The Real Prom Queens of Westfield High

by Laurie Boyle Crompton

  I lean over and grab a magazine off the top of the stack so I’m not lying about looking through them. “Some of these pictures of people standing around pretending to laugh make the prom seem like agony.”

  Marnie chuckles as I flip the pages loudly into the phone. And then I stop. And I gasp.

  “What is it?”

  I fold the magazine open to the page. It’s a Nőrealique ad. And I’m in it. “I’m an advertisement!” I burst.

  “What the—”

  I’ve posed for about four kajillion glamour photos, so I knew this was always a possibility, but it’s still a shock. I can’t help feeling thrilled at seeing the full-page spread of my smiling face. I look impossibly fresh and smooth and awake. I’m wearing a bright pink wrap dress and my blonde hair is dramatically blowing back and…“Wait-a-second.”

  I pull the page closer to my face and screech, “My ears! Marnie, they totally photoshopped my ears off!”

  “Those bastards!” she hisses.

  I cup my left ear. “I feel like I’ve been violated.”

  “You have been violated,” Marnie says. “Extreme airbrushing violates and disrespects all women. They make us insecure and keep us chasing impossible ideals. I’m sure you’re impossibly skinny in the photo too.”

  “Yes! I look like I’m weak and starving, but Marnie—they took my ears!”

  “Don’t worry,” she says. “We’ll get even somehow.”

  I eye the real project I’ve been working on and a new idea starts to take form in my mind. And I know just how I’ll force them to listen.

  ***

  Aunt Kate has been leaning on Mom more than ever since her husband died, but Thomas has been a real superstar, acting supportive and helping with the cooking. Since the cell phone incident, I’ve even started thinking of him as a potential fatherly-type figure that might not be so horrible to have around.

  He’s finally wrangled Josie, Mom, and me into watching his favorite movie with him. The black and white film was directed by a fat bald guy with big jowls. Still, it beats the agony of watching rerun episodes of Prom Queen Wannabes that are playing every hour in anticipation of the live! Prom finale.

  The movie’s so old the credits run before the film, and as they’re still rolling, Thomas slips me a pad of paper. “Let’s play hangman. Go ahead and guess a letter.” I catch Mom shoving a handful of popcorn in her mouth to hide her hint of a smile.

  “Oh, I love hangman,” Josie says. “I think I have an app for it.”

  “This one’s for Shannon.” Thomas glances at the spot where the camera is watching us. “And I like low tech.”

  “Because you’re old.” Josie pokes him and turns her attention back to the movie.

  On the pad, I see Thomas has drawn a hangman’s noose with six spaces to one side of it. As I reach to take it from him, Thomas uses his thumb to flick the top page quickly. I catch just a peek of something scrawled underneath. I take the pad and lift the corner of the top sheet, careful to block the camera’s view. In teeny tiny print, Thomas has written, There’s something I need to tell you. Just guess a letter and pass the pad back.

  I narrow my eyes at him and glance at Mom, but she’s absorbed in the movie. I obediently write an E on the top sheet and pass him the pad.

  Taking it, he starts writing again, and when it’s back in my hands, there are E’s in the second and the last spaces. On the teeny-tiny writing page, he’s written, You need to know, I’m in love with your mother.

  I smile and write back, Okay, I think she likes you too.

  Then I guess the letter Z, since I don’t want to solve the word before he finishes this bizarre game of asking me for my mother’s hand in marriage.

  Before handing the pad back, he draws a head in the noose and writes, Don’t hate me, but I’m an actor. My real name is Charlie. The show hired me to date your mother.

  A cloud of black birds onscreen descends on a screaming woman while I stare blindly at the pad. I feel like my insides are being pecked apart. The man sitting on my couch is an actor pretending to be my mother’s boyfriend? Looking over at Mom, I see she’s clutching a cushion to her chest as a screaming woman flails for her colorless life. I squeeze the pen in my hand and envision stabbing Thomas with it. Oh, I’m sorry, I mean Charlie.

  I take shallow breaths and mentally command my mother and sister to Run! Thomas is begging me with his eyes and glancing at the camera. I take a deep, cleansing yoga breath that would make Victoria very proud.

  “Are you okay, Shannon?” Mom is looking at me.

  I can feel Thomas/Charlie pleading with me to keep quiet. Let’s give the guy a chance to explain. There’ll be plenty of time to murder him later. I say, “I’m just not a fan of horror.”

  Mom leans over from her chair to pat my leg. “Just remind yourself it’s not real.” I have to swallow to keep myself from shouting Nothing is real!

  I draw a knife sticking out of the head in the noose with blood dripping down. Then I draw hair and a goatee so it looks like Thomas/Charlie and write back, Why are you telling me this? You need to stay the hell away from my mother! Then I think a moment and add, So that cell phone you slipped me had a trace on it? Is that how they found me at Marnie’s so fast? Has the show been listening to my conversations with her this whole time?

  I’m so sorry, he writes back. I had no idea what I was getting into when they hired me. And no, the cell phone is clean, but they have a tracer on your car. I’ve been trying to figure out a way to tell your mom the truth. He holds a hand to his forehead, shading his anguished expression from Mom’s view. I can kind of relate to the conundrum of trying to prove to someone that your love is real after screwing up very, very badly.

  Through our back-and-forth cryptic hangman exchange, Thomas/Charlie explains he recently sold his business for a comfortable profit and had always wanted to try acting. Being on a reality show seemed like a good start, and the show hired him to distract my mother from what I was doing. She’s a tough nut to crack, he writes, which I know is true. But once she allowed me in, I came to realize she’s the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. Which is probably also true.

  From her chair, she gives Thomas/Charlie an adoring look, and my chest throbs.

  I cautiously continue our exchange, trying not to look too obvious for the cameras as Thomas apologizes over and over. I will do absolutely anything to make this up to you, I swear, he writes and goes on to say that he’s hated watching my downslide over the past year as I listened to my SACC’s bad advice.

  I try to absorb the fact that Nőrealique would actually hire a person to seduce my mother as we sit on the couch watching innocent people get their eyes pecked out. I have no doubt the show would use that science lab video to ruin Rick and James. Especially if it guarantees a bit of drama.

  The hangman game ends with the drawing of my mother’s fake boyfriend hanging, stabbed and dismembered, on the page. Sketched black birds fly away with his fingers in their beaks. I figure he’ll be lucky to look that good once Mom learns the truth. Studying the letters he’s filled in, I finally guess the word.

  B E W A R E

  ***

  I’m sitting on my bathroom floor with the contraband cell phone from my mom’s artificial boyfriend pressed to my ear.

  “This is getting freaky,” Marnie says. After I texted her about Thomas/Charlie, she did some investigating and discovered a connection between Nőrealique and the places that replaced Grace with Kelly as a model. “I’m almost positive they were bought off by your illustrious sponsor.”

  “They’re not my sponsor,” I say. “I tried to quit, remember?”

  “Sorry. I think as a student at Westfield High, they actually qualify as our official sponsor.”

  I shudder. “Moving on, I think I may finally have an idea how to convince Rick I deserve a second chance. I’m going to need your help.”

  “Of course you’ve got it,” Marnie says, and I can hear her grin through the phone.

  �
�Please stop acting like this is some sort of fun adventure.”

  “Come on, Shannon. Things are always fun when we do them together.”

  There’s an insistent knock on the bathroom door that makes me jump. “What the hell are you doing in there?” Victoria’s voice is sharp.

  “Oh, nothing,” I say loudly. I hiss into the phone, “Just make sure Rick comes to the prom.” I scramble to hang up and hide the cellphone.

  When I open the door with a fake smile for Victoria on my face, I’m horrified to see Mickey is standing right beside her.

  “How the hell did you guys get in here?”

  “Josie let us in,” Victoria says brightly.

  “Sorry, Sis,” Josie calls from the living room. “They wouldn’t leave.” I curse myself for not finding a way to warn her.

  Mickey tells me darkly, “I’m afraid we’re going to have to search you now.”

  “Like hell you will.” I make a break for my bedroom, but the skinny ladies are fast and surprisingly strong. “You can’t do this!” I insist as Mickey holds me down and Victoria checks my pockets.

  “Check her socks!” Mickey commands.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Josie runs into the hallway just as Victoria pulls the contraband cellphone out of my sock and holds it up in victory.

  “I knew it,” Victoria shouts, her hair wild and her grin deranged.

  “That’s mine,” I insist. “You can’t take that!”

  “We most certainly can,” Mickey says and starts quoting a section of the contract that I signed. I slump to the floor defeated and hope that Marnie heard my plea to get Rick to the prom. I don’t know how I’ll communicate with her now.

  Josie bends down to help me and accuses Mickey and Victoria, “Haven’t you taken enough away from her?”

  I thank Josie as I stand up, and Mickey gives us a sneer. “One more week and you can have your sister back.”

  “Let’s all just focus on what matters here.” Victoria smooths her hair and announces, “It’s almost time for Prom!” I slump back down to the floor. “First order of business is finding you a date.”

  Slouching at the kitchen table a few minutes later, I’m trying to sell Mickey and Victoria on the appeal of the lonely girl, dateless at the prom, getting her chance to shine and maybe even win the crown. “That would make great television,” I say, “and probably sell a ton of lipstick.” The two of them aren’t buying it.

  “Your SACC is quite adamant that a dateless girl can never be voted Prom Queen,” Victoria says while Mickey pokes at her smartphone.

  They make me look through a huge photo album filled with model headshots of potential escorts. “Going stag is for unpopular girls,” Victoria says. “You are beautiful and on television and you’re blonde. Just pick a date, for pity’s sake.”

  I refuse. The prom is my last chance to win Rick back. Showing up with big-biceped man-candy on my arm will not help my cause.

  “Fine,” Mickey says finally. “We’ll just pick a guy and have him shadow you around so he appears to be your date.”

  “It’s all about appearances,” Victoria says brightly, and I resist the urge to smack her. But just barely.

  ***

  With the cameras constantly watching and Mickey’s threats still looming, Marnie and I are having a hard time communicating. From what she’s been able to convey through miming, it seems she’s having a tough time convincing Rick to go to the prom. Either that, or she’s trying to tell me that she’s dealing with some nasty constipation.

  I shouldn’t be surprised Rick doesn’t want to go. Besides the fact that everyone attending must have signed releases, he’s never shown anything but detest for the tradition of prom. Or as he calls it “spending tons of money and dressing up for all the people who’ve seen us in sweatpants and T-shirts for the past seven years.” Unless the prom is made mandatory for graduation, I’m seriously boned.

  I resort to wrapping up the Chemical Properties of Heartbreak quilt I made. I pin a note to it that says “Please, please, please meet me at the prom” and blackmail Charlie/Thomas into making sure the giant package makes its way safely into Rick’s possession. Thomas tells me he’s glad for a chance to prove how committed he is to my family, but really all it proves is how committed he is to keeping his giant secret from my mother. I tell him he needs to come clean to her right after the prom.

  Prom night is shaping up to be doomsday in all sorts of ways.

  PART SIX

  Prom Queens Gone Wild

  Chapter Eighteen

  I realize that it is a tradition to go a little over-the-top cuckoo for prom. Girls get their nails done, go tanning, sit in hair salons for hours, and boys, well, shower I suppose. But I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that this year, Westfield High goes completely apeshit over prom. I mean: Ape. Shit.

  The prom is being thrown at the same mansion where we had Prom Queen Boot Camp. “How fitting,” Kelly said when the announcement was made. “The actual location of my personal hell.”

  Like me, Kelly has been assigned a handsome escort from a binder, so despite the yearlong efforts of teams of experts, Amy is the only one of us who managed to score an actual date to the prom.

  By the time I arrive at the mansion, a row of limos are lined up across the front like black and white piano keys set end to end. As I coast by in my old maroon Coroda, I see Luke Hershman gallantly helping Grace out of a huge white SUV limo with the Nőrealique lips logo emblazoned on the side. She’s wearing a pale pink dress that’s classy yet sexy, and I have to admit it looks great.

  But the ethereal white dress I have on is better.

  I park in the employee lot and start to unload a huge black garbage bag from my back seat. I’m not at all graceful despite my bride-worthy gown. My personal stylist picked it out as representative of my Per-style-ality™. In my dreams. But if I’m about to go down in the annals of reality show history, at least I’m beautifully dressed for it.

  My makeup is simple, and instead of Nőrealique, I used all “no brand” wholesale products that I ordered online. After being “airbrushed to deaf,” my eyes were opened to how unrealistic beauty standards are in the media. My goal is to stop buying things that use advertising that offends me.

  Through a series of private notes at home, I filled Josie in on my plan, and using more notes, she begged me to change my mind. Finally, I broke our silent exchange and said simply, “I need to be true to myself,” which finally got her to smile and nod. The show actually aired me saying that line in one of their finale teasers. Except it’s edited to seem like I’m being true to myself in an I’m-choosing-to-wear-this-shade-of-Nőrealique-lipstick-because-I’m-still-trying-to-get-crowned-Prom-Queen way that’s pretty ironic.

  I walk across the lot toward the mansion, and a studio assistant wearing a headset runs up to help me with my giant black Heffybag. I shake her off. “I can handle it, thanks.”

  Her eyes widen. “It is recommended that one carry nothing larger than a small clutch to a formal affair,” she recites robotically. “You cannot go on television carrying a huge garbage bag…thing…like that.” She looks at my black plastic lump with revulsion.

  “Fine, you carry it.” I heft my bulky burden into her skinny arms. “But I need it to go right to the prep room. It’s very important.”

  “Sure, it’ll be there.” She grunts under the strain as she hustles ahead of me, her knees wide and headset askew. Into it, she calls, “Cue Bodacious Date number two, Eagle S has landed, repeat, Date two on deck.”

  Ugh. I glance around and see a smiling male model in a tailored tuxedo striding toward me.

  I grab the wispy edge of my skirt and haul ass up the front steps. When I reach the columned porch, two men dressed in old-fashioned formal attire primly open the doors for me. The male model catches up to me and gallantly tries to take me by the arm.

  “Hello, I’m Todd,” he says as I bat at his hands.

  “Hi, Todd. Go away.”

&nb
sp; Everyone standing in the formal foy-yea freezes to stare at me slapping away my “date.” With a final shove that sends Todd reeling backward, I scan the enormous ballroom.

  All the apeshit nutso planning has resulted in a huge gang of dolled-up teenagers trying to look either sophisticated or subversive with varying degrees of success. A giant stage has been set up in front of the gold big lip curtain at one end of the ballroom. Cameras and light stands are planted all around it like trees, and the Nőrealique posters are still hanging on the walls.

  I don’t see Rick, but I spot Marnie right away. She’s wrapped in fluorescent green material and is holding hands with a bored-looking James. She waves happily when she sees me.

  I move closer and I take in the Day-Glo prom dress that she’s designed and sewn. I picture the reaction my stylist would have to the wide, wild skirt of glowing green tulle. Shining satin peeks out unevenly, and I see loose threads hanging at crazy angles, and it is beautiful. Marnie is beautiful. She lives by her convictions and is not ashamed of flaws. Just when I thought I couldn’t love the girl any more.

  I smile and say, “You two look so great together.”

  “That dress is amazing!” Marnie reaches out to touch the white fabric of my gown.

  “Thanks.” There’s a pause before I need to ask, “Is he here?” Marnie shakes her head. “Aaargh!” I’m in agony. “Rick has to show up!”

  James makes a pbltt noise with his lips.

  “You’ll see,” I tell him. “I’ve really changed.”

  He gestures to my amazing dress. “Oh, yes. We can all see you’ve changed, Shannon.”

  “I have.” I want to point out that I could have quit this stupid show weeks ago if it wasn’t for the two of them and their science project, but I just turn to Marnie. “Did he say he’s coming?”

  “He wouldn’t say for sure.”

  “But you guys told him I need him to come, right?”

  James says, “I don’t think he’s up for another big ol’ bucket o’hurt from your highness.” Marnie jabs her elbow in his side, and he adds, “I’m just saying.”