The Real Prom Queens of Westfield High (14 page)

Kelly turns to me as if it's her job to get a reaction shot or something. I just look at her and shrug. I don't need to get all up in some drunken ex-girlfriend drama on camera. Especially since I'm stone-cold sober.

I sigh and notice a girl wearing a bright swingy miniskirt that I'd love to cut into quilting strips.
And
whoops
, I think as she bends over, flipping the back of it up and exposing her thonged behind for her boyfriend to pat playfully. It looks like Kelly is getting all of that on film and I tell her to turn away. “I don't think she wants her ass exposed on national television,” I whisper.

“Well then, she shouldn't be exposing it at a party, should she?” Kelly says. “They'd just blur her crack anyway.”

Like that's any better.

“Why are you so worried about some drunk slut anyway?”

I stare at Kelly. “She's a person.”

“Whatever,” Kelly says, but she flips her hat around backward so it's facing the wall of cabinets behind us.

Luke is rubbing the side of his neck when he strides back inside. Tossing a quick shrug in my direction, he rejoins his buddies and swigs a gulp of beer.

“Well, looks like Shan-uke is still alive and kicking,” Kelly says. “But I think you'd better plan on driving home.”

Grace's tear-stained face appears in the window, and I grab Kelly's arm in terror. But Grace just gestures for Deena and Kristan to come outside. The two of them scurry to scrape their friend's feelings off the front lawn. I almost feel bad.

Then I imagine that gym class with the smell of polyurethane wafting in the air. Grace's mouth twists in slow motion. Saying the thing that can never be unsaid. I picture the first long-legged elf on my desk with a stubby pencil posing as his dick. Mocking me.

I tell Kelly, “I wish I had my car so I could just head home now.” I glance up at the backward lips-camera-hat that's blind-but-not-deaf and amend, “I mean,
Wow
, what a great party! I can't believe we're actually here.”

“Yes, and to think, it's all thanks to the power of Nőrealique cosmetics,” Kelly says in a commercial-voiceover tone. The two of us dissolve into laughter.

“You whore.” I slump against her.

“I know, I know,” she laughs. “Too bad Pete thinks I'm a different type of whore.” She waggles her fingers at him.

He gives her a solicitous nod.

“Ugh, come on, Shannon. I'll give you a ride home.”

It's my favorite moment of the whole party.

***

When I say goodnight to Luke, he gives me a kiss that makes my lips tingle with the alcohol from his. He says he's probably sleeping over at Pete's anyway, but insists on taking me out for breakfast in the morning.

Judging by the way only one of his eyes is focused on my face, I'm assuming his “in the morning” is referring to sometime after twelve.

Unfortunately, that doesn't mean I get to sleep in the next day. Victoria pops by at an ungodly early hour to debrief me about the party. My SAC Committee must have spent the whole night going through the video feed from Kelly's stupid hat, and they have a few suggestions. Victoria actually sits me down to go through the footage, which mostly shows us watching the party from Kelly's point of view. Victoria gives me rapid-fire tips for boosting my image the next time I find myself in this type of social situation. I take a sip of coffee from a mug that's as big as my head and try to pay attention.

Apparently I was supposed to make myself the center of attention without acting too obnoxious. It would seem that playfully sitting on Luke's lap would've been a good start.

“You know,” I warn Victoria, “Luke is on his way over this morning. You don't want to blow my cover.”

“No need to worry.” She's unfazed. “We can tell him I'm your cousin visiting from the city.”

I look her up and down. “Aunt, maybe?”

Right away, I say, “Just kidding,” but she excuses herself to go to the bathroom. When she comes back, I see she's wearing even more makeup. I wonder what made me offer up insecurity as if it were a breath mint, but I pay dearly for my insult. The next two hours are spent painfully going over my behavior at the party frame by frame.

Good Shannon: Laughing with Kelly can be an effective way to seem like pleasant company.

Bad Shannon: Openly laughing and pointing at people as they walk by gives the impression I'm a bitch.

Good Shannon: Not hanging on all the guys at the party like some sort of floozy.

Bad Shannon: Not flirting with any of the guys at the party at all.

Bad Shannon: Not even interacting with my hot date.

Bad Shannon: Not conversing with anyone aside from Kelly.

Bad Shannon: Ditching the party just before midnight was my worst offense, in spite of how well things worked out for Cinderella.
Maybe
I
should've left one of my designer pumps sitting on the beer pong table.

“I certainly hope you haven't been stood up.” Victoria looks at her watch as she gathers her things to go. “That would be pretty humiliating.”

I know she's just paying me back for the “aunt” put-down, but I have to wonder if Luke maybe hooked back up with Grace last night after I left. “He'll be here,” I say more confidently than I feel.

Victoria gives a sly nod and heads toward the door. “Don't forget dance rehearsal tomorrow.”

I groan. Working on our stupid routine for the
live!
prom finale seems ridiculous. “Prom is so far away,” I whine. “And it already feels like we've been practicing forever.”

“And yet, you still look like a dancing emu.” Victoria smiles evilly. “We can't do everything for you, Shannon. That tiara must be earned.”

***

Luke finally pulls up to my house at one-thirty. I'm wearing shorts and a tank top when I greet him at the door, and he's wearing the yeasty scent of beer.
Probably
still
intoxicated
.

I playfully snatch at his keys and ask if I can drive his convertible. The sun's out, the top's down, and I'm escaping the cameras for a while, so I'm pretty keen to get behind that wheel. Averting a potentially maiming car accident would be pretty sweet as well.

I convince him to hand over the keys, climb behind the wheel, and discover Luke's car is a stick shift. I don't drive stick. I blame it on being left-handed, but really, I think it just involves remembering too many things at once.

I try to focus,
clutch, shift, ease onto the gas
, and the car does little bunny hops down the road. Luke thinks this is adorable and assures me he's a great driving instructor.

He tells me everything I already know about driving with a standard transmission. The car still bunny hops. I laugh nervously and finally manage to get us moving. I keep it in first gear despite the engine's moaning to shift into second, and I pray I don't end up stopped on my way up a hill.

As I head along Route 8 toward the Country Kitchen, my blonde hair lifts and swirls around my head so aggressively I find myself driving blindly. I swipe frantically at my hair while smiling prettily in Luke's direction from time to time.

Thankfully, after a while, he leans back against the seat with his sunglasses on. In spite of the wind roaring in my ears, I can hear him snoring by the time I pull into the Country Kitchen parking lot. At least stopping a stick shift is simple enough, but I hit the brake too hard. Luke flops forward, dangling against his seatbelt as he continues snoring.

Yet
another
victim
of
my
dazzling
presence
. I rub his arm to wake him so we can go inside and eat.

***

After he's scarfed down a huge plate of eggs with extra bacon, I decide Luke has sobered up enough to drive us back to my house. He suggests we play catch with his football on the front lawn as we wait for my mom to get home from her Saturday errands. Which, translated loosely, means her time with Thomas. She actually told Josie and me we might get to meet him soon. Which, translated loosely, means Mom is really gaga for the guy. As nice as it is to have Mom off my back, she's never been this absorbed in a guy, and it's starting to make me nervous.

Her dark green SUV pulls up about an hour after I get sick of playing football—which happened approximately four minutes after we started. Luke looks pretty dashing, clowning around with the ball, and I'm doing my part to act adorable and pretend I'm having fun, but Victoria woke me way too early, and I'm almost ready to pass out.

When Mom's SUV stops in the driveway, I freeze. There's a man with longish gray hair and a goatee sitting in the passenger seat.
The
infamous
Thomas.
I frown and Luke turns in time to see Mom step out of the car.

With absolutely no provocation, Luke spikes the ball in my direction. The bullet hits me in the direct center of my forehead. The last thing I see is my mother running toward me.

As she pushes past Luke, it honestly looks as if he's reaching out to try to shake her hand.

***

When I come to, I'm stretched across our living room couch with a lovely view of Mom, Luke, and the gray-haired, goatee guy sharing a laugh at our dining room table. I wonder what planet I've landed on where my mother is laughing with the boy who just assaulted me with a football.

“You okay?” comes a voice from behind my head. I twist around to peer at Josie. She's reading a book, her favorite accessory since the cameras moved in.

“Nice one,” she whispers. “Getting hit in the head with a football makes for classic television. If he'd hit you in the nose, you'd be a shoo-in for the next
Top
Twenty
Reality
Show
Moments
of
All
Time
.” She glances toward Luke and leans in to hiss, “He's
so
hot!”

I stare up at her double image as I rub my throbbing head. “Why is everyone acting like my near-decapitation is no big deal?”

“It's okay. Thomas is a sports therapist and he looked you over, said you'll be fine.” She grins, and I vaguely remember being asked inane questions as I tried to sleep. “He works for the college where Mom's been doing athletic contracts.”

“Mom let Thomas examine me?” My voice is weak.

“She's awake!” Josie calls in to the Stranger, my Attacker, and my so-called Nurturer. Mom comes running in.
Finally, a little sympathy
. She kneels in front of me and starts laughing right in my face.
Perhaps
not.

“Oh, Shannon,” Mom giggles. “You're not going to believe what's been happening while you were resting.”

“
Resting
,” I repeat, but she rushes on.

“Did you even know I've been on retainer with St. James State? Thomas got me a position negotiating contracts for all their athletic programs.” She gestures to the goateed stranger, and he gives me an amused nod.

“Anyway,” Mom goes on in a rush, “I've been reviewing scholarship contracts for them for the past few weeks. Very exciting. It really is the best work situation I could ever imagine.” I stare at the pair of Moms in front of me, trying to figure out which one is real, so I can ask it for a hug. “Obviously when I saw what a great arm Luke has, I thought I'd maybe impress my new boss by introducing them.”

“Because his pass impressed you when it
knocked your eldest daughter out
cold
.” My voice drips with so much sarcasm she should be drowning in it.

“Oh, dear, I know. Are you feeling better? I'm so glad Thomas was here to look you over.” I lean my head back, which she must take to mean I'm okay, because she resumes babbling. “So anyway, Thomas thought it was a great idea. I made the call, and it just so happened Luke had a junk drive computer thingy with a video of him playing. So we Internetted that right over to them at St. James, and now they'll be watching how he develops throughout the year. Isn't that great?” She finally takes a breath. “If they sign him, I'll actually get a scouting bonus on top of my retainer.”

“If I get a starting position, it'll be double.” Luke grins at me over Mom's shoulder. I just stare at the two of them, wondering if my urge to knock their heads together is a sign I've suffered brain damage.

Mom finally gets around to looking concerned. “How's your head feeling?”

I close my eyes and cover them with my forearm.

“Thomas is the team's nurse,” Mom says.

“Assistant doctor,” he corrects, and she giggles in a way that makes her sound like she's not my mother. When I move my arm to glare at him, he shines a small flashlight back and forth in my eyes. “You took quite a hit there, but you'll be fine. Wish some of my players were so tough.”

Securing a big client like St. James State is probably the best thing to happen to Mom's career. But honestly, I don't trust any of this. A guy who randomly signs off on my blunt-force trauma via football? And what are the odds of her accidentally scouting my brand new boyfriend?

My eyes widen. I'm not seeing double anymore. I'm seeing red. “Wait a second.” I try to sit up, but a harsh pain in my head makes me slide back down and confront Luke from a horizontal position. I make up for my lack of verticalness by sharpening my glare.

“You just
happened
to have footage of yourself playing?” I think of Luke's insisting we play catch, despite my resistance after aforementioned minute four. I couldn't figure out if his obsession with meeting my mom was cute or creepy, but now it seems he must have had a clue about her new position before I did.

Luke swings down to sit at the edge of the couch and grabs my hand in one smooth motion. He still smells like stale beer, but his brown eyes are warm as they meet mine and his voice is deep. “Of course, silly, I'm a senior. Everyone carries tapes at this stage in the recruitment game.” He gently brushes my hair back off my face. “I'm so sorry you got hit by that throw.” He chuckles. “It was a pretty sweet one too.” At the utterly unamused look on my face, he adds, “Are you feeling okay?”