The Real Prom Queens of Westfield High

by Laurie Boyle Crompton

  Instead, the episode opens with the shot of Luke Hershman leaning over my living room couch to kiss me. Right after he knocked me unconscious with a football. Except that nobody watching knows anything about the football. The onscreen image of Luke and me kissing tenderly shifts into a split-screen with my heinous before picture. Victoria brightly narrates, “See how Shannon goes from frumpy to fabulous and snags the captain of the football team!”

  Then there’s a shot of Amy on our school’s stage wearing a wedding dress and singing her lungs out as Maria. The split-screen cuts in with a revolting before picture, and Victoria invites, “Follow Amy’s journey from withering wallflower to superstar siren.”

  Next, we see Kelly modeling a mini-dress as she poses at a photo shoot. She eventually caved in to pressure from her SACC and took up fashion modeling. “And watch Kelly turn from ghastly mess to model-fabulous!” Victoria says cheerfully as Kelly’s shot splits with a picture of her metal minefield face from last year.

  Kelly groans beside me. She and Amy are watching the premiere at my house since we can all use the support, even though Kelly acts like she doesn’t need or want it. Over the past year of pretending to be a clique, the three of us have gotten sort of close. I mean, we’re technically still competing against each other, and there’s been plenty of casual backstabbing and confidence undermining, but we get along well enough.

  Amy is always quick to cheer people up when they need it, including Victoria, and she remains sweetly introverted when she’s not onstage. And Kelly’s ongoing disdain for playing fashion whore manifests in biting comments that seriously crack me up.

  Our classmates are just finding out that the show is about the three of us at this very moment, so we’ve all turned off our phones. This two-hour premiere episode will cover our six-week stint at Prom Queen Camp, which makes sense, since they can’t air any footage from the school until students or their parents sign their waivers.

  Josie is in her room right now watching the show with a friend who’s sleeping over, and Mom and Thomas are out on a double date with Aunt Kate and her husband. After nearly a year of secrets and anticipation, I can’t believe the time is here.

  Onscreen, Kelly, Amy, and I each morph from our humiliating before photos to glamorous after shots with fans blowing our hair off our heavily made-up faces. I can almost hear the director still calling “And…look!” over and over as the three of us dramatically turned toward the camera.

  There were lots of blooper takes with hair blowing in our eyes and sticking to our lipstick, and one time during the group glamour shot, Amy flipped up so fast, I konked my nose on the back of her head. We had to wait for it to stop bleeding before we could go on.

  As ridiculous as it all felt at the time, I must admit we look pretty hot onscreen. Amy and I are a little stiff, but Kelly is a natural at posing, and it’s easy to see how her modeling career took off so fast. The name of the show melts into view and I’m a little annoyed that it reads The Prom Queen Wannabes, instead of the original and slightly less humiliating From Wannabes to Prom Queens.

  “Oh God.” Amy grabs my hand.

  “Here we go,” says Kelly from the armchair. Her alert posture betrays the fact that she’s definitely invested in what’s coming next. How can she not be? The three of us are being exposed in a very big way.

  The room is completely silent as a commercial comes on featuring us oohing and aahing over our Nőrealique lip gloss. It is by far the cheesiest commercial ever created. They tried giving us lines, but we were all really terrible at delivering them. Hey, it’s harder than it looks, okay? Anyway, they had to ditch the narrative, which makes the whole point of the commercial a little hazy, until they display the tagline, “Transform your look, transform your life, with Nőrealique Cosmetics.”

  As if glossy lips were our ticket off the slow bus to Loserville.

  A montage of humiliating moments from boot camp plays as Victoria narrates from the foy-yea of our Prom Queen Camp mansion. Onscreen, we’re taught to apply cosmetics as if we’re three chimps who have never seen a blush brush. Then there’s Amy yelling at Kelly and me for leaving hair in the bathtub drain. Again. And of course my flailing fall off the runway plays over and over about twelve hundred times. It’s so humiliating I can’t even watch it.

  And then there are the confessional moments. “I am living with swine.”—Amy. And she is. “I can’t believe I’m trapped here with a pair of dingbats.”—Kelly. And she is not. “I’m living in a mansion!”—Me, said with smiling ecstasy. I wince at the flaky image I was projecting back then.

  The show ends with the three of us completely transformed, walking in slow motion down the runway/hallway of Westfield High on the first day of school. Chins held high, postures erect, we seem more confident than any of us felt that day. We are frozen midstride and tiaras are photoshopped onto our heads. The show’s throbbing theme song ends abruptly as the big pink words The Prom Queen Wannabes are stamped across the screen.

  Victoria invites viewers to tune in next week to see our peers’ reactions to our amazing makeovers. Plus, she cheerfully promises a huge surprise twist to be revealed later in the season. Amy, Kelly, and I exchange looks at that, but I figure it’s probably something lame, like someone at home can win a pair of spike heels by texting in a random trivia answer. Or maybe they’ll be flown to meet us here in the middle of nowhere. Great prize.

  “Well, you guys looked fantastic.” Josie is cranky when she and her friend emerge from her bedroom. She wasn’t on camera at all. “The show will definitely be a huge hit and you three will get totally famous. Congratulations. We’re going to bed.”

  She ignores my goodnight, and I feel bad that she’s so disappointed. Still, at least she no longer has a socially catastrophic older sister tarnishing her image. That is, unless everyone at school decides to turn on us now that they know about all the help we’ve been secretly getting.

  I bite my lip and glance at my cell phone.

  Kelly says, “Well, I guess it’s time we face our adoring public.”

  We switch our phones on, and I say, “I wonder how everyone will treat us after this.”

  “Reminding our classmates what losers we used to be may have just broken the spell,” Amy says, and I nod my agreement.

  I’m relieved that my old nickname wasn’t mentioned even once, but my runway fall was pretty damn humiliating. At least I resisted the urge to run away flailing.

  All three of our cell phones start ringing at once. Kelly’s techno overpowers Amy’s ballad while mine quacks loudest of all. The bizarre mix of mismatched ringtones is unnerving.

  We each take a deep breath, hold up our phones, and say, “Hello?”

  ***

  The way that our peers decide to react to our huge secret is pretty damn crucial. If they choose, en masse, to not sign their permission slips, the show will probably get canceled immediately. That is, unless they decide to air it with everyone’s faces blurred out, the way certain celebrities need to have their “oops” panty-less crotch shots blurred. But that does not sound like a very good show.

  When Luke calls to say he loved our scene, I hear the football team whooping in the background. I was finally allowed to tell him about the show earlier today. It was only so he could sign a release for them to air our kissing scene, and he was supposed to keep it a secret, but I doubt he did. He was wildly excited by the news and invited all his buddies over to his media room to catch the premiere. Judging by the feral animal sounds coming through the phone, they either really loved the show or there is booze involved. Possibly both.

  For the next solid hour after The Prom Queen Wannabes ends, Kelly, Amy, and I are busy fielding calls. I swear, a representative from each and every clique and sub-clique in our school checks in with at least one of us. Well, that is, except the clique of Grace and the former Alpha Queens. But we can pretty much guess their reaction.

  Of course, I don’t hear from Marnie, James, or Rick either, but they’ve p
robably lost my number by now. It’s also possible they didn’t see the show. I mean, they’re not exactly television fiends. Rick’s parents don’t even subscribe to cable on account of it “causing brain rot.” I’m tempted to send them a link online so they’ll realize why I’ve been acting different all year long. But guaranteed they’ll hear about it soon enough.

  Based on the collective phoned-in responses, it seems we’ll be enjoying yet another bump in status. Everyone wants to know where the cameras are hidden and if it’s too late to get a bit of screen time. It’s clear our classmates will happily sign away whatever rights and dignity are required in order to be on television.

  I can’t help but wonder how the show will portray all the incredible events that catapulted the school’s biggest nobodies into the fabulous and popular alphas we are today. There’s just one thing I’m sure of—there’s no way it will be able to capture the reality of it all.

  ***

  The Prom Queen Wannabes is the biggest thing that has ever happened to Westfield High School. By. Far.

  Like, before this, Westfield’s biggest claim to fame was that some alumni chick became Miss Pennsylvania back in the 1960s.

  When Kelly, Amy, and I walk into school the day after our reality show’s debut, the impact is immediately obvious. The first thing we can’t miss is the enormous television parked in the lobby, right in front of poor old Miss Pennsylvania’s framed portrait. The TV has a huge façade in the shape of the Nőrealique lips logo surrounding the screen. Nobody notices when we join the crowd of students gathered around it. Onscreen, a Nőrealique cosmetics commercial ends, and the scene changes to Kelly, Amy, and me turning dramatically in our official “show poses.”

  A guy from my English for Idiots Class lets out a high-pitched “Ohmygod!” when he sees us. We’re greeted with hugs and squeals and open-mouthed grins as everyone looks around, probably scoping for cameras. We smile humbly, soaking up the glory.

  “There’s my superstar!” Luke says happily as his two best buds close in on Amy and Kelly. Everything feels perfect as Luke swings me effortlessly over his broad shoulder. I’m floating above the crowd and I’m breathless. And I don’t mean Luke has me swooning. I mean he’s knocked the wind out of me, and I start coughing at the sting of bile in my throat.

  He puts me down. “You ’kay, babe?”

  Everyone seems to be holding their breath waiting for my response, and I command myself not to projectile vomit all over my hunky boyfriend. When I nod yes and hold two thumbs up, the whole crowd gives a cheer and starts clapping. Kelly, Amy, and I share smiles of victory.

  Come prom night, one of us will be wearing that tiara for sure.

  ***

  A part of me hopes that Marnie will run up and say she totally understands now about this whole lips logo mix-up.

  I’m telling a group of classmates-slash-fans the story of how our new cars were presented to us at Prom Queen Camp when I spot Marnie down the hall. I give her a smile and an energetic wave. She actually rolls her eyes at me and turns away. As if the fact that I’m on a reality show makes everything even worse.

  “Were you totally in shock?” A girl prompts me to continue with my story, and I realize I’m just standing here openly gaping at the person I used to be best friends with.

  I snap out of it and reply, “Well, they had to give us some way to cart around our new makeup and clothes. All Nőrealique brand of course.” I pull a tube of Shannon’s Sugar Bliss from my lips-logo purse and hold it up for them to see. Everyone laughs, but the crowd can’t quite drown out the image of Marnie turning her back.

  The reconciliation I’d imagined dissolves into a wispy cloud and floats away. Even though we haven’t spoken in months, I feel the loss of Marnie more sharply than ever. Now I know it’s permanent. The eager faces surrounding me seem like poor substitutes for having one best forever friend.

  It’s late enough in the school year that a number of seniors have already turned eighteen and are able to sign their releases right there in homeroom. Of course, everyone else needs parental approval, but they’re all clearly dying to get their non-blurry faces on TV. Even Grace, Kristan, and Deena play along, in spite of the fact that there’s sure to be ugly footage of them from this past year that can get aired now.

  There are a few holdouts who refuse to sign waivers, which means they’ll be shown wearing cloud faces or else be cut entirely. According to Mickey, the nonparticipants all seem to be from insignificant subsets of cliques. It’s upsetting but not at all shocking to learn that Marnie, James, and Rick are opting out of my show.

  “Well, at least we don’t have to worry about our big revelation sending us back to social wasteland,” I say to Kelly and Amy as we sit outside for lunch. We can barely eat with all the greetings interrupting us, and it’s hard to tell if everyone’s just excited about the spring weather or if they’re acting wilder than usual because they’re hoping to get on television. I watch a girl with earbuds in her ears climb onto her boyfriend’s shoulders and start singing while punching the air. Definitely grasping for screen time.

  Amy smiles hello to a girl walking by, then turns a worried look on me. “I had somebody ask me today if we’ve been sabotaging Grace, Deena, and Kristan just so we could win the million dollars.”

  “Ha!” Kelly says. “It was only a matter of time before those rumors started.”

  I swallow a bite of my tuna salad sandwich. “As if we could have anything to do with the crap that’s happened to them.”

  The girls nod their agreement, but we all glance around nervously. A few times during the school year, I wondered if Kelly or even Amy could be sabotaging the queens. All three of us now have the clout to start rumors, pass judgments, and sway public opinion. But just because we can now manipulate the system doesn’t mean we are above the system.

  Nobody in high school is ever above the system. And if we’ve learned anything this year, it’s that popularity can be fleeting.

  I finally relax when Luke and the others sit down around us. Amy and George feed each other fruit salad, and Luke and Pete start unpacking their large paper shopping bags filled with food. I feel happy to be associated with such charismatic people. Luke grins at me and I can practically hear a Crestmate toothpaste commercial chiming at the sparkle of his teeth before he sinks them into an enormous ham sandwich.

  A few tables away, I spot Marnie sitting with Rick and James, and I wince at her homemade wrap skirt. It’s nice to be passionate about something, but I just don’t get how the corporate global economy is being influenced by her dressing unattractively.

  She looks over at the six of us now and takes a breath that raises her shoulders. Her lips purse. James puts an arm around her waist and her shoulders settle. With a flash of excitement, I wonder if they’ve finally hooked up. Their shift from friends to dating wouldn’t exactly make the front page of the school newspaper the way Luke and I did.

  Rick’s back is facing me, and by now I’ve almost forgotten what it felt like to have him give me that special look. Almost.

  I picture for a moment what our senior year might have looked like as Shann-ick. He turns his head to look over his shoulder, and his blue eyes flash at me for an instant. I break eye contact and can’t help but wonder, Do these yellow pumps go with my black heart?

  ***

  The whole week is a blur of people congratulating us and inviting us to parties and even offering to let us cut in line at lunch.

  Amy, Kelly, and I were respectably popular before, but now we’re famous. I find myself walking around with a constant giddy feeling in my gut.

  And then, I discover there’s an online blog where viewers have been discussing our show. And apparently people have some conflicting opinions about the way I came across in the first episode. While some commenters think I’m kind of funny and a few even use the term “awesome,” others think I seem like a flake, and one anonymous girl clams she’d love to “slap some sense” into me. For some reason, I feel tea
rs spring to my eyes as I read on, and I want to explain to everyone that I’m doing the best that I can. Every word feels so personal.

  Anilu_898: As far as I’m concerned, Shannon is beyond clueless.

  Tomatlanta: She’s a bit of a goof at times, and definitely spacey, but I wouldn’t call her clueless.

  Anilu_898: I said she’s beyond clueless and if I want your opinion, I’ll beat it out of you.

  I sit at my computer late into the night, memorizing stranger’s opinions of me. The most negative comments take the deepest root in my mind.

  I’m exhausted, but I need to unlock the secret. I’ve worked too hard for too long to still be so unlikable.

  Chapter Twelve

  Amy, Kelly, and I are invited to several viewing parties for the next installment of The Prom Queen Wannabes, but at the suggestion of our SACCs, we decide against endorsing any one specific group. According to Victoria, “It is best to maintain an air of exclusivity.” Our most strategic move is to stay home the night of the show and perpetuate the illusion we have more important things to do than sit around watching ourselves on television.

  The three of us decide we don’t need to go through the whole handholding group-viewing routine again. We sailed through the ordeal of being outed just fine, and things should cruise smooth from here.

  Josie is watching the show with her clique at some junior’s house, and Mom is out celebrating something work-related with Thomas. I still don’t trust him, but one thing’s for sure—he came along at the perfect time to distract Mom from the fact that I’m on a reality show. After the first episode convinced her my life wasn’t being ruined, Thomas even managed to get Mom to give me a little privacy. She’ll only watch the show if I invite her to. And I haven’t. I figure she’ll sneak a viewing in anyway, but at least this means I won’t ever have to watch it with her or discuss anything that happens.