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Chapter One
I’m supposed to be popular. At least that was always the plan. When my cheer captain mom and my all-star pitcher dad got married, my destiny was set in stone. But try explaining that to my recessive genes. I’m not blonde and petite like Mom. I’m not athletic and smart like Dad. I’m not even confident or charming like my junior class president brother. I’m just lanky, awkward, average me. Everything high school looks for in its victims.
I pick at the extra skin around my cuticles and sigh. This assembly is such a waste of time. The vice principal attempts to make a joke. It’s received with a few awkward chuckles. Mostly from the other teachers in the room. The ones whose jobs depend on her liking them.
“And now the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” she says, with a flourish of her right hand. This woman wants to be an influencer so badly she can taste it.
Several excited squeals and giggles erupt from the front row_the cheerleader zone. They think they’re the most popular squad at school, probably from watching too many old 90’s movies. But really, the only attention they get is from the guys. Big boobs and short skirts, need I say more?
“Oh my gosh, like, I wonder which one of us blonde pops are going to be named today.” Stephanie says in her most nasally voice.
“Pops?” I ask.
“Populars,” Stephanie says, making a face.
She leans toward me. “Could it be Kaylee, or Kylie, or is it Kaitlyn? The suspense is literally going to kill me!” Stephanie places her hand on her forehead and leans back dramatically.
I snort. Thank goodness for besties. I would die of boredom without her. “So which pops do you think are going to be represented this year?” I ask, instantly adopting her new word.
Prom court is a huge deal at our school. I don’t get it. It’s just a bunch of fake people, wearing fake eyelashes, trying to see who has the most fake friends. But the students around us lean forward, eagerly awaiting the nominees. It’s like the Super Bowl, the Olympics, and the Academy Awards combined.
Steph and I simultaneously look around the gym and examine the different squads. Everyone sits in their own group, with common interests holding them together. The musical kids, the athletes, the cheerleaders, the dancers, the brainy kids, etc. Each squad seems to have their own hierarchy within the group. But the truly popular kids are those who transcend the squads. They fit in with everyone, everywhere. Then there’s me and Stephanie. We’re what I like to call the rejects, the anti-pops. We really don’t fit in anywhere.
I glance down the bleachers at Mom, sitting with all her cheerleaders. I know today must be the most disappointing day of her life. Prom assembly means announcing the nominees, and for the first time in four generations, my family won’t be represented. I’ve heard stories since I was little about how my great-grandma was prom queen and started the legacy. Because then my grandma was prom queen, and so was my mom. I have big shoes to fill. And the shoes I’m expected to wear are stilettos. But I don’t care for heels. I prefer my kicks.
“And the nominations for prom queen are…” the vice principal looks up from her paper and eyes each section of the room. Several boys begin rolling their tongues and soon, most of the gym is filled with the sound of a makeshift drumroll.
Stephanie sticks out her own tongue and drums on her cheeks. I laugh again.
“Adika Carson,” she says. The tall, graceful girl beams from across the room. She’s the leader of the dance squad. Her black, flawless skin seems to shine beneath the lights, as she nods her head in acknowledgment. Her perfect, white smile glows against her dark lips. She keeps her cool, but everyone knows she’s a shoo-in. Incredible dancer, honor roll, probably future model/doctor.
“Shocker,” I whisper loudly to Stephanie.
But she doesn’t respond. Her eyes are glowing as they focus on Adika.
“She’s a pop,” I say, nudging her side with my elbow.
Stephanie quickly looks away. “Ew gross, I know.”
“Kylie Bingham,” the vice principal announces.
One of the tiny, squeaky blonde cheerleaders from the front row shrieks in delight. She bursts into tears and her friends all hug her.
“The day I tell you I want to be a cheerleader, have my brain scanned for tumors please,” Stephanie says. She makes a gagging sound as we watch the drama unfold.
“Are you sure?” I ask, nudging her. “I could put in a good word with my mom.”
Steph flips me off and I laugh.
“Tessa Mitchell.”
One of our school’s top athletes, I’d say she’s a pop in her sporty squad. She’s on the varsity swim team and the softball team. And possibly basketball? I don’t know for sure. Sports aren’t really my thing.
“Taylor Cole.”
Oh yes, Taylor. She’s one of the rare breeds who is a pop in several squads. I’m not even sure why, but it probably has to do with her rich daddy. She’s like a poisonous snake in the grass, gorgeous from far away, but you better watch your step. You never know when or where she’ll strike next.
At this point, I’ve lost interest. Not that I had much to start. I don’t really care to see all the most popular girls in school pretend to be shocked that their names were nominated. And the screaming is starting to give me a headache. I turn to Stephanie.
