At the time, Erica had just gotten a full-ride scholarship to Xavier University, so our parents agreed to let her go as big as she wanted. No expense was spared.
My parents bought Erica a fancy dress and paid to have her hair and makeup professionally done. They rented a limo and a deluxe suite at a swanky hotel for her and her friends. Erica said she’d had the time of her life. Seven months later, she came home from her first semester at Xavier and had clearly gained more than her fair share of the average “freshman fifteen.” In her case, it was more like the freshman forty. My parents took Erica into their bedroom and closed the door behind them. After a nearly all-night badgering session, Erica confessed that she was knocked up with her prom date’s baby, a guy who she hadn’t seen or heard much from since prom night.
Erica’s scholarship ended up going to waste because she had to drop out and take a crash course in motherhood and responsibility.
My father was so heartbroken that he didn’t speak to my sister for almost two whole months. He couldn’t even look at her. It wasn’t until my niece Jayla was born that my dad was able to get over Erica’s pregnancy and move on.
Dad forgave, but he didn’t forget. Since then, the rules about prom in our house became the same as Fight Club.
First rule: you do not talk about PROM.
Second rule: you DO NOT talk about PROM.
Third rule: you DO NOT talk about PROM—EVER!
The unspoken message was that since Erica betrayed my parent’s trust, there would be no prom for me, so don’t even bother asking. I didn’t like it, but I accepted it. Just as I accepted not being allowed to date until I turned seventeen, which happened recently. I was now able to date, but it came with the requirement that I could only go out in groups of at least four people, and even then, my father had been known to pop in and check up on me, which was mortally embarrassing.
He was so scared that I’d follow in my sister’s footsteps that he lived in a constant state of terror that history would repeat itself. For instance, I gained a few pounds during the holidays last year thanks to Mom’s irresistible caramel cake, and Dad gave me the same crooked side-eye he’d given Erica when he suspected that she was expecting.
“I think you need to schedule an appointment with Dr. Sayers to have Deanna checked out,” I overheard him tell Mom. She refused. My mother is the voice of reason between the two of them, and she holds me down when Dad’s fears and suspicions get too out of control. He gets so paranoid sometimes that I actually feel sorry for him. It’s like, it’s so hard for him to just sit back and chill, instead of worrying about me so much.
So there we were at the table, my parents and I, eating a dinner of roasted chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans. I waited for my Mom to finish filling us in on how her day had gone at the public health clinic where she worked as a nurse, then jumped right in with, “So, a funny thing happened at school the other day....” When I finished telling the story, all that could be heard was the sound of utensils scraping against plates, and Wheel of Fortune on the television in the living room.
After what seemed like an eternity, Mom finally said, “That’s nice, Deanna... I’m so proud of you....”
“Thanks...” I said, surprised that it came out barely above a whisper. I was so scared of what my father would say that I’d lost my voice.
We both looked over at Dad, whose whole attitude and demeanor had changed from happy-go-lucky to ticking time bomb. His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched and that vein in his forehead started throbbing as it always did when he’s heated about something.
“Say something, Anthony,” Mom urged, but Dad stayed quiet, showing more interest in his dinner than the conversation at hand.
Mom reached over and gently tilted his chin up, forcing him to look directly at her. They exchanged glances, and I could see her silently pleading with him not to go flying off the handle about this. He’s a military guy, so he can be intense without even trying to be, and is capable of going from zero to a hundred in ten seconds flat.
Dad pushed away from the table and stood up. He glared down at me as though I had just become the enemy and said, “Congratulations... Just don’t come home pregnant!” He spat out the word “pregnant” as if it left a bad taste in his mouth, and then stormed out of the room without another word.
“He’ll come around,” Mom assured me apologetically. “You just go on and do what you have to do, and let me know how I can help. Okay?”
I nodded and breathed a sigh of relief. I think it went well considering the fact that I was still breathing, but I had a feeling that the subject wouldn’t be officially closed until Dad had his say. It was coming. It was just a matter of time.
AUBREY GARRETT
After lunch on what had to be the hottest day of the year, four hundred kids crammed the gymnasium for the prom court assembly. The purpose of the assembly was for the candidates to officially accept the nomination, and to introduce themselves to the student body in hopes of winning their vote.
Eight folding chairs were lined up in the middle of the gym floor. Filling those chairs were Chad, the other three prom-king candidates and those of us in the running for prom queen. I’d been a cheerleader since seventh grade, so being in front of a large crowd wasn’t unnerving to me, unlike some of the other nominees who looked like they were scared out of their minds.
When everyone was all settled, Principal Ellerbee talked briefly about why we were all there and then turned the floor over to the prom-court candidates.
In the tradition of ladies first, Tiffany Boyd, Judy Reeves, Deanna Parker and I all took to the lectern to speak. Tiffany approached the lectern with the enthusiasm of a stand-up comic about to launch into a comedy routine. Her speech, if you could really call it that, was short and to the point. “Hey everybody, vote for ya girl Tiffany!” she hollered into the microphone, and then did a little two-step like she was at a party. Always the class clown, Tiffany raised the roof while her supporters chanted “Tiff! Tiff! Tiff! Tiff!” over and over.
The racket quieted down a little when Judy Reeves replaced Tiffany at the lectern. Judy was a trembling, sweaty mess before she even uttered one word, and I don’t think it helped that a few kids started yelling out “Judy Cootie!”
The crowd was rough, worse than the one at the Apollo Theater on amateur night. The heckling increased, along with a mixture of boos and laughter. They were trying to break her, but Judy just stood there and took it, which only made things worse. It got so loud and rowdy that Principal Ellerbee had to yell “Knock it off!” into the microphone and threaten the offenders with suspension before Judy could start her speech. She wiped away the sweat on her forehead and then started reading from the sheet of notebook paper that fluttered in her shaky hand.
Don’t ask me what Judy’s speech was about, because I have no idea. I don’t think anyone did, because her voice was so low you could barely hear her, even with the microphone. It was torture having to sit there and endure all that incoherent mumbling, but there was light applause when she sat back down, because we were all relieved that it was over.
When it was my turn, I approached the lectern with confidence and a huge smile. “Okay, people, can we get serious now?” I asked, causing the student body to roar with laughter.
I sensed that this was my crowd, and they were on my side, so I jumped right into my speech. “Just about every girl in America wants to be prom queen, but what qualities make a girl truly deserving of that title?”
I signaled for Ethan Cohen to dim the lights, and then went over my PowerPoint presentation titled “What Is Prom Queen Material?”
The main points were:
1. Likability;
2. Leadership skills;
3. Outgoing personality;
4. A great sense of style.
“I have been captain of the varsity cheer team fo
r two years in a row, so even those of you who know the least about me know that I possess all of these qualities and more,” I continued, noting that kids were actually listening and no one was goofing off. “But ask yourself if my fellow candidates for prom queen possess them, as well.”
I signaled for Ethan to replace the PowerPoint presentation with the video I’d sweet-talked him into helping me put together.
It was a collection of all the other nominees’ most embarrassing moments that he’d caught on tape since he’d been school videographer. It started with Tiffany’s not-so-secret-after-all infatuation with Coach Kelly. Coach K was gregarious and handsome, and all the students liked him, but apparently no one liked him quite as much as Tiffany. And according to the rumors that had been swirling around school for months, the feeling may have been mutual. The clip Ethan used was of Tiffany smacking Coach Kelly on the butt after a win against Booker T. Washington High and saying, “Way to go, sexy!” with a suggestive wink. Coach K duplicated Tiffany’s actions, which Ethan put on a twenty-second loop for dramatic effect.
Next was footage of Judy, just being Judy: awkward, uncouth, and desperately seeking attention anywhere she could find it.
And I was especially happy that Deanna Parker had been caught in all of her nerd glory. At the science fair last January something went wrong with her experiment, causing it to blow up in her face and singe her bangs to a crisp. Hilarious! And most recently, footage of Ethan asking her: “Hey Deanna, you were nominated for prom queen earlier today. What do you think about that?” to which she shrugged and replied, “It’s no big deal!”
The very last frame was of me flashing a winning smile. “I’m Aubrey Garrett,” I said right into the camera. “And I approved this message!”
Five
DEANNA PARKER
Embarrassed, humiliated, and downright pissed off were just a few of the emotions I felt at that moment. Imagine being slapped in the face, followed by a hard, Mortal Kombat-style uppercut. That’s exactly how I felt after watching that piece of trashy propaganda that Aubrey had cut-and-pasted together.
If it was Aubrey’s intention to shake things up and get tongues wagging, then she had definitely succeeded. By the time the video finished and the lights came back up, the buzz in the gymnasium was so loud you could barely hear yourself think.
First of all, Tiffany and Coach Kelly deserved to be put on blast because that incident was highly inappropriate, but what Aubrey had done to Judy and me was just downright evil.
And Ethan Cohen wasn’t any better. He’d edited my section of the video to make it seem like I had given the middle finger to the entire student body, when that wasn’t the case. The part when I’d said it was “no big deal” was in response to his question of how I felt that people were taking bets that I would lose to Aubrey, not in regard to the nomination itself. True, I didn’t care much about the nomination in the beginning, but Ethan didn’t know that, and besides, a girl has the right to change her mind.
Aubrey had tossed down the gauntlet, and it was my turn to pick it up and run with it.
All eyes were on me, but I wasn’t nearly as nervous as I thought I would be after being humiliated in front of the entire school. Besides, years of being on the debate team had prepared me for public speaking, and I was ready to give the speech of my life.
Kristen was my self-appointed campaign manager. She took that duty on the second I announced that I would be running for prom queen, and I felt totally secure with that appointment, because she had dreams of being a crisis-communications expert like Olivia Pope, from the television show Scandal. No matter what kind of chaos was going on around her, Kristen always stayed in complete control, and her organizational skills were amazing. Kristen was the one who suggested the campaign slogan “the prom queen who cares,” so the speech I’d written in my bedroom two nights before began with all the substantial contributions I’ve made to my school and community via social activism and volunteer work.
“So, who is Deanna Parker, you ask? Well for starters, I have earned over one hundred hours of community service by volunteering with the Special Olympics and helping to construct playgrounds for underprivileged children...”
A couple of kids in the audience said “Awww!” But it wasn’t clear if they were actually making fun of me or not. Either way, I forged ahead, reciting my speech from memory. “I also volunteer with a local food bank, as well as the senior citizens’ annual Meals on Wheels banquet. I am president of the math club, and a proud member of the NAACP Youth Council, as well as the National Honor Society. But enough about me. Let’s talk about you, and how you fit into the social pecking order here at Brookfield,” I said. “If you’re like me, chances are you don’t easily fit into the popular, cool kids’ category, so to separate us from them, they put labels on us like nerd, dork, band geek, slacker, freak, loner, loser, outcast, burnout and theater geek. If you’ve been tagged with one of those labels, then I represent you. A vote for me is essentially a vote for yourselves, so vote Team Deanna, and let’s become prom queen of Brookfield High, together!”
When I finished, a large portion of the crowd jumped to their feet and applauded. Some of them were grinning and high-fiving. The “Team Deanna” chant started as a murmur, and then got louder and more enthusiastic.
It was then that I knew I had a real shot at winning the crown. And judging by the pained expression on Aubrey’s face, she knew it, too.
* * *
In order to maintain momentum, Kristen spread the word via social media to all of our mutual friends that #TeamDeanna would be meeting in the multipurpose room after school. One and all were welcome to come join us to discuss campaign strategies.
Shelly Bennett, the goth-punk girl from social-studies class, showed up, along with about two dozen other kids, which totally blew me away. So-called nerds, dorks, band geeks, slackers, freaks, loners, losers, outcasts, burnouts and theater geeks all came to show support and help in any way they could. I stood at the front of the room and thanked everyone for coming, and then we got down to business brainstorming ideas for posters, fliers and T-shirts.
It turned out to be a very productive meeting. Several kids volunteered to set up tables in the school lobby and distribute baked goods on behalf of #TeamDeanna every Wednesday afternoon, which I thought was a sweet gesture and awesome idea.
Michael Turner, a kid some would consider a technology geek, pulled out his laptop, and it took him less than ten minutes to set up a Facebook page titled “Vote Deanna Parker for Brookfield Prom Queen.” I looked over his shoulder as he did it, and was amazed that the page got more than 300 “likes” in less than an hour.
It wasn’t long before Aubrey’s name came up.
“How cool would it be if we created a video with some of her most embarrassing moments?” asked a guy in a wheelchair.
A girl with pink hair and multiple face piercings cosigned. “Now that’s a great idea!”
“No, guys, we can’t stoop down to her level,” I said. “Let Aubrey play dirty if she wants to, but we’re keeping our campaign as classy and positive as possible, because when it’s all over, we want to look back and feel good about what we did individually and collectively.”
Several kids mumbled “Okay,” but it was clear that the majority of people in the room would have loved nothing more than to see Aubrey get what she deserved.
At the end of the meeting, some students told their own personal stories of being negatively labeled, and expressed pride in the movement that we were creating.
“Well you, guys,” I said. “I think this calls for a team cheer.”
We gathered in a big circle, and everyone put their arms in the middle.
“Team Deanna on the count of three,” Michael said. “One...two...three...TEAM DEANNA!”
#TeamDeanna was now a tangible force to be reckoned with, and the
re would be no stopping us.
AUBREY GARRETT
I had to give Deanna Parker her props. Playing on the sympathy of the disenfranchised was a brilliant move on her part. My favorite part of her speech was when she said something to the effect of, “Yes, nerd tribe, the prom can be for you, too!”
LOL...
That really cracked me up. I’m all for people going after their dreams, but come on now. Let’s be realistic.
Deanna’s rant reminded me of one of those old teen movies where the nerds try to rise up and dethrone the popular kids. The only thing is, it rarely works out for the nerds in the movies, just as it won’t work for Deanna in real life.
Like it or not, the status quo at Brookfield will never change. The cheerleaders, jocks and other popular kids will always be at the top, with everyone else lagging behind.
To those who have a problem with that, I say, don’t blame me. I don’t make the rules, I just live by them.
Deanna’s speech was hilarious, but what wasn’t so funny was the aftermath of my video presentation.
It was business, nothing personal. I knew when Ethan and I were putting it together that the video would be controversial, but I didn’t know it would reach the level of scandal that it actually did. Ethan and I were immediately called into the principal’s office where he grilled us relentlessly about the footage of Tiffany and Coach Kelly. He wanted the five W’s (who, what, when, where and why).
I must have said “I don’t know” about a thousand times. After about an hour, Principal Ellerbee finally let me go when he realized that Ethan was the only one who could give him the information he wanted.
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