by Donna Cooner
* She’s absolutely worthy! She’s sweet and a kindhearted friend.
* She’s just a joke. Nobody can be serious about her.
On Monday, everything looks the same, but things are definitely not the same, because this is the first day of school after I kissed Alex Rivera in my front yard and it’s all I’ve been thinking about since.
When I get to my locker, Alex is waiting for me there, and my heart leaps. So Saturday night wasn’t a dream. It was real.
“Hey,” he says, coming over to take my hand, which sets off a quivery feeling in my stomach. “Saturday was great.”
I nod. “It really was.” Kids are walking all around us. A few heads are turning, noticing that Alex Rivera and I are standing together by my locker. That clearly means something. For once, I don’t care, though. All I can think about is how much I want to kiss him again.
“I have to catch the bus after fourth period to go to the baseball game today,” Alex says, “but we’re still on for my house tomorrow?”
I nod. Then I see Nikki coming down the hall behind Alex. She raises her brows sky high and mouths the words, “We need to talk.”
She texted me on Sunday asking about the date and wanting all the details, but I wasn’t ready to talk about it yet, so I just answered that it went great. An obvious understatement. I know we’ll catch up more later.
The bell rings then, and Alex surprises me by leaning forward and kissing me right on the mouth. In school!
I jerk backward because I’m not expecting it and it ends up a totally awkward kind of face bump.
“Sorry,” I mumble, running a hand across my mouth nervously and looking around to see who is watching. I’m not so sure public displays of affection are my thing.
“Sorry,” Alex says back, laughing nervously. I’m glad we can be awkward together
“See you,” Alex says, waving at me and heading for the science wing. I wave back and start walking toward English class. It’s funny to think that we weren’t awkward at all when we were kissing on Saturday night. I blush and smile at the memory.
At lunchtime, I get to the cafeteria early, so I sit down on an empty bench to wait for Nikki. I take out my phone. I have time to post a few prom dress photos and upload some promposal videos to the Hornet. I get most of them from other people’s posts, but some have been emailed directly to me now that the word is getting around that I’m handling publicity.
So far, food is a major theme. Ethan Hudson brought a box of Shipley doughnuts to volleyball practice with “Please doughnut say no” spelled out in icing on top. Another guy held up a six pack of Mountain Dew with a sign that read “Dew you want to go to prom with me?” And my personal favorite so far was Sophia Murray, who sent her boyfriend, Aiden, a Domino’s pizza in homeroom with “Prom?” spelled out in pepperoni. I’m beginning to feel a little obsessed with the whole thing, and I haven’t written a single word of my story for the contest.
I close out of the Hornet and click over to Worthy. It’s become a habit. Not necessarily a good one. It’s like this app has focused everyone’s opinions through the lens of a magnifying glass. It’s lit the student body on fire. We’re all happily judging away.
The comments about Raylene and Ross are not just on the app anymore. Facebook posts, tweets, stories on Snapchat, even some sneaked Instagram photos of the latest nominee try to argue some point—she’s too tall, too dumb, too poor, too something. And I can hear people talking in the halls, too. Opinions and whispers everywhere.
Still no one knows who is behind the curtain. Who is pulling the strings.
I glance up to see Nikki coming down the hall toward me, so I close out of the app and stand up. My best friend grins eagerly, and I know it’s time to spill the beans.
“So after this big, romantic kissing scene, do you think Alex will ask you to the prom?” Nikki asks me as we sit at our table, our food barely touched because we were so busy catching up.
I glance around. The windows and walls of the cafeteria are covered in signs reminding everyone of the upcoming prom. The one scrawled on the window across from where Nikki and I always sit reads, “Some enchanted evening, when you find your true love … AT PROM.”
Last week, I sat in this same place, looked at that sign, and thought, Not if you don’t go.
But everything has changed and the possibilities are tantalizing. Maybe I will be going to the prom. With Alex. I feel like twirling around the cafeteria with my arms outstretched like some kind of musical theater star.
Beyond the graffiti on the windows it is a drizzly, wet day. Standing puddles of water under the cloudy skies made running for shelter more like dodging. The weather is in direct contrast to my mood. I see Kat over against the windows talking to her friends. She looks up and our eyes meet. She nods at me, the corner of her mouth turning up into a smile. We only talk at the library. It is like some unwritten rule. At school, we just nod at each other in passing or across the cafeteria crowds. I’m not sure why.
“We’ve only gone on one date,” I say to Nikki, looking back down at my peanut butter sandwich. I try to play it cool. “We’ll see.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Nikki says. She sees right through me. “So where is he?”
“During the baseball season, he usually spends lunch period in the weight room with the other players. And there’s an away game this afternoon in Conroe, so … ” My voice drops off and I shrug. I know way more about Alex’s activities than I realized.
Nikki squints her eyes at me. “When are you going out again?”
“I’m going over to his house after school tomorrow, but that’s not really a date. We’re going to study together.”
Maybe he’ll ask me to prom then. Now Nikki has me thinking about such things, and I don’t want to get my hopes up.
I change the subject, picking up my phone. “Did you know the Mayfair filter is the best one to use on Instagram to get more followers?”
“Says who?”
“A Fortune 500 report I found online. There’s a whole science to this social media thing.”
Nikki doesn’t seem impressed, so I continue to share my newly gained information. “The best day for posts is Sunday because statistically the fewest images are posted on that day. So your image gets the most visibility.”
“You’re totally making this stuff up.” Nikki sighs.
“No. I swear. I’ve been researching it.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be researching World War II for world history?”
“This is more interesting,” I say.
“True.” Nikki stuffs her half-eaten sandwich back into the Ziploc bag in front of her.
“And it seems to be working so far,” I say. “If people aren’t talking about Worthy, they’re talking about prom.”
“Have you seen those comments about Raylene?” Nikki frowns and I nod, sighing. “Nobody deserves that kind of judgment. Usually people just say that stuff behind your back; now it’s right there on the screen for everyone to read.” Nikki glances at me, her eyebrows furrowed. “You voted, didn’t you?” she asks me.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Did you?”
Nikki nods slowly, then she shrugs. “Yeah. I guess we’re all guilty.”
Nikki takes an apple out of her Rebecca Minkoff Micro backpack. She puts on her “Futuristic Kitty” exaggerated cat-eye sunglasses and takes a carefully posed selfie of herself taking a big bite of the apple.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Sending this picture to Jake to show him how healthy I’m eating.”
I’m a good friend. But I don’t want to hear Nikki talk about Jake. Especially when it is always about her changing for him.
If I were my mother, I would say, “Don’t let a guy bring you down because of his own insecurities” or something profound like that. Instead, I say, “That’s weird.”
“Why?” She takes another bite of her apple.
“You’re the one who always says size doesn’t matter.” I pick
up a napkin and wipe the last crumbs of my sandwich off the edge of my mouth.
“Who said this was about size? Besides, what’s wrong with wanting to eat healthier?”
“Nothing. If you are doing it for yourself.”
She holds up her phone and does another couple of poses. “Of course I’m doing it for me. Who else?”
“Did you know more people die by taking selfies than from shark attacks?” I ask, but she just takes off the sunglasses and rolls her eyes at me, tapping away at her phone. I catch a snippet of a conversation from three girls walking in front of the table carrying cafeteria trays.
“Maybe he has self-esteem issues. I said he can definitely do better,” the first one says. “I’m saying no. I never thought they went together. She’s way too silly for him.”
“I don’t know. I think they’re cute together. I say yes. Worthy,” says the taller one, dramatically.
“He’s a Pisces. She’s a Leo. Not a good match. I vote no,” says the other, over her shoulder.
“Have you even looked at the comments? She’s totally going to make it,” says the second girl as they walk out of my hearing and to a table over by the windows.
I pull out my phone and check on my newly created hashtag, #hornetsprom. My recent tweet—Get expert tips everyday on prom fashions by following @hornetpage on Twitter—is getting quite a few favorites and retweets. I follow back every single one because, if there is one thing I’ve learned from all my research, that’s important. It’s the personal touch that matters.
Nikki frowns across the table at me. “What are you doing?”
“I have to follow up with every person who tweeted or posted to the Hornet. It doesn’t matter whether it’s good, bad, or neutral. I need to respond. Ignoring feedback is leaving fans behind.”
“You’re really getting obsessed with this,” Nikki says.
“It’s a lot of work.” I heart the last Instagram photo and look up from my phone. “But it feels creative.”
Nikki nods, taking another bite of her apple and chewing slowly. “And you’re getting tons of ideas for your story, right?”
I don’t say anything.
“Right?”
“Absolutely.” I’m lying and she knows it. I haven’t written a single word since I started the publicity campaign. This new obsession has become my go-to procrastination destination.
We both look over to the popular table, where Taylor is sitting with Heather Middleton and a petite blonde cheerleader named Mia Rogers.
“Since when did Heather get to join the Lovelies?” Nikki asks.
I twist off the top of my water bottle and take a drink before answering. “Her father has a limo company. She’s getting a lot of new friends these days.”
Wolfgang Gines, a senior football player, is at the table. And he’s all cozied up to Taylor like he’s moved right into Liam’s empty spot. Max is there, too, but on the other end, sitting next to Jayla. It’s like opposing football teams that just took the field for the coin toss. They are all making nice, but everyone knows the prom queen smackdown is brewing and everyone is picking a side—Team Taylor or Team Jayla.
“The word is Taylor’s got the best chance, because of her being on Worthy and all. Free publicity,” Nikki says.
I make a face. “That reminds me. I need to talk to Taylor about the prom publicity.”
“Ugh. Good luck with that.” Nikki pulls down the sunglasses and peers at me over the top.
“You’re the one who got me into all this in the first place,” I say, whining a little.
“If you didn’t want to do it, you should have spoken up,” Nikki says, and I’m mentally kicking myself because I know she’s right.
I swallow hard, then mumble, “I’ll talk to her later.”
Nikki smirks at me. “Why don’t you go over there right now?” She’s daring me. The same way she dared me to jump out of Max’s treehouse when we were seven.
I broke my arm.
I lock eyes with Nikki and stand up, taking the dare. This is probably going to turn out just as bad as the tree house incident, but I’m doing it anyway. I try to focus on steadying my heart rate, then start the long trek across the tiled floor.
There’s a reason why I’m a follower. I’m good at it. Without someone leading the way, the casual stroll across the cafeteria seems to take forever. I stand beside the table, waiting and trying not to run back to Nikki. I figure it’s cooler to stand here and not say anything than to try to yell over the conversations to get everyone’s attention. So I wait, shifting from one Sophia Webster butterfly flat to the other. It takes a couple of minutes for anyone to even look my direction, but the longer I wait for someone to notice, the more nervous I get. One of the Teen Vogue articles I read recently said you should fake fitting in until you believe it yourself. I reposition my feet for the best possible angle and try not to look terrified. I’m definitely faking it.
Taylor finally looks up when Heather shoves an elbow in her side and makes eyes at me. Wolfgang has one arm draped across her shoulders. He looks at me. “What’s your name?”
I open my mouth to answer, but Taylor says, “Her name is Linden. She’s the one I told you about.”
I’m the topic of conversation between Taylor and Wolfgang? Is that a good thing?
He stares at me, but all I can do is shrug.
“She’s our publicity chair,” Taylor announces, surprising me with her enthusiasm. The talking stops. Taylor pats the empty spot beside her. “Sit down. Join us.”
I glance back over my shoulder to see Nikki staring at me with raised eyebrows. I shrug and slide onto the bench beside Taylor. Mia flashes me a fake, I’m-only-tolerating-you-because-she-invited-you smile.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” I say, then look down the table at Max and Jayla. I quickly add, “All of you.”
“What?” Max asks from the end of the table.
“I’ve been doing some research on internet marketing and thought it’d be a good idea to have a contest. Maybe give away a couple of tickets to the prom for retweets and tags?”
Jayla nods with an accompanying rattle of silver jewelry. She’s wearing a wide-legged striped jumpsuit, her hair in a chic braided bun. “Might be a good idea. I just checked, and we’re close to breaking the record for ticket sales.”
“Fantastic,” I say. “If we have all these followers in place before the prom, just imagine how many people will see the photos of the actual night.”
I can almost see the hamsters in Taylor’s brain running around that tiny wheel while she thinks that over. “So photos of the prom queen”—she looks around the table—“and her court … would be everywhere.”
“Practically viral,” I say.
“They are going to announce the election results at the dance,” Max says. “It wouldn’t hurt to see the future student council president rocking out on the dance floor. That’s what we politicians are supposed to do, right? Shake hands and kiss babes?”
He looks around the table, but no one laughs at his lame joke.
Our publicity is your publicity. It should be my motto.
“It’s brilliant,” Taylor says, and her groupies nod in agreement. “I’ll totally help.”
The bell rings then, and everyone scatters. I stand up to go and end up walking out of the cafeteria with Jayla, Taylor, and Mia. It feels strange but not terrible.
Jayla is scrolling on her phone. “So who do you think is behind Worthy?” she asks as we walk down the hall.
Taylor glances around. “I don’t know. Some guy who’s like a tech genius.”
“Who says it’s a guy?” Mia asks. “Girls can be way worse at this judgment thing.”
I fiddle with my own phone. You think?
“And girls can be tech geniuses,” I point out testily.
“You’re right. It could even be someone we know.” Taylor lowers her voice.
“Yeah. It could be anybody,” I say.
It could even
be you, Taylor.
IS RAYLENE WORTHY?
The votes are in …
Stay tuned …
It’s been a long time since I’ve had to ride the bus to school in the morning. But since I’m catching a ride home with Alex this afternoon, I stand outside on the sidewalk and wait for it to arrive. There’s a screech of brakes when the bus rounds the corner, then it rumbles to a stop in front of me. The doors swish open and I climb up the steps behind Max Rossi. Most of the seats are empty. I pass two girls talking to each other and one freshman boy on the other side. He watches me as I pass, smiling hopefully, but I keep going. The bus starts moving and I’m thrown into an empty seat right next to Max.
I try to slide as far away from him as possible, but just then the bus rounds a corner and throws me into his side. I push myself back upright and glare at him. Max just grins, pulling his backpack out of the way.
“Welcome to the world of the unwashed,” he says.
“What are you doing on the bus, anyway? Grounded?” I ask.
“I’m not above supporting public transportation,” Max says. “Besides, it’s a great opportunity to get to know my constituents.”
He leans over the seat in front of us and hands a button to a freshman kid, clapping him on the shoulder. It says, “Vote for Max. Senior class president.” The boy takes it and pins it to his T-shirt with a smile, obviously flattered by the attention.
Max holds another one out to me. “Here you go.”
I shake my head. “Doesn’t go with my outfit.”
He shrugs and slides the pin back in his backpack. “So how’s your love life?”
“Fine.” It’s none of his business.
My phone buzzes. It’s Alex, texting that he’ll pick me up after school to go over to his house to study. I exit out of my messages, smiling down at the phone.
Max gives a dramatic sigh and puts one hand on my shoulder. “Looks like you are falling hard for a certain someone. Am I right?”
“Why do you say that?” I shrug off his hand. It’s always good to answer a question with a question. It buys some time to try to think of the right answer.