Page 75 of The Prom Queen Project
My chest tightened as if a straitjacket constrained me.
I thought I was dying.
I found myself curled into the fetal position, lying in the corner of my old bedroom. The ceiling began to swirl as darkness encroached on my vision. I couldn’t muster a full breath.
Looking back, it should’ve been obvious. All the signs were there, but I was too naïve to see them clearly. After that day, anxiety swirled inside me, clawing at even the most obscure parts of my brain, wreaking havoc on my mind until it was all I knew. For the next month, I had at least one attack every week. Unsurprisingly, they all corresponded with a different type of social interaction, but at their core, they were all the same—my mom asking me about my day, a strange man telling me tosmile, a group of girls whispering as I walked past them, my eyes locking with someone I didn’t know, and even a kid in the grade below me asking why I had a boy’s name.
I didn’t want my parents to worry, so I consulted Dr. Google and self-diagnosed myself with an allergy to human interaction.The cure?Faking it and pretending like everything was fine became my EpiPen. So, I molded myself like clay, transforming into a picture-perfect plastic Barbie doll—blonde hair, pink lipstick, unoriginal thoughts, and predetermined words—until, eventually, I could hardly recognize myself anymore. Conversations were easier when people believed you were one of them. It also made it harder for them to bully you.
Unless you let the mold break.
And mine was. But you know how Barbie dolls are—once they’re sealed in their little plastic boxes, breaking free becomes nearly impossible. So, I reinforced the plastic ties binding my arms to the cardboard box I was stuffed in as I plastered a smile on my face and walked through the lunchroom, refusing to let anyone’s stares intimidate me. My arms strategically balanced a three-tier stack of homemade vanilla cupcakes perched on a silver tray.
Each clique remained isolated at its own table, the only thing bridging the groups was the occasional exchange of glances.
Meredith’s glare penetrated the barrier the hardest as she bore a hole into the side of Andrew’s skull. Most of the cheerleaders warmed up to him pretty quickly, but not Meredith. She went out of her way to avoid him, and he did the same. His neck snapped like a whip, their eyes connecting as he shot her a devious smirk.
“How’s it goin’?”
Elliot’s voice startled me, the cupcakes teetering on the tray as I scurried to find my footing. I huffed while looking up at him. “Jesus, Abercrombie.”
“I’ll take one of those.” He reached his arm out, his fingers grasping nothing as I pulled back the tray.
“Does that mean I can count on your vote?” I raised my eyebrow at him.
“Of course.” He leaned in close to my ear. I could feel the heat from his breath as he whispered, “Princess.”
My cheeks flushed.
Elliot snagged a cupcake from the top of the stack, curling his lips as he took his finger, swiping off a bit of icing. His eyelids fluttered closed as he brought the frosting into his lips, sucking it clean with an audible pop.
My knees buckled slightly. I shifted my weight, trying to mask my unsteady gait.
“Thanks for the cupcake,girlfriend.” He winked as he shoved the rest of the cupcake in his mouth and walked away.
Jesus Christ.No, not even he could help me right now.
I exhaled through my nose, my smile springing back into place. Suddenly, I was thrust back into a crowd of phony personalities and shallow conversations, forcing myself to mingle with people I otherwise would avoid. I paraded around the lunchroom as nothing more than a faceless mannequin resembling only what each person wanted to see. It was exhausting, but at this point, I was used to it. Conversation after conversation, my laughter came out mechanical, and my words disingenuous.
“Vote for Clarke Taylor for Prom Queen!”
A sharp, ear-splitting howl broke through the air, the forced cackle grating against my ears. Whipping around, I caught Meredith covering her mouth as Mason muttered something to her. Kendra’s eyes narrowed at the two of them before she snatched her tray and strode away from the table.
I stiffened, my smile wavering.Was she laughing at me?A dull ache settled in my chest. Forcing my feet to cooperate, Iapproached her table, masking my uncertainty with a polished grin.
She was still giggling, her attention directed at Mason until I cleared my throat.
“Cupcake?” I asked, dropping the tray on the table with a metallic clank.
Slowly prying her gaze away from her Mason, she squinted at me. I swallowed forcefully, hoping my vocal cords wouldn’t betray me as my windpipe constricted.
“Is it your birthday or something?”
“It’s for Prom.”
“It’s February.”
“So?”
