Page 13 of The Prom Queen Project
“Hey,” Kendra spoke through broken laughter before sobering up. “Where’s Coach going?”
“To give the new girls some advice.”
Meredith lifted her chin to the sky. “Yeah, some of them really need it.”
“Oh, come on,” I teased. “Don’t you remember how nervous and uncoordinated you were during freshman year?”
“It wasn’t that bad,” she grumbled.
“You were like a fish out of water.” Kendra cackled.
She rolled her eyes, glaring between the two of us. “Yeah, yeah.”
“All I’m saying is we should give these girls a chance.” I raised my shoulders.
“Girls?” Meredith scoffed. “What does that make Andrew?”
“He was never really an option, was he?” Kendra replied simply, shrugging her shoulders.
“Hell no. We would have to modify every routine for him. Girls’ and boys’ cheer routines areverydifferent. Plus, I don’t think any of the girls could lift him, and I doubt they’d want a boy standing under their skirts.”
I scrunched my nose. “Wait, isn’t Andrew gay?”
“Don’t know, don’t care.” She shrugged. “If he’s on the team, I’m out.”
“Calm down, Mer. I get it. He won’t make the team. Period.”
Coach Smithson’s voice interrupted our conversation, her words echoing through the microphone.
“Everyone, go find your groups! We’re about to start.”
The girls and I walked toward the front again.
For the last fifteen minutes, we watched as the students all performed one last time. By the end of tryouts, I had a pretty good idea of who I wanted on the team. Coach Smithson and I weighed the different options, but we were still on the fence about one girl—Camryn Diaz. She was good, but her strength was lacking. If she was going to be a base, she needed to be able to support the weight of another cheerleader. Not to mention, her facial expressions were also muted. She seemed bored half the time.
Of course, Meredith added her two cents by insisting Camryn was the right choice because, apparently, cheering was in her blood. According toMiss Know-it-all, both of Camryn’s sisters were cheerleaders at Summerville High a couple of years ago. That was all it took to convince Coach Smithson, leaving me to feel inept in the presence of Meredith once again.What else was new?I may be the face of the school, but Meredith was not shy about asserting her dominance when it came to our group dynamics. My grin sprang back into place as the coach handed me the microphone to address the students once again.
“Okay, everyone. Before finishing up, I wanted to say you are all amazing, and even if you don’t make the team this year, don’t be discouraged! Take the year, improve on your technique, and come back next year even better.”
A few meek claps filled the air. With everyone’s attention directed at me, a brilliant idea hit me like a ton of bricks.
I bit the corner of my lip and started speaking again before my confidence dissolved. “Also, I have a personal announcement I would like to make. I am officially running for HomecomingQueen this fall and Prom Queen in the spring, and not to campaign here or anything, but it would mean a lot if you guys voted for me because I feel like I definitely embody the Honey Bee spirit. So, if you agree, make sure to vote for Clarke Taylor!”
I swapped the microphone for pom-poms and launched into a back handspring, bouncing on the balls of my feet before throwing my arms up and flipping backward. As I stuck the landing, I shot my hands toward the sky, shaking the pom-poms with a bright smile. The gym erupted in applause. For the first time, I felt a wave of relief. The crushing weight on my shoulders suddenly felt lighter as tryouts neared their end. Maybe campaigning wouldn’t be as hard as I’d thought. Coach Smithson and a few cheerleaders offered their congratulations as I struggled to steady my breathing, anxiously waiting for the noise to settle. As Meredith stood in the crowd, her face seemed blank as she stared ahead.
What was her problem?
Finally, after hours of picking apart each candidate’s every trait, I revealed the final lineup: myself, Meredith, Kendra, Camryn, Emory, Kalani, Camilla, Kendall, Bella, Luna, Rowan, and Valentina.
Four
I lifted my gaze to meet the soft yellow Cape Cod house, its foundation adorned with natural stone, watching as it came closer with each passing step. No sooner than I’d opened the door, a sense of relief poured over me. Cream-colored walls with yellow-trimmed furniture welcomed me into its comforting embrace as the skylight cast a golden glow on the foyer. A bouquet of sunflowers and lilies sat perched on the glass table situated in the center of the hall, encased between a large imperial staircase that lined both sides of the room, connecting to form an overhanging balcony in the middle.
I could finally breathe again.
At home, popularity didn’t matter. I could dance around in my underwear without a care, lose myself in the pages of a book, wear my retainer freely regardless of the words that spilled out with a heavy lisp. Hell, I could even pick my nose if I felt like it. With only six waking hours each day to be unapologetically myself, I wasn’t about to waste a damn second of it. I slammed the door behind me and let out a shaky breath as I ran my fingers through my hair. You’d never guess that the popular girl hadsocial anxiety, but what did you expect from someone who was also secretly a total loser? I was simply an outcast wearing the mask of someone much more popular.
I rotated my head, looking left and right, as though I were crossing a busy street when in reality, I just wanted to see which side of the staircase looked closer to my relative position. Opting for the left side, I walked down the foyer and began the treacherous leg workout of climbing a thousand stairs all the way up to the second floor. When I finally made it, I rounded the corner to my bedroom. Without any hesitation, I threw my purse into the far corner, unintentionally spilling my textbooks onto the floor in the process. My dress felt like it was suffocating me at this point. I shuddered as it slid down my legs, the cold air coming into contact with my skin. Walking over to my closet, I grabbed a grey hoodie with the words ‘Class of 2020’ on it—my sister’s old sweatshirt.
