Page 21 of The Prom Queen Project
“Shallow? I’m not—”
Elliot ripped open the journal and repeatedly jabbed his finger on the paper, pointing to one specific section.
Don’t be caught dead hanging out with Abercrombie.
“Abercrombie. That’s me, right? Little Miss Cheer Captain thinks she’s better than everyone else. Well, guess what, Clarke? You’re worse.”
I felt the anger inside me reach its peak. I swatted the journal out of his hands, smacking it onto the floor.
“Definitely better than some twelfth-grade reject who failed his senior year and doesn’t give a fuck about the real world. When’s the last time you ever tried, Elliot? At anything.”
Elliot laughed dryly. “Whatever. I may be a shitty student, but at least I’m not ignorant.” He walked past me and over to the bedroom door. Just before he left, he turned around. “You’re not gonna win.”
I rolled my eyes and placed my hands on my hips. “I’m the most popular girl in the entire school. Of course, I will win.”
“I said it before and I’ll say it again—If you think you’re so popular, then why does ninety percent of the senior class avoid you and your minions like the plague?”
I froze, my words faltering. “Wha-what?”
“The outcasts, the rejects, the theatre kids, the band geeks, the average joes…who do you think makes up most of our class, Clarke?” I pondered his words, but before I had a chance to digest their meaning, he continued. “And guess the one singular group that you prioritize and only makes up the remaining ten percent.” I stayed silent. Elliot sighed, shaking his head. “When you figure it out, let me know.”
My vision became hazy as I drifted in and out of focus.
There was no way people hated me. The whole school practically worshipped the ground I walked on. That’s what popularity meant, right? All the guys wanted to have me, and all the girls wanted to be me. Sure, people may be envious, buthate? No way. It would be unwarranted. I mean, it’s not like I was a bully. I barely even talked to people outside of the cheerleaders and jocks. The day I made that deal with Meredith, I promised myself that no matter how admired I became, I would never harass anyone.Ever.Not like they harassed me.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
I couldn’t go back.
I couldn’t be the girl I used to be. The loser who everyone teased for being a teacher’s pet. The social pariah who read fanfiction instead of scrolling through Instagram. The geek who hung out at the library instead of going to the school dance.
I don’t know exactly when Elliot left, but when I looked up again, he was gone.
Six
Days bled into weeks as I breezed through the next few weeks, pushing down my anxiety and plastering a phony smile on my face. Thankfully, after four years of creating the perfect persona, I was good at hiding my emotions.
Elliot, on the other hand, was doing terribly at avoiding negative attention as he refused to learn how to bite his tongue and narrowly escaped detention three times. I’m surprised Mrs. Hawthorne didn’t negate our deal after he stole a fish from the tank in the main office and paraded it around school in a small glass bowl. Maybe she was too preoccupied with her smutty books to realize. It also didn’t hurt that most people were focused on spirit week, which had been kicked off with every high school student’s favorite thing—pajama day.
But that was yesterday. Today’s theme was Tropical Tuesday, andman, oh man, if I could go back to a time when I hadn’t seen so many people dressed in coconut bras. Sure, they had undershirts because…high school…duh. But still,ew. The one upside about being a cheerleader is that we never wore anything that wasn’t designer brand, meaning no coconut bras for us.
Thank. Fucking. God.
I propelled my legs forward as I thrust my upper torso through the crowded hallway, bumping shoulders with nearly every person I passed. My fingers gripped the large cardboard box wrapped tightly in my arms as I pressed it against my chest, determined not to let any of the goody bags inside spill onto the floor. Each velvet drawstring pouch held a keychain engraved with the words‘Vote for Clarke’on gold-plated metal, two vanilla cake pops adorned in pink icing, an Apple AirTag, and a strawberry-scented hand sanitizer. My wallet shriveled at the thought of buying fifteen of those trackers, but I knew I couldn’t cheap out and settle for stale candy and plastic buttons with my face plastered in the center. I would be the laughingstock of the entire homecoming court. My voice cracked as I called out,“Vote for Clarke, grab a treat—because this Queen can’t be beat!”I handed out the bags left and right until the box in my arms was completely empty.
“That oughta do it,” I spoke under my breath as I broke apart the box and shoved it into the nearest bin.
Before I could relish in the fact that I was done socially prostituting myself, Meredith and Kendra rushed over to me, appearing out of thin air.Jesus. They were like cockroaches.
“Hey, girl, hey!” Kendra beamed.
“How’d passing out goodies go?”
“Well, they’re all gone, so…”
“Nice.” She bumped her hip against mine.
Releasing a silent puff of air I didn’t know I was holding in, I looked down at my feet and continued putting one foot in front of the other as the three of us strolled down the hall. Ever since the first day of school, it had felt like I was on some kind of fucked up roller coaster that only did loops…oh, and the tracks were on fire. I never expected that running for Homecoming and Prom Queen would come with so much baggage. Not tomention that I made everything a trillion times harder by getting figuratively handcuffed to Elliot Keller for two days out of the week.
