On my way out of school Friday afternoon, I nearly run directly into Marnie. The two of us stand awkwardly looking at each other’s shoes. Finally, I say, “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” But there’s no emotion in either of our voices.
“Any plans this weekend?” I ask.
“No, you?”
When I tell her about the party, her eyes go wide. “Holy cow, you’ve totally gone to the dark side.”
I grin. “Want to join me? I can give you a makeover.”
Marnie wrinkles her nose. “And what? Bury myself in name brands like you? What the hell is with all the Nőrealique shit all over the school anyway?” Her eyes narrow. “Are you working for them?”
“What? No.” Not exactly.
“I’ve heard of this!” Marnie grabs me by the arms. “Big corporations pay students to wear their brands and promote their image. Is that what you’ve been doing?”
“I’m not…” I start to protest, but then realize this is probably the closest I can come to telling Marnie the truth without tipping her off about the show and getting in trouble with Mickey. I look my best friend in the eyes and say, “You absolutely cannot tell anyone.”
Marnie’s mouth opens and closes a few times. “You can’t do this. You cannot help this mega-corporation hijack our freedom.”
“Nőrealique isn’t taking anybody’s freedom.”
“What about my freedom to go to school in an ad-free environment?” Marnie is practically shaking with rage.
“I don’t think that’s—”
“That’s your problem, Shannon, you just don’t think!”
I’m speechless, and Marnie growls. “You have turned yourself into the thing that I hate.” She flicks the rhinestone pair of lips on the front of my shirt. “Pimping your brand. You’re a walking advertisement, Shannon.”
I want to explain to her that I’m contractually obligated to wear this pin, prominently displayed, at least once a week. Instead I ask, “Are you coming with me to this awesome party tonight or what?”
Marnie shakes her head. “You have a good time, Shannon. I’ll let Rick know you’ve definitely moved on.”
As she turns and walks away, I’m hit with a pang of regret. “Hey, Marns,” I call. But she doesn’t turn around.
I think back to the day we became friends in fifth grade. Marnie was still the new girl despite being here for over a year. We were sitting in social studies class while Mr. Bovard challenged the record for the longest droning monologue ever. A record that had incidentally been set by him a week prior. I was fighting to pay attention when a girl’s voice floated down from just above my head.
“Is that a wart?”
I remember shooting my hand protectively over the lump on my index finger and looking up to see the new girl’s curious face. She’d been waiting in line to use the pencil sharpener and must’ve noticed my horrible, deforming wart. I shoved my hands into my lap.
“Hey,” she whispered covertly and waited for me to look back up.
She yanked up her sleeve, folded back her arm, and aimed her elbow toward my nose. “I’ve got one too!” Sure enough, there on the outside of her right elbow was a nice, disgusting wart. It was easier to hide than the one on my hand, but it was way grosser, with teeny brown flesh-spikes growing along one side.
Marnie gave me a huge grin.
I grinned right back and we were instant best friends. I know what you’re thinking, pretty gross beginnings—but hey, eventually Marnie had her wart removed and mine fell off and at least it won me an amazing friend.
After the Elf Ucker Incident, Marnie became my only friend too. Looking down the hallway at the spot where she disappeared, I wish I could just explain to her how much Nőrealique has already done for me. I straighten my lips logo pin and walk the opposite way.
***
New outfits are strewn across my bed as I try to decode what the hell I should wear. What is my Per-style-ality™ again? I’m so anxious, I toy with the idea of cutting my purple shirt into triangles and quilting a quick pinwheel square, just to calm my nerves. Thankfully, Josie rescues me before I start butchering my wardrobe. With a dramatic flourish, she picks the perfect combination of blue-jean casual and black low-cut sexiness. No wonder she’s so naturally popular. She knows how to dress for it.
“I’m so freaking excited you’re going to this party!” she squeals. “Everyone’s talking about it. And I cannot believe you’re going with Luke Hershman.”
I grin at her and feel a surge of warmth toward my little sister.
“Aren’t you glad now that you blew that Rick guy off?”
My smile turns sour, but I nod while I admire my outfit in the mirror. “Thanks so much, Josie. You’re a miracle worker.”
“Um, you’ve managed a miracle or two yourself here, sis.” She gives me a peck on the cheek and looks me in the eye. “I’m so proud of you.”
The two of us have always existed on completely separate planes, but now it seems our planes have intersected in a line. And every point along this common line is familiar to her but strange to me. We embrace, and then Josie scurries off to get ready for her big “greeting Luke at the door” scene.
I stare at my reflection after she goes, wondering if Cinderella felt like this much of an imposter. This night is my debutante ball disguised as a Friday night senior kegger. Luckily, I’ve already nabbed the handsome prince.
When Luke comes to the door to pick me up, he lets out a low whistle of appreciation for how I look. Then he scans the room and asks, “Your mom around?”
Is he hoping for privacy to make out with me? He’s kissed me good-bye on the cheek a few times at school, but nothing with any heat.
“No, she’s out with her boyfriend” I say and quickly add, “but my sister’s here.” On cue, Josie pops in from her eavesdropping position in the hallway.
“Hi, Luke,” she says flirtatiously. “I’m Josie.” I fight the urge to stand between them and block him from falling in love with her.
“Hey,” he greets and turns back to me. “You ready to go then?”
“Sure.” I pull on my sexy pumps, hopping awkwardly as I try to balance and cursing the rule that dictates I should never be completely when a date arrives. Luke reaches to steady me, and I grin as I take his strong arm. Okay, so maybe the rule isn’t complete bullshit. He leads me out, ignoring Josie calling, “It was nice meeting you.”
It feels good not to be outshone by my little sister for a change. Despite her age, it’s far too easy to picture Josie and Luke as a couple. They seem like each other’s type—both upbeat and naturally popular.
As I slide awkwardly into Luke’s convertible vintage cruiser, I wonder if popularity will ever feel natural to me.
***
The party is being hosted by Luke’s teammate Neanderthal Pete, whose parents are out of town for the weekend. I follow Luke into the foyer, pausing a moment to savor my big arrival. As the music throbs, I brace myself for a wild, popular-kid party scene, imagining people dancing on the couches and making out on the stairs. We round the corner to the living room and…Where the hell is everybody?
The only witnesses to my grand entrance are a bunch of empty chairs set up around the room. It’s the graduation party all over again. I fleetingly hope we don’t need a clever word game to save us this time. I’m not entirely certain the football players at our school are familiar with the part of speech commonly referred to as the “adverb.”
“We’re early.” Luke leads me into the kitchen where Pete is lining up Jell-O shots. A thin girl wearing jeans sits on the granite countertop with her head bowed. A black, military style cap obscures her face, and her heels kick at the lower cupboard door. Her body language tells me this chick is mind-numbingly bored.
When she looks up, I’m surprised that it’s Kelly. She actually brightens when she sees me walking toward her, which I take as a huge compliment. We really did bond at camp. She leans in close, feigning a hug hello, and whispers in
my ear, “Thank God you’re here! Victoria popped in on me at home and made me wear this stupid hat.” She bows her head, showing me the embroidered Nőrealique Lips logo.
“It’s not so bad,” I tell her.
“There’s a camera built in, under the fabric of the logo.” She grins. “But now the footage won’t just be about me.”
I make a face at her. I’d been looking forward to a little break from the cameras and even considered having a drink or two tonight. I mean, who knows? Maybe I’m a party prodigy of some sort who is magically funny and charismatic after a few wine coolers. Then again, maybe I’m the type of girl who ends up dancing half-naked on a table before she knows what’s happening. Guess I’ll wait on yanking the lid off of that Schrödinger experiment.
I ask Kelly, “So, do you think Amy’ll show up? Possibly wearing a dorky cap too?” I jab her with my shoulder.
“Like I care what I’m wearing,” she says. “And you know Amy’s busy working out at the gym every spare second.”
I nod. “Her conversion from whale to gym rat is complete.”
“Oops, I wasn’t looking in your direction.” Kelly says. “Mind repeating that for the camera?”
I give her a cheesy smile and twist my body into a slimming pose. That stupid hat is going to make this night seem very long.
But at least it isn’t boring.
The Queens show up in all their highlighted glory just before ten, and it’s as if they grant the party permission to start happening. The music cranks up a few decibels, and the keg starts pumping. I look around and get a sense of déjà vu for every party in every teen movie I’ve ever watched. It grows increasingly wild with people making out dancing and chanting for each other to “Drink! Drink! DRINK!”
Grace paces back and forth, eyeing Luke like guy-prey as he plays a game involving plastic cups of beer and a rather unsanitary ping pong ball. She fires a glare my way each time she grabs another Jell-O shot.
I stick close to Kelly, firstly because she’s the only person I know at this party and also so I can keep tabs on that damn camera in her hat. But I also harbor the small hope that the two of us bonded enough at Prom Queen Camp that she’ll feel compelled to defend me if Luke’s ex tries to jump my ass.
“Have you been to this type of party before?” I ask Kelly. We’ve looped the crowd twice and are settled back on the kitchen counter where we started.
She snorts, “You kidding? This was my home life growing up. Why would I want to revisit this sort of scene?”
“So you’re only here…”
“To try and win a million bucks, yes.” She pauses and adds, “I mean, of course I’d like to get to know these people for who they truly are.” She gestures to her hat and I stifle the urge to giggle. Making snarky comments about our peers on camera could easily lead to an angry teen mob down the line.
Finally, Grace must reach a truth-serum level of intoxication. She shakes free from Deena and Kristan and launches herself toward me with fury in her eyes. Terrified, I try to duck behind Kelly, bracing myself for impact.
Why the hell didn’t they teach us kickboxing instead of advanced flirting at camp?
Grace veers toward the table where Luke and his buddies are playing their rowdy drinking game, and I nearly hyperventilate with relief.
She announces to Luke, “We need to talk.”
He looks at his buddies as if there’s no way he’s obeying her, but when Grace yells, “Now!” he scrapes his chair back and follows her outside with his head down.
Kelly turns to me as if it’s her job to get a reaction shot or something. I just look at her and shrug. I don’t need to get all up in some drunken ex-girlfriend drama on camera. Especially since I’m stone-cold sober.
I sigh and notice a girl wearing a bright swingy miniskirt that I’d love to cut into quilting strips. And whoops, I think as she bends over, flipping the back of it up and exposing her thonged behind for her boyfriend to pat playfully. It looks like Kelly is getting all of that on film and I tell her to turn away. “I don’t think she wants her ass exposed on national television,” I whisper.
“Well then, she shouldn’t be exposing it at a party, should she?” Kelly says. “They’d just blur her crack anyway.”
Like that’s any better.
“Why are you so worried about some drunk slut anyway?”
I stare at Kelly. “She’s a person.”
“Whatever,” Kelly says, but she flips her hat around backward so it’s facing the wall of cabinets behind us.
Luke is rubbing the side of his neck when he strides back inside. Tossing a quick shrug in my direction, he rejoins his buddies and swigs a gulp of beer.
“Well, looks like Shan-uke is still alive and kicking,” Kelly says. “But I think you’d better plan on driving home.”
Grace’s tear-stained face appears in the window, and I grab Kelly’s arm in terror. But Grace just gestures for Deena and Kristan to come outside. The two of them scurry to scrape their friend’s feelings off the front lawn. I almost feel bad.
Then I imagine that gym class with the smell of polyurethane wafting in the air. Grace’s mouth twists in slow motion. Saying the thing that can never be unsaid. I picture the first long-legged elf on my desk with a stubby pencil posing as his dick. Mocking me.
I tell Kelly, “I wish I had my car so I could just head home now.” I glance up at the backward lips-camera-hat that’s blind-but-not-deaf and amend, “I mean, Wow, what a great party! I can’t believe we’re actually here.”
“Yes, and to think, it’s all thanks to the power of Nőrealique cosmetics,” Kelly says in a commercial-voiceover tone. The two of us dissolve into laughter.
“You whore.” I slump against her.
“I know, I know,” she laughs. “Too bad Pete thinks I’m a different type of whore.” She waggles her fingers at him.
He gives her a solicitous nod.
“Ugh, come on, Shannon. I’ll give you a ride home.”
It’s my favorite moment of the whole party.
***
When I say goodnight to Luke, he gives me a kiss that makes my lips tingle with the alcohol from his. He says he’s probably sleeping over at Pete’s anyway, but insists on taking me out for breakfast in the morning.
Judging by the way only one of his eyes is focused on my face, I’m assuming his “in the morning” is referring to sometime after twelve.
Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean I get to sleep in the next day. Victoria pops by at an ungodly early hour to debrief me about the party. My SAC Committee must have spent the whole night going through the video feed from Kelly’s stupid hat, and they have a few suggestions. Victoria actually sits me down to go through the footage, which mostly shows us watching the party from Kelly’s point of view. Victoria gives me rapid-fire tips for boosting my image the next time I find myself in this type of social situation. I take a sip of coffee from a mug that’s as big as my head and try to pay attention.
Apparently I was supposed to make myself the center of attention without acting too obnoxious. It would seem that playfully sitting on Luke’s lap would’ve been a good start.
“You know,” I warn Victoria, “Luke is on his way over this morning. You don’t want to blow my cover.”
“No need to worry.” She’s unfazed. “We can tell him I’m your cousin visiting from the city.”
I look her up and down. “Aunt, maybe?”
Right away, I say, “Just kidding,” but she excuses herself to go to the bathroom. When she comes back, I see she’s wearing even more makeup. I wonder what made me offer up insecurity as if it were a breath mint, but I pay dearly for my insult. The next two hours are spent painfully going over my behavior at the party frame by frame.
Good Shannon: Laughing with Kelly can be an effective way to seem like pleasant company.
Bad Shannon: Openly laughing and pointing at people as they walk by gives the impression I’m a bitch.
Good Shannon: Not hanging on all the gu
ys at the party like some sort of floozy.
Bad Shannon: Not flirting with any of the guys at the party at all.
Bad Shannon: Not even interacting with my hot date.
Bad Shannon: Not conversing with anyone aside from Kelly.
Bad Shannon: Ditching the party just before midnight was my worst offense, in spite of how well things worked out for Cinderella. Maybe I should’ve left one of my designer pumps sitting on the beer pong table.
“I certainly hope you haven’t been stood up.” Victoria looks at her watch as she gathers her things to go. “That would be pretty humiliating.”
I know she’s just paying me back for the “aunt” put-down, but I have to wonder if Luke maybe hooked back up with Grace last night after I left. “He’ll be here,” I say more confidently than I feel.
Victoria gives a sly nod and heads toward the door. “Don’t forget dance rehearsal tomorrow.”
I groan. Working on our stupid routine for the live! prom finale seems ridiculous. “Prom is so far away,” I whine. “And it already feels like we’ve been practicing forever.”
“And yet, you still look like a dancing emu.” Victoria smiles evilly. “We can’t do everything for you, Shannon. That tiara must be earned.”
***
Luke finally pulls up to my house at one-thirty. I’m wearing shorts and a tank top when I greet him at the door, and he’s wearing the yeasty scent of beer. Probably still intoxicated.
I playfully snatch at his keys and ask if I can drive his convertible. The sun’s out, the top’s down, and I’m escaping the cameras for a while, so I’m pretty keen to get behind that wheel. Averting a potentially maiming car accident would be pretty sweet as well.
I convince him to hand over the keys, climb behind the wheel, and discover Luke’s car is a stick shift. I don’t drive stick. I blame it on being left-handed, but really, I think it just involves remembering too many things at once.
The Real Prom Queens of Westfield High Page 11
