Josie must read my expression because she says, “Okay, so you like him. What's the problem? Is he a real uggo?”

“No.” I'm suddenly defensive. “He's not an
uggo
. I'm just not sure if I like him and anyway I'm leaving in a few days for Prom Queen Camp.”

There's a pause where Josie could be telling me to skip the show and go for it with Rick. But she isn't.

“It'll work out,” I say. “I think he'll wait.”

Josie raises one perfect eyebrow. “Or maybe, after your makeover, you'll snag someone better.” She starts rattling off a list of my attributes that need improvement, and I shove her off the couch.

My mind swings to what may have happened if I'd dropped Marnie off first on Saturday night. I imagine the look Rick gave me growing more intense and…

“Shannon!” Josie cuts in. “You are so annoying! Did you hear me?”

“Um, you asked what I want to do with my final free days before camp?”

“No.” She sighs. “But never mind. What do you want to do?”

“Finish the binding on my Blue Jean Quilt.” I grin widely.

“Gah! I cannot wait for them to turn you into a normal person.”

***

So now I just need to ignore Rick's phone calls until he catches on and gives up, which, to be honest, takes longer than it should for someone with a 150 IQ. He continues calling at different times for the next few days as I work on finishing my quilt.

Marnie calls to say good-bye before heading halfway across the world, and all she wants to talk about is why I haven't spoken to Rick. “We keep just missing each other,” I say. “But you have a great trip.” Like she's going to the beach to sunbathe instead of constructing homes for people who are devastatingly poor.

Finally, Marnie and I hang up and she flies away and I'm free from having to lie to her. That is, until she sends me an email from the Bahamas asking if I've spoken to Rick yet. I email her back saying my mom just grounded me from the computer all summer for having a messy room. Except that Marnie knows my room is always super-messy and all Mom asks is that I “keep the door shut on that godforsaken pigsty.” At least I know Marns will forgive my awful lies once my real excuse is revealed.

I just hope Rick will too.

The day before camp starts, technicians come to the house and install minicameras and microphones everywhere. Taping won't start until it's time for our “good-byes,” but just knowing the cameras are there freaks me out. Josie must feel it too, because she retires her shabby yellow nightshirt with “Super Chick” printed on the front and is wearing an adorable cotton short set as pajamas. She also has on a pair of faux black-framed glasses and is curled on the couch reading.
So
much
for
reality
television
.

Victoria comes by and coaches us to wait for filming to begin before getting emotional about my going away. Oh yeah, and if I can manage to look significantly unattractive for my good-bye scene and trip to camp, that would be great.

“The limo will swing by to get you at eight tomorrow morning,” Victoria tells me as she heads out the door. “Feel free to stay up late tonight eating salty snacks so you're nice and puffy for the cameras.”

The moment she sashays out the door, our home phone rings. Josie checks the caller ID, looks at me, and silently mouths
Rick
.

My last chance to talk to him before I leave. I glance up at the camera in the ceiling with its unseeing glassy eye and marvel that I'm about to be watched relentlessly.

I surprise Josie by taking the phone out of her hand. Glancing at her and Mom, I hit
talk
and head down the hallway toward my bedroom.

“Hey,” I say once I'm behind my closed door.

“Hey, yourself,” says Rick. “You are not an easy girl to get ahold of.”

“Um, yeah, sorry, I lost my cell phone.” Actually, Victoria just confiscated it until after camp.

“This was my final attempt, so I'm glad you picked up,” he says, and I realize what a huge mistake I've just made. I didn't even think through what I was going to tell him.

“I was wondering if you maybe wanted to go out?” he says.

“Out? You mean, like, on a date?”

Rick laughs. “Well, if the term ‘date' makes you uncomfortable, we can call it a very small gathering, just the two of us. How about the movies? This Saturday?”

This Saturday I'll be up to my neck in makeover paraphernalia. I blurt out, “Sorry, I'm getting my hair done.”

“Oh, okay,” Rick says. “All day?”

“Pretty much. It's a
very
intense process.”

“O-kay.” He draws out the word as if he's looking for more of an explanation, but I don't have one.

Finally, Rick breaks the weird silence. “So, maybe we can talk sometime next week?”

I think about the show. “I'm actually leaving for a big competition, Rick.” Even the truth sounds like a dirty lie in my mouth. “I'll be gone all summer.”

There's another long silence before he asks, “What kind of competition?”

I look at the nearly completed quilt at the foot of my bed and answer, “Quilting!”

“Quilting?”

“Um, yeah,” I say. “They're having a big competition in New Castle this summer. I'll be staying there and working on a quilt. My quilt. That I'm…quilting.”

“Oh,” Rick says, and the silence is back.

“Listen,” I say, “this summer is going to be crazy, but I just want you to know…”
What
? I sigh. “I wonder if I can accept your offer for a very small gathering, just the two of us, but pushed back a bit.”

“Pushed back how far?” Rick's voice is tight.

“Until after the summer?”

“Sure. Because, hey, you have your marathon haircut and big quilting competition,” he says. “I'm curious, Shannon, just how do they judge quilting anyway?”

This is a question I can actually answer, but I'm not about to get into “Exemplary Piecework” since he is clearly mocking me. I spot a finger cot lying on my dresser and feel inspired.

“Do you remember tenth-grade dodgeball, Rick?”

“What does that—”

“Remember? The gym floor was redone and Mrs. Gumto would have a hissy fit if anyone walked on it wearing anything but sneakers.” At his silence, I add, “I used to imagine her lying on it and caressing its glossy smoothness after everyone went home at night.” His snickers give me hope. “So, anyway, we were playing dodgeball and I was one of the last players standing…”

“Yeah, you were always really good at dodgeball.”

I take a breath. “A finger cot fell out of my pocket.”

“A what?”

“The elf condom. The stupid thing that Grace turned into—”

“I remember.” The silence is even heavier than before.

“Well, finger cots are used to help with quilting,” I say. “I've been quilting for a long time. I'm actually really good.” My insides relax at my confession.

“Shannon? I never told you this, but I always felt really bad for pointing out the, er…that thing on the floor.”

“Everything pretty much changed for me that day.”

“Grace and Luke are a couple of shit slices,” Rick says. “I've wanted to apologize for so long…”

“So why didn't you?”

“I guess I hoped you'd forget I was involved. I'm so sorry.”

I shake my head to loosen the memory.

“Yeah, well, you should be sorry.”

“I am. And I want to make it up to you.” His voice deepens. “I've been thinking about you a lot since the party. I can't pretend to go back to the way things were.”

I envision Rick crawling through my window and repeating what he just said in person. But I can't acknowledge the flip-flopping way his words make me feel.

“Um, thanks?” I say.

“Thanks. Yeah.” His voice is tight again.

“Well, I'd better go spend time with my family,” I tell him, trying to deflect the accusing tone of his voice. “I'm not going to see them, so this is our good-bye night.”

He mocks, “Well then, happy good-bye night.”

“Okay,” I say. “Hope you have a good summer—”

He cuts me off, “Yeah, good luck becoming a well-coiffed Queen Quilter.”

I laugh. “Who uses the word ‘coiffed'?” But he's already hung up.

Stupid
reality
show.
I just hope that this is worth it when the summer ends and my new makeover knocks the socks off his ears.