***
Kelly and Pete have a very public fight and break up the next morning, supposedly over the way she treated Grace on the show. Her defiant strut down the hallway while flipping onlookers the bird does nothing to help her win back supporters.
“What was that?” I ask when she approaches the lockers. “You forgot the cameras were on?”
“Now you’re giving me shit?” Despite her tough-girl façade, I can see she’s upset. She may have even seen the blog. “Grace is evil, okay? She attacked me and threatened to cause problems for my mom at the Snack Shack if I didn’t quit modeling. She basically dumped her bitchiness all over me and I reacted.”
“That’s not what it—”
Kelly cuts me off. “I know, I know, through the wonders of editing technology, the show made me look like an unbelievable ass.” She slams her books around inside her locker.
“Well, what happened between you and Pete?”
“That meathead?” She laughs. “He’s a poser. Drops me the second my status loses value. And here I thought you were the only one using a relationship to social climb.”
“Hey, that’s not—”
“Oh, come on, Shannon, don’t deny it. You don’t have feelings for Luke any more than Deena has a promising future as a spokesperson for Ipegag.” I glance around as Kelly goes on, “I’m so sick of the show’s stupid games, and I’m tired of being such a constant whore over a lousy million bucks. I’m making money modeling now. I don’t need this. I’m quitting.”
I stare at her. Ever since making it through Prom Queen Camp Hell, I have never once honestly considered quitting an option.
“So now that you’re obviously losing, you’re going to bail?” I say. “You want to be a full-time whore-model for the rest of your life? Oh, wait, I’m sorry, I mean, for the rest of your youth, which translates to about the next three years if you were paying attention during the assembly we just had.”
Kelly stares at me then asks calmly, “So you really think you stand a shot at the million bucks?”
“Who’s going to beat me?” I shoot back. “Amy?” I nod toward where she and George are huddled in their quiet clique of two. “She’s not exactly going to win with only one vote from George. And you certainly aren’t much competition, what with the way you quit the minute things get tough.”
I see Kelly’s jaw working in frustration. I’m baiting her. And she knows I’m baiting her. But she’s also too pissed off to ignore the bait.
“That’s it, Depola. It’s on.”
“Bring it!” I turn just in time to be caught seamlessly by Luke’s bicep as he sweeps by. We move in sync down the hallway, and I see Rick out of the corner of my eye. He’s talking to James, but his eyes follow as we pass and his brow furrows.
Unbidden, the scene from the math room looms in my mind. Even though there’s no footage of it, it plays like a movie clip in my head. Rick cornering me. Leaning me against the desk. About to kiss me.
I kick a locker door shut with one of my red pumps, nearly taking an underclassman’s head off in the process.
Luke grins down at me. “Feeling a little aggression, Depola?”
I growl back, “You have no idea.”
***
Maybe the Prom Queen Wannabe forum folks are right about me being clueless, because declaring war with Kelly is not the smartest thing I’ve done. The whole time we’re practicing our dance routine in the big Prom Queen Camp ballroom, Kelly ignores me, which totally psyches me out. I look over at her now, dancing aggressively with Raaauuul.
I wonder if she could get him to sabotage me. Amy is sharing a laugh with Victoria, and I realize what an idiot I’ve been this whole time. Josie told me to build alliances with people attached to the show. But I was so focused on learning how to seem popular, I forgot about building strategic relationships with people on the inside.
“Hey, what ever happened to Mickey, anyway?” I ask Victoria, wondering if I’m too late to make a power play.
Victoria waves me off. “She’s in New York, taking care of show business.”
“Don’t worry,” Raaauuul says darkly as his eyes remain on Kelly. “She has left you girls in very good hands.”
Kelly snaps her glare toward me, and I shudder. Obviously, ignoring me isn’t the worst thing she can do. I spend the rest of our practice time making eye contact with the floor.
The winter months are progressing on our show even as the trees are starting to bud in real time. I know that I had my best holiday season ever, popularity-wise, without a single rendition of “We Wish You a Tiny Pecker,” but I’m not prepared to re-witness what happened to Kristan before winter break.
Despite the fact that Grace’s popularity followed her modeling career into the figurative toilet, and the video of Deena unloading into a literal toilet drove her to the ugly comfort of scalp tattoos, Kristan never stopped being friends with either of them. If anything, her loyalty made her even more likable. Kristan quickly became our biggest threat for Prom Queen.
But all of that changes in the next episode.
Josie and I are watching the show together in our living room. Partially for moral support and partially because Josie had a fallout with her bestie. “You’re not the only one dealing with drama,” she tells me.
The show opens with a shot of Kristan huddled with Deena and Grace in classic girl-crisis formation. Kristan confesses she’s been hiding the fact that her dad got fired from his advertising job over the summer. Now her mother is threatening to leave him flat if he doesn’t find a new job. She cries as she haltingly describes him being devastated over his gorgeous wife’s ugly ultimatum.
“He stayed in his pajamas, eating coffee ice cream all weekend,” Kristan says. “And he was still in bed when I left for school.” Her friends awkwardly try to comfort her.
“It’s like my mom doesn’t care about what he’s going through at all.” Onscreen, she breaks down.
The episode gets more and more uncomfortable to watch as it follows Kristan through those first awful weeks of her parent’s separation. She begins dabbling in the “natural look” which actually looks good on her. Right up until her eyebrows and mustache grow in.
“Oops, a little too natural,” Josie says, and I slap her leg.
“Ouch.” Josie slaps me back, and I shush her.
I get excited when I recognize the pink button-down I’m wearing onscreen and know what scene is about to play out.
Grace is alone at her locker when I approach, and I’m proud that I didn’t need backup the way she did when she serenaded me. I stand, smirking at her for a moment, and she says, “Shove off, Shannon.”
Clearing my throat, I start singing the carol that I made up to the tune of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.” It’s titled “Padded Bras Make Grace Big and Round,” and I’m surprised to hear how in-tune I sound.
“Your nipples won’t twist
A bug bit you twice
A boob job might work, if not for the price.
Pa-dded bras make Grace big and ro-ound!”
I make corny gestures toward my own boobs to go with the lyrics, and Josie gives a nose laugh at my performance. Onscreen, Grace scowls at me but draws her books up in front of her chest in a way that shows my song is hitting its mark. Josie laughs harder as I continue singing, but the camera catches a look in Grace’s eyes that makes something click in my brain.
I know just what she’s feeling.
In that instant, watching the screen, I can sense Grace’s hurt and shame because it is imprinted on me. Being the punch line to a cruel joke. The pain is still so close I can feel it.
I zone in on the glossy shade of hot pink lipstick on my singing lips. Shannon’s Sugar Bliss is a beautiful color. But the lipstick can’t make the words coming out of my mouth any less ugly. Who the hell is that bullying fashionista onscreen?
I’ve been so focused on manipulating others that I completely lost touch with who I am. I thought that hurting Grace the way she’d
hurt me would make my life better. I daydreamed for years about getting even, and now as I watch it play out, I feel nothing but hollow.
I can’t look at the Shannon onscreen for one more second, and I pick up the remote to click off the television.
“What are you doing?” Josie asks.
“The thing I should’ve done a long time ago.” I look my sister in the eye. “I’m saying good-bye to the show.”
“Are you crazy? You are rocking this thing.” Josie lunges for the remote.
“Noooo…” The two of us start wrestling on the couch, and she rolls on top of me. I grab a throw pillow and start whapping my little sister on the side of her head until her hair’s saturated with static. The two of us grapple for control—But then.
The background music starts picking up dramatically. The two of us turn our tousled heads toward the screen as the camera closes in on Luke walking past Grace in the hallway. And it catches him giving her a wink. And a nod.
I get a really bad feeling as I sit up and watch the two of them walk swiftly in opposite directions. They meet at the door to a supply closet on the third floor.
They go inside.
It happens to be wired, and Josie lets out a gasp beside me as onscreen Luke and Grace fall into each other’s arms. I put my hands over my eyes and watch through my fingers. Witness what Luke looks like when he’s kissing someone he has true chemistry with. He and Grace make out so hot and heavy that even the greedy Prom Queen Wannabes camera pulls back and shifts to soft focus.
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
Chapter Fourteen
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.
The Real Prom Queens of Westfield High Page 15