Page 15 of The Prom Queen Project
My eyebrows drew closer to my hairline as my eyes bulged from my skull.
My dad wore an expression that mirrored my own. At a loss for words, he put the boxes back in the center of the table, still looking onward in shock.
Our eyes bounced around, shifting as we gawked at each other. Then, almost simultaneously, we all broke out into laughter.
In an effort to compromise, my mother proposed a solution: she would tell us about her day while we ate, and my dad could tell us about his day when we were done.
As we sat around the table, her story unraveled as she explained the general outline of the new book she was drafting, which, in my opinion, was definitely better than hearing about some unsettling surgery. It was a tragic romance between two childhood friends turned enemies.
“I just can’t think of a good ending.”
“You’re New York Times best-selling author, Sarah Taylor…you’ll figure it out,” I said, my words coming out garbled as I gnawed at the pepperoni pizza on my plate.
“I hope so. If I don’t reach my deadline for my first draft, my agent will kill me.” She sighed, her shoulders sagging. “Anyway, how was your first week of school?”
“Could’ve been better. Could’ve been worse.”
“Anything special happen?”
Switch one of my favorite classes to stupid fucking art class?Check.See an incredibly hot yet overly nauseating boy?Check.Get detention during first period?Check.Deal with crippling social anxiety while pretending to be a stereotypical dumb blonde?Check and check.
“Nope. Just the usual crazy high school stuff,” I mumbled, dismantling the garlic crust, my fingertips slick with greasy crumbs.
She and my dad exchanged a silent glance. My lips tugged to the side as I watched them watch me. Letting out a quiet breath, my mother rested her hands on top of mine. My gaze drifted downward.
“Honey, you’re a shit liar.”
The tension building in my shoulders dissipated as I let out a small laugh. Six lame dad jokes, four slices of pizza, and one sappy family hug later, I was upstairs lying in bed with my journal sprawled open on my lap. I read and reread my plan to win Prom Queen, and each time I was less impressed.
I stared at the words until they lost meaning. It was good enough.I wasn’t good enough.I needed to be more specific—more detailed. Less room for error.
Grabbing my pencil, I pressed down firmly onto the paper and began to write an additional line next to step one.
That was a good start. I closed my journal and pushed it to the side, replacing it withProm and Prejudiceby Elizabeth Eulberg. I spent the rest of the night submerged under an ocean of ink and pages as I melted into the book, becoming enveloped in every word.
The next day, the house was eerily quiet, and after an hour of binge-watchingGrey’s Anatomy, I found myself wanting to talk to anactualdoctor. Not about anything medical, I just needed an excuse to go annoy Doctor Dad—anything to escape the silence that my room was offering. I grabbed my journal, shoved it into the pocket of my oversized hoodie, and hopped out of my bed to see exactly where he was hiding. As I galloped down the stairs, the faint sound of a television became increasingly louder.
“Dad?”
“In here!”
I followed his voice into the living room to find him snuggled up with Cleo as he stared intently at the screen in front of him.
Sunlight streamed through the large Palladian window off to the side, obscuring the television with its harsh glare.
My eyes squinted as I flopped down on the couch, sinking into the cushions. Glancing over at him, I snagged Cleo from his lap, placing her onto mine.
“Hey!”
“What? She’s my cat, too.”
“I paid for her,” he muttered.
I shrugged, stroking her fur, feeling like the villain from that oneJames Bondmovie. Looking up at the television, my eyes slowly adjusted to the light as my pupils constricted. That’s when I realized what he was watching.The Great British Bake Off.My entire body shook with laughter, prompting Cleo to hop off my lap.
“No way you’re watching a cooking show right now.”
“First, you take my cat, now you judge my show?”
