The Real Prom Queens of Westfield High Read online

  The two of us are sitting on the couch in the living room with the first season of Biting Reality playing on instant watch. Josie keeps pausing the show to make comments. She thinks I should focus on riding this opportunity to bigger and better things. “Like the ultimate, writing books!”

  As she goes off on a random tip about how to be the center of drama without being labeled a drama queen, I watch her happy expression and feel warmth toward my little sister. She genuinely wants to help me do well, and I realize I’ve underestimated the sister bond that—My phone rings from where it rests on the coffee table, and Josie lunges to grab it before I can see who’s calling. “Hello, Shannon Depola’s phone,” she says as I try to snatch it back.

  She hits mute. “It’s a BOY!” she says. “Who’s Rick?”

  My heart beats in my ears. Slashing my arms back and forth, I mouth an exaggerated NO.

  “So sorry, Rick,” Josie tells him. “She’s out and forgot her phone here at home.” After a pause, she laughs. “Yes, it is just like her.” She catches my eye and says, “I’m not sure when she’ll be back. Can I give her a message?” Josie happens to be a great liar. I suspect it’s a standard popular-girl feature, but she’s usually not a bitch about her powers.

  After she hangs up, she threatens to call Rick right back and tell him I’ve got herpes if I don’t give her the scoop. Like I said, she’s usually not a bitch.

  “I do appreciate your sudden interest in my life,” I say, “but there is no scoop here. That was just Rick.”

  “That much I know. He says to call him when you get in. I want to know why his call made you freak.”

  “I think he may be kind of into me,” I say. “That’s all.”

  She repeats “That’s all?” as if a guy being into me is a holy miracle. “How do you feel about him?”

  I think about the way our eyes kept locking in the rearview mirror. I shrug, but Josie must read my expression because she says, “Okay, so you like him. What’s the problem? Is he a real uggo?”

  “No.” I’m suddenly defensive. “He’s not an uggo. I’m just not sure if I like him and anyway I’m leaving in a few days for Prom Queen Camp.”

  There’s a pause where Josie could be telling me to skip the show and go for it with Rick. But she isn’t.

  “It’ll work out,” I say. “I think he’ll wait.”

  Josie raises one perfect eyebrow. “Or maybe, after your makeover, you’ll snag someone better.” She starts rattling off a list of my attributes that need improvement, and I shove her off the couch.

  My mind swings to what may have happened if I’d dropped Marnie off first on Saturday night. I imagine the look Rick gave me growing more intense and…

  “Shannon!” Josie cuts in. “You are so annoying! Did you hear me?”

  “Um, you asked what I want to do with my final free days before camp?”

  “No.” She sighs. “But never mind. What do you want to do?”

  “Finish the binding on my Blue Jean Quilt.” I grin widely.

  “Gah! I cannot wait for them to turn you into a normal person.”

  ***

  So now I just need to ignore Rick’s phone calls until he catches on and gives up, which, to be honest, takes longer than it should for someone with a 150 IQ. He continues calling at different times for the next few days as I work on finishing my quilt.

  Marnie calls to say good-bye before heading halfway across the world, and all she wants to talk about is why I haven’t spoken to Rick. “We keep just missing each other,” I say. “But you have a great trip.” Like she’s going to the beach to sunbathe instead of constructing homes for people who are devastatingly poor.

  Finally, Marnie and I hang up and she flies away and I’m free from having to lie to her. That is, until she sends me an email from the Bahamas asking if I’ve spoken to Rick yet. I email her back saying my mom just grounded me from the computer all summer for having a messy room. Except that Marnie knows my room is always super-messy and all Mom asks is that I “keep the door shut on that godforsaken pigsty.” At least I know Marns will forgive my awful lies once my real excuse is revealed.

  I just hope Rick will too.

  The day before camp starts, technicians come to the house and install minicameras and microphones everywhere. Taping won’t start until it’s time for our “good-byes,” but just knowing the cameras are there freaks me out. Josie must feel it too, because she retires her shabby yellow nightshirt with “Super Chick” printed on the front and is wearing an adorable cotton short set as pajamas. She also has on a pair of faux black-framed glasses and is curled on the couch reading. So much for reality television.

  Victoria comes by and coaches us to wait for filming to begin before getting emotional about my going away. Oh yeah, and if I can manage to look significantly unattractive for my good-bye scene and trip to camp, that would be great.

  “The limo will swing by to get you at eight tomorrow morning,” Victoria tells me as she heads out the door. “Feel free to stay up late tonight eating salty snacks so you’re nice and puffy for the cameras.”

  The moment she sashays out the door, our home phone rings. Josie checks the caller ID, looks at me, and silently mouths Rick.

  My last chance to talk to him before I leave. I glance up at the camera in the ceiling with its unseeing glassy eye and marvel that I’m about to be watched relentlessly.

  I surprise Josie by taking the phone out of her hand. Glancing at her and Mom, I hit talk and head down the hallway toward my bedroom.

  “Hey,” I say once I’m behind my closed door.

  “Hey, yourself,” says Rick. “You are not an easy girl to get ahold of.”

  “Um, yeah, sorry, I lost my cell phone.” Actually, Victoria just confiscated it until after camp.

  “This was my final attempt, so I’m glad you picked up,” he says, and I realize what a huge mistake I’ve just made. I didn’t even think through what I was going to tell him.

  “I was wondering if you maybe wanted to go out?” he says.

  “Out? You mean, like, on a date?”

  Rick laughs. “Well, if the term ‘date’ makes you uncomfortable, we can call it a very small gathering, just the two of us. How about the movies? This Saturday?”

  This Saturday I’ll be up to my neck in makeover paraphernalia. I blurt out, “Sorry, I’m getting my hair done.”

  “Oh, okay,” Rick says. “All day?”

  “Pretty much. It’s a very intense process.”

  “O-kay.” He draws out the word as if he’s looking for more of an explanation, but I don’t have one.

  Finally, Rick breaks the weird silence. “So, maybe we can talk sometime next week?”

  I think about the show. “I’m actually leaving for a big competition, Rick.” Even the truth sounds like a dirty lie in my mouth. “I’ll be gone all summer.”

  There’s another long silence before he asks, “What kind of competition?”

  I look at the nearly completed quilt at the foot of my bed and answer, “Quilting!”

  “Quilting?”

  “Um, yeah,” I say. “They’re having a big competition in New Castle this summer. I’ll be staying there and working on a quilt. My quilt. That I’m…quilting.”

  “Oh,” Rick says, and the silence is back.

  “Listen,” I say, “this summer is going to be crazy, but I just want you to know…” What? I sigh. “I wonder if I can accept your offer for a very small gathering, just the two of us, but pushed back a bit.”

  “Pushed back how far?” Rick’s voice is tight.

  “Until after the summer?”

  “Sure. Because, hey, you have your marathon haircut and big quilting competition,” he says. “I’m curious, Shannon, just how do they judge quilting anyway?”

  This is a question I can actually answer, but I’m not about to get into “Exemplary Piecework” since he is clearly mocking me. I spot a finger cot lying on my dresser and feel inspired.

  “Do you re
member tenth-grade dodgeball, Rick?”

  “What does that—”

  “Remember? The gym floor was redone and Mrs. Gumto would have a hissy fit if anyone walked on it wearing anything but sneakers.” At his silence, I add, “I used to imagine her lying on it and caressing its glossy smoothness after everyone went home at night.” His snickers give me hope. “So, anyway, we were playing dodgeball and I was one of the last players standing…”

  “Yeah, you were always really good at dodgeball.”

  I take a breath. “A finger cot fell out of my pocket.”

  “A what?”

  “The elf condom. The stupid thing that Grace turned into—”

  “I remember.” The silence is even heavier than before.

  “Well, finger cots are used to help with quilting,” I say. “I’ve been quilting for a long time. I’m actually really good.” My insides relax at my confession.

  “Shannon? I never told you this, but I always felt really bad for pointing out the, er…that thing on the floor.”

  “Everything pretty much changed for me that day.”

  “Grace and Luke are a couple of shit slices,” Rick says. “I’ve wanted to apologize for so long…”

  “So why didn’t you?”

  “I guess I hoped you’d forget I was involved. I’m so sorry.”

  I shake my head to loosen the memory.

  “Yeah, well, you should be sorry.”

  “I am. And I want to make it up to you.” His voice deepens. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot since the party. I can’t pretend to go back to the way things were.”

  I envision Rick crawling through my window and repeating what he just said in person. But I can’t acknowledge the flip-flopping way his words make me feel.

  “Um, thanks?” I say.

  “Thanks. Yeah.” His voice is tight again.

  “Well, I’d better go spend time with my family,” I tell him, trying to deflect the accusing tone of his voice. “I’m not going to see them, so this is our good-bye night.”

  He mocks, “Well then, happy good-bye night.”

  “Okay,” I say. “Hope you have a good summer—”

  He cuts me off, “Yeah, good luck becoming a well-coiffed Queen Quilter.”

  I laugh. “Who uses the word ‘coiffed’?” But he’s already hung up.

  Stupid reality show. I just hope that this is worth it when the summer ends and my new makeover knocks the socks off his ears.

  PART TWO

  Prom Queen Boot Camp

  Chapter Five

  “I wonder what our makeovers will be like,” I grunt as I drag my brown suitcase up the stone stairs leading to a huge columned porch. I have matching bags under my eyes, courtesy of staying up all night to finish my quilt. I categorically qualify as “significantly unattractive” for my big TV debut. Victoria will be thrilled.

  Kelly raises her nose ring into a snarl as she pushes past me, dragging her scuffed black duffel bag behind her. We follow Amy through the enormous double doors and cross the threshold of what will be our luxurious home for the next six weeks.

  The three of us didn’t talk much during our shared limo ride here. Amy was completely mute, clutching the small case that coordinates with her plaid luggage and biting her bottom lip the whole time. I picture hours of footage filled with awkward silence and wonder how long before our show gets canceled.

  As we stand in the yawning marble foyer, I take in the crystal chandelier, the ornate gold wallpaper, and the Nőrealique Cosmetics posters mounted on the walls. Marnie would hate all the blatant commercialism, but the contrast inspires me to make a mental quilt featuring gold paisley embossed with the trendy red-lipped logo of Nőrealique Cosmetics.

  I’m naming my design Lip Service to Our Sponsor when Amy leans in to whisper, “I just hope I don’t completely embarrass myself.” She speaks. I nod and smile, suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that we’re being filmed. Besides the two men dressed in black circling us with handhelds, there are hidden cameras all over the house.

  I’m so busy envisioning how my every eye blink is coming across that Victoria’s big introduction is just background gibberish about how we’re not to look directly at the cameras. I notice she’s wearing unnaturally bright-red lipstick that goes perfectly with her artificial demeanor.

  Amy listens intently while Kelly examines one of her short, black fingernails with disdain. I’d put big money down on Kelly getting into a brawl at some point during our show’s run. I picture her crumpling Victoria’s perfect highlights in her fist as she smears that bright-red lipstick with her knuckles.

  The non-smeared version of Victoria in front of me nods and smiles as she gestures upstairs. I lean over to ask Amy what’s happening as the three of us start making our way up the grand marble staircase.

  “We’re going to see our bedrooms,” she says. “Then meeting in the Beauty Room in two hours to get our makeovers.”

  “Sweet,” I say as I heave my suitcase up step by step. “I can’t wait to see how they reveal our transformations.”

  “How simple are you?” Kelly’s heavy breathing tarnishes her cool façade.

  Amy looks over her shoulder at me. “Victoria just went over the whole layout of the show. Hidden spy cameras will follow us through our senior year. Nobody will know about it until the show airs the first episode in the spring.” Amy puts down her plaid suitcases. “They’ll start with a two-hour premiere episode of us here at camp. Then the rest of the season will cover senior year, leading up to the live! finale at the prom when we find out if any of us wins the money.”

  I look at Amy. “I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you speak.” She blushes as we continue up the stairs. “And thanks, live! finale at the prom—got it.”

  “Girls, girls, GIRLS!” An angry voice cuts in. “Stop! We need another take!”

  The three of us turn to see Mickey wearing a headset and walking up the stairs behind us. “What we’re looking for today is more excitement, more enthusiasm, and especially more paying attention to the fact that you’re about to see your Exciting New Bedrooms.” She smiles coldly. “I need you three to drop your suitcases in the foyer and have a race up the stairs. Feel free to shove.”

  Amy and I rest our bags on the steps in front of us. “What the—?” Kelly breathes heavily as she sits down beside her duffel. I imagine she’ll need an oxygen tank if she’s going to make it down and up the stairs again for the cameras. Amy obediently starts working her way back downstairs, easily hauling three times the weight of Kelly’s bag.

  “Do you want to lug this thing back up here?” Kelly snaps.

  Mickey smooths her slicked-back hair. “If the three of you can properly convey how thrilled you are with your new bedrooms, we’ll get somebody to not only carry all your bags, but unpack them as well.”

  I thunder back down the stairs where Amy is already standing dutifully beside her pet suitcases. Kelly drags herself to the foyer and flings her bag onto Amy’s stack. There’s a clear sound of breaking glass, and Amy’s face goes crimson. Either Kelly just busted her bong, or Amy packed something fragile. A waft of powdery-smelling fragrance fills the foyer and Amy says apologetically, “Baby’s Pink Perfume.”

  Kelly growls and bats at the air as if she’s being gassed.

  “That fragrance needs to be confiscated anyway,” Mickey says. “The only products featured on this show will be Nőrealique products.” She raises her headset’s microphone to her mouth and says, “So if Kelly has finally caught her breath, we are ready for ACTION!”

  We all head back up the stairs trying to look like we’re putting a little energy into it.

  “Much better!” Mickey calls. “Whoever gets there first gets the big bedroom!” Which is what she should’ve said in the first place. Kelly is left in the dust as I clamor to be first but Amy proves to be more agile than she looks. We get to the top together and when we open the door to the first room, I’m amazed by how big and fancy it is. It has to b
e the best one, so I shove past Amy, dive onto the bed, and lick the pillow to claim it.

  Amy is undaunted and squeals with delight as she runs from room to room, giving the exact sort of footage Mickey’s looking for. Kelly stands in each doorway, trying to look cool, but her quick half-smile makes me think of a cat who totally loses it watching a rolling toy then goes back to acting all bored. I can’t blame her covert excitement because honestly, the rooms are chock-full of amazing. In fact, my room turns out to be one of the smaller two. But it’s plenty big with pearl-white walls and so many pretty silver touches, it has me thinking this reality show thing was a good decision after all.

  ***

  We have two hours before our pilgrimage to the Beauty Room for our makeovers, so I decide to practice being sociable by visiting the other girls in their bedrooms.

  Kelly’s full duffel bag sits in the middle of her purple carpet waiting for the guy who’s coming around to unpack us. She’s lying silently on her bed, arms folded over her chest like a corpse, her clunky black clogs crossed and twitching. I stand in the doorway, trying to draw her into a conversation.

  Me: “So, what do you think they’ll do for our makeovers?”

  Her: *silence*

  Me: “I really hope they don’t cut my hair super short.”

  Her: *silence*

  Me, holding my hair back to reveal my goofy ears: “’Cause my ears are pretty goofy.”

  Kelly continues staring at the ceiling. She ended up in the room that’s decorated in deep purple and reminds me of a witch’s lair. How fitting. Finally, she rises to glare at me and says, “Shannon? You mind shutting the fuck up?”

  I smile. “That’ll get bleeped, you know.” She doesn’t smile back, and I give a sarcastic, “Alrighty then,” as I move toward the powdery scent of Amy’s room.

  Amy is hovering over a guy dressed in all black who’s unpacking her stuff. “No, that shouldn’t really go th—here, let me do it.” She snatches a stack of folded clothes from his hands. “Thank you, I’ve got it.” With a hasty nod, she starts rearranging her drawers. The guy shrugs and leaves, presumably to go unpack either my room or Kelly’s.