Copyright © 2016 by Ami Allen-Vath
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.
Cover design by Sarah Brody
Cover photo credit Thinkstock
Print ISBN: 978-1-63450-184-2
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-5107-0027-7
Printed in the United States of America
To the BFFs of my YA years. You got me through the worst of times by showing me the best of times. Anne, Laura, Steph, Heidi, Tera, Beth, Donna, and Holly, for literally saving my life.
ONE
If I wasn’t dreading the lame-ass Prom nomination drama about to go down, I’d be staring at the back of Sean Mills’s short, sexy, brown hair in peace. To be fair to Mr. Norderick’s Language Arts class, the hair’s not really the main distraction, it’s everything about Sean. He’s tall, plays football and the guitar, which pretty much makes him a triple threat in my book. He’s got these swimming pool blue eyes—the kind you shouldn’t look at for more than a few milliseconds because, if he looks back and there’s eye contact, you’ll drown. Which is obviously the reason I’m sitting in the desk right behind him.
Unfortunately, across the aisle, my best friend Kallie’s eyes are practically waving a neon “get ready get set” flag in my peripheral. A tiny piece of folded paper flies from her hand and lands on my notebook. The note practically unfolds itself:
You’re gonna do it—right?
Instead of stressing my role in Kallie’s Prom Queen scheme, I give her a two-second “chill the hell out” look and go back to not taking notes and Sean. There’s even something about his ears that get me. They stick out a little—not too much—just enough to give him character. They make him more accessible, not so perfect. I shove the note into my pocket because I’d rather daydream about hanging out with Sean. Not as a girl sitting behind him getting high off his pheromones either. But on a date, somewhere like the movies as opposed to last period Language Arts.
Tap tap tap. Mr. Norderick’s highlighter jolts me to reality.
“All right ladies and fellas. I suppose it’s time to deal with these Prom Court nominations. You’ll need to nominate five queens and five kings. All senior class votes will be tallied up and your court will be announced on Friday.”
Here we go. My armpits sear and my knee bounces like a bobblehead.
The class roars and debates the must-haves and the maybes. As if we all really need another way and day for all the jerks of Belmont Senior High to get off on themselves.
Kallie taps her midnight blue fingernails together in front of her lips, and in spite of her hard-ass exterior, she’s dying to get on that court.
“All right, all right guys, calm down,” says Mr. N. “Let’s get on with it. We need five of each.”
Shandy “Kissass” Silvers raises her hand and asks if she can nominate two.
“Brian Wang and Molly Chapman.” Shandy, head of the Prom Committee, Yearbook Committee, and everything else boring committee, nods as Mr. Norderick copies the names on the board.
Brian and Molly. Our Senior Class’s Homecoming King and Queen and Class President and VP. Yes, let’s honor them with this incredibly humbling surprise, shall we?
Kallie gives me a sharp head nod. I’m pretty sure her thought is something like Please nominate me please please please prettyfreakingplease?
We had a whole conversation about this on the phone last night. My nose crinkles as I think right back at her, Dignity is not overrated. Don’t make me do it. I told her Prom Court was bullshit and did she really want to be forced into meetings and stage time with Belmont’s biggest jerks? Did she really want to be lumped into a category with those guys? Yep.
I get myself ready with a “you can do it” pep talk.
C’mon Bree, it’s not that serious. Or maybe it is. Referring to oneself in first person is never a good sign. But I’m just not the best candidate for public speaking or raising my hand to nominate my best friend as a Prom Queen when I think it’s an obnoxious idea. My face is getting warm already.
Kallie’s hand shoots up right before I’m almost about to raise mine. I’m totally embarrassed for her. She’s seriously going to vote for herself.
I try to send a telepathic text message: “OMG, Kallie DON’T DO IT!”
She blurts out, “Bree Hughes.”
Oh. Shit. My face goes from ninety-eight degrees to super freaking hot as my heartbeat picks up. That’s me. That’s my name. We did not discuss this last night.
My hand shoots up. Without breathing I say, “Kallie Vate” before Mr. N. can call anyone else.
“Well, okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” He writes our names across the board.
I stare straight ahead, slowing down my breath and wishing I could settle back into my movie daydream.
Shandy turns around sucking her teeth. She looks down her nose as if an unspoken Prom nomination sin has just been committed. Some girls on the other side of the room giggle. My heart’s ticking so hard and I want to dissolve into my desk. Pretty sure this is what it feels like for a loser. I shake my head and sigh as Kallie beams at me.
Justin, the guy who never has a problem laughing at his own jokes if someone else won’t, says, “Wow, what a crazy coincidence. The two best friends that anyone could have, voted for each other.”
I sink farther down into my seat, wondering what it’d be like to actually disappear into the hard brown plastic.
While Justin laughs and breaks into a song about two best friends, the girls name another girl, three more popular guys, and then Sean. Oh wow. His name is practically across from mine. A notion creeps into my head like a tiny spider. Maybe being on Prom Court wouldn’t be that bad. Seeing Sean in a tux and being on stage with him could be—
A snort erupts from the girl behind Justin. Mr. N. has written “Maisey Morgan” right under my name on the board. Sean laughs under his breath as I look over to check out Maisey’s reaction. She’s pulling and twisting her hair into her fist and I can only see the side of her face but it’s probably the same shade as mine. Like me, no way was she expecting someone to shout out her name.
Maisey Morgan is the biggest nerd in our class. She’s pretty much owned that title since elementary school. Maisey’s the homely doll at the bottom of your old toy box. Stringy red hair, gangly arms, wobbly legs; eyes beady and vacant. Our class has been singing the Maisey Mouse song to her ever since someone left a dead mouse in her desk in sixth grade. I’ve never sung the song to her personally, but I’m not going to lie. It’s almost a habit to hum it in my head when I see her scurrying down the hallway. Just because I haven’t walked up to her and called her “Maisey Mouse” to her face, or thrown wadded up worksheets at her, doesn’t mean she hasn’t been involved in the punch lines of a few of my jokes throughout the years.
“Oh, to be Maisey’s King!” Justin says in a high-pitched squeal. Then he sings in a cartoony voice, “
I just caaaaan’t waaait to be king!”
Maisey turns, face flushed and her stare is blank. As she turns back, I smile at Kallie, raising my hand again.
“Justin Conner.” That shuts Justin up and everyone laughs. Sean Mills turns around and looks at me. (At me!)
“Good one, Bree.” And he winks. Wait. Maybe it was just a blink. I try super hard not to smile but the rest of my face smiles for me. I feel myself floating out of my chair. I also catch a breeze of his scent. It reminds me of hot apple cider and driftwood. To be real, I’m not even sure what driftwood smells like—but it’s for sure a woodsy tone. It feels like I’m immersed in whatever feeling people are talking about when they say someone is “boy crazy.” Which could be a good name for his cologne. Or soap. Hell, maybe it’s just his natural scent.
Kallie raises her right then left eyebrow and mouths something that looks like “I told you so.”
I smirk, pretending to write something important in my notebook while Mr. Norderick copies the names from the board onto his notepad.
“Good work, kids. Hopefully your choices will prevail on Friday and all will be right with BHS and the USA.”
I give him a courtesy laugh over Justin’s groan. Mr. Norderick’s not so bad for a teacher. He knows about my parents getting divorced and didn’t make a big deal about it.
My dad moved out this summer and I haven’t really made a big deal about telling everyone. Or anyone. I didn’t feel like talking about it, plus I’m not sure how something like that gets announced. And because it’s been like eight months, it feels more awkward to say something now. For some reason, my mom felt a need to call the school counselor to let her know that she and dad were in the middle of a divorce. Maybe she forgot that I’m seventeen. Ms. Selinski, the counselor for all students with last names A–L, must’ve passed our little family drama on to all my teachers. About half of them mentioned something first semester. But on the first day of second semester none of my teachers said anything except Mr. N. who asked me to stay after. He said he figured I’m still dealing with a lot right now and if his assignments got to be too much or I needed help with anything, to let him know. That’s all he said. He didn’t pry or give off any kind of creeper vibe, so I appreciated that.
****
That night at dinner Mom asks the usual, “How was school?”
I smile, contemplating how much to tell her. She’s tried to have more “sit down” dinners since Dad moved out. Since she’s a lot happier these days, it’s actually kind of nice. Also, I’m not the best person at putting myself out there to hang with other friends when Kallie’s not available. So, “Post-divorce Mom” is kind of like a live-in friend these days.
“Something more than ‘fine’ I’m guessing?”
I push the mozzarella and baby tomatoes around my plate, sliding them back and forth through Mom’s homemade balsamic dressing. The Sean story rests on the tip of my tongue. At the last second, I keep it to myself. “Kind of. Maybe. Prom Court nominations were today and everyone was going crazy about it. But Kallie nominated me, so, yeah, that’s that.”
“What? Prom Queen? Oh my God, that’s great! Congratulations honey, this is going to be so much fun.” She does this little squeal thing that instantly has me spearing a tomato and pointing my fork at her.
“Mom. Don’t even. It’s not like that. They’re just nominations, not even the actual court members yet. Every class nominates and then those votes are added up and then there are five girls and five guys to vote for on Prom Night. It’s only a nomination and there’s no way I got votes in other classes too.”
Her smile gets all beamy and she says, “I don’t care what you say, it’s still fun that there’s a chance.”
“A fat snowball’s chance,” I say, popping the tomato into my mouth.
That night in bed, I replay the Sean Mills “maybe a wink maybe a blink” scene over in my head, reminiscing how perfect our names looked together on the whiteboard. Maybe the whole court thing wouldn’t be so awful. Standing up there on stage in front of everyone looking like you matter more than you feel like you do. It feels shallow even thinking this way after I’d gone on a million tangents last night trying to convince Kallie she was making a big mistake.
I tally up any other nominations I could have gotten in the other classes today. I do have other friends, but not like really close friends. I’m not sure I’m important enough for anyone else to have raised their hand for me. In our class, the only people that got nominated were the coolest kids, me because of Kallie, and the joke vote for Maisey. I’m an in-betweener. Not cool enough for the popular girls to ask me to hang out, but not uncool enough to be hanging out with Maisey Morgan and her crew. Well, it’s not so much of a crew as it’s just two other girls she hangs with in the halls between classes and the library after school. Tera Welmore, the girl who wears a uniform to school even though we have no dress code, and Anne Violet, the class brain, who’s GPA is probably a four point ninety trillion. They’re all equal in nerd stature, but somehow, Maisey’s always managed to get the brunt of the teasing. But at least she has friends to hang with.
Now that Kallie is Todd White’s girlfriend, things are different. If she’s not at work, she’s with him at some party everyone’ll be talking about on Monday. She used to invite me, and I went to two or three, but every time I’d end up sitting there, by myself, pretending to drink a warm pissy-tasting beer while waiting for someone to ask me what I was doing at such a cool party. After a couple awkward Friday and Saturday nights, I stopped accepting the invites.
I grab my phone and dial Kallie to confront her about the nomination, since Todd, in one of his signature boy-bander impersonator outfits—blazer, jeans, and sneakers—was waiting for her right after class. As usual, he swooped Kallie up to rush her home so they could “hang out” before her parents got back from work.
“Kallie, do you know how embarrassing that was today? Why the hell would you nominate me?”
“Because, why not?” Kallie asks. “You deserve it just as much as anyone else—don’t be so modest.”
“Modest? Good one. I tried talking you out of it, so why would I want to be on court? Not like I’d get on there anyways. I’m the Libertarian candidate. You wasted your vote.”
“Actually, someone else told me they were nominating you and I thought if I did too, it might better your chances.”
“What do you mean someone else?”
“Hey, wouldn’t it be so awesome if we both get on the court? And even better if Molly Chapman doesn’t?”
“You and I both know there’s no way Molly’s name won’t be on that list. Just because she’s Todd’s ex doesn’t mean that everyone else hates her now.”
“I’m just tired of being nice. Wherever me and Todd go, there she is with her side bitch, Jane. Molly’s the ex-girlfriend that won’t go away. I mean, hello? Are you forgetting about the email she wrote when Todd and I first started dating?”
I laugh. “You stole her boyfriend. You’re lucky it was just an email. Even Jane was more pissed than Molly.”
“First off, I wouldn’t call an email with attached Bible verses, just an email. Second, I didn’t steal him. Todd got bored and started hanging with someone fun. As for Jane Hulmes, barf. She’s Molly’s best friend, so I get it. But she’s a bitch even without a cause. You should’ve seen her at lunch the other day. She cut in front of Maisey Morgan. Then, Maisey’s friend Tera—in her maroon sweater and khakis—was like, ‘Hey, that’s not cool.’ And Jane goes, ‘Who cares, it’s not like Maisey eats anyway.’ ”
“That sounds like Jane. I don’t even know why Molly hangs out with her.”
“When it comes down to it, they’re both bitches. Molly just tries to keep it on the down low. She kept telling Todd she wasn’t having sex until marriage, but you and I both know she gave it up at summer camp two years ago.”
“So everyone says. Who even goes to summer camp anymore?”
Kallie laughs. “Who cares, it’
s still hilarious.”
“Well,” I say, “like you said, you’re fun, she’s not. Let’s stop worrying about her.”
“You’re right. I’m like Beyoncé and she’s Be-yawn-cé.”
I cough into the phone. “Ahem. Can we get back to me for a second? Who are you talking about? Who said they’d vote for me?” As soon as the words come out, I get a pit in my stomach. “It’s not a joke, is it? No one’s trying to Maisey Mouse me are they?” I laugh, but in all seriousness, I need her confirmation.
“Oh Christ, Bree, get real. Who else? Chip said he was voting for you too. But don’t say anything. It’s not a secret that he’s still psycho over you, but he made me swear not to say anything. I promised on my grandmother’s grave.”
“So basically, Nana’s going to die now because you have more allegiance to me than to Chip? I’m honored, but damn, I’m gonna miss your Nana.”
We laugh, and Kallie says, “Oh hell no, I was swearing on my dad’s mom. She died when I was two.”
Laughing with Kallie sends a wave of guilt into my stomach. These are the times I wish I had her to talk to about my parents’ divorce. Instead, I tell her I’ll talk to her tomorrow.
TWO
It’s Friday morning—the day we’re supposed to find out who’s on Prom Court. Kallie’s called me every night stressing about it. She’s worried that Todd will be nominated and not her. And the angelically evil Molly will sink her fake nail tips back into him. I tell her in a hundred different ways that Molly sucks, but she’s still sweating it.
I meet Kallie at the locker we share on the west end first thing in the morning. She’s dressed in her Friday best. Her tall military-style boots look shined, like her jet-black hair, waving like a waterfall onto a drop-dead maybe-a-little-too-hot-for-school black and red striped dress.
“Me-yow. You didn’t tell me we were going all out today,” I say.
“Dressed to impress, girl! I’ve got to be ready in case I’m not in. Todd needs to know that I’m hot—Prom Queen or not.”
Liars and Losers Like Us Page 1