Page 2 of The Year I was Almost Prom Queen

“I guess the new system backfired,” I say.

Stephanie grunts. “Like it was ever going to work in the first place. The minute the school announced that the prom queen and king nominations would be based on three student nominations plus two teachers, all the beauty queens in school began sucking up to their teachers big time. I even saw Taylor bring Mrs. Beckstead homemade cookies one day.” She shakes her head. “I wonder what it would be like to care so much about something so trivial.”

I shrug. “They’ve got to fill all that empty space with something,” I say, tapping my head.

“And the final nominee is Emma Carpenter.”

My ears burn and my mouth goes dry. I watch Stephanie’s grin fade into an open mouth. She stares at me, unblinking. My own face probably looks about the same, although I also feel like my stomach is doing flips. I turn my head as if in slow motion. People all around me are patting me on the back and offering congratulations. I can’t even smile in response or feign excitement. I stare at the vice principal. Her mouth is continuing to move but I can’t tell what she’s saying. The sounds around me are all blurring together.

I glance down and see Mom smiling and waving at me. She claps her hands together and then blows me a kiss. I glance across the gymnasium and see Dad giving me a thumbs up. Well, I guess I know where the two teacher nominations came from. It looks like after four years of hiding in the shadows, my parents are finally forcing me into the spotlight. But what three classmates were crazy enough to put my name in?

Mom leads her tiny, blonde squad onto the floor for one final cheer. I lean in close to Stephanie’s ear.

“Steph, did you do this to me?” I ask, pointing at myself.

Stephanie’s eyes are wide and she nods her head in slow motion. “I am so sorry,” she says. “When Mrs. Bumpkin handed out the nomination slips, she said we had to write down someone. I didn’t want to feed into the frenzy. Plus, Kylee kept trying to get me to write her name, as if we are even friends. She was pretending to be interested in me for half a second so I’d nominate her. I wrote your name just to spite her. I never thought in a million years that something would actually come from it!”

I put my head in my hands and sigh. Well, I guess that solves part of the mystery. “Who else at this school is cracked enough to write in my name?”

Stephanie shrugs. Her face is pale.

The crowd stands and cheers and I can only assume the assembly is over. My heart is pounding in my ears. I can’t even get to my feet. I put my head between my knees, trying to calm the throbbing pain. I hear the quickclack clackon metal and look up just in time to see Mom’s tiny shoes swishing toward me. I try and pretend not to see her, but there’s nowhere to hide.

Stephanie squeezes my hand.

“Good luck,” she whispers, before jumping up and pushing through the crowd.

“Traitor,” I mumble.

“Hon-eeeey!” As Mom approaches, she throws her arms around me and offers congratulations.

My face grows hotter by the minute. “Thanks, Mom,” I say, staring down at the scuff on the tip of my shoe.

“Oh, I’m just so excited for you!” she squeals. “This will be the best time of your whole life. Grandma and Great-Grandma would be so proud.”

The anxiety builds in my stomach like a swirling tornado.

“First, we’ll get you a dress, and then a haircut. And, of course, you’ll need to get your eyebrows done.”

“Mom, can we talk about this later?” I can feel the tornado growing stronger.

“I’ve got a friend who does makeup. Oh, and then shoes! We have to find the perfect shoes to match.”

“I don’t feel so good.” The heat in my face begins creeping down my neck.

And you’ll need a date. Hmmm, not sure what to do about that but…”

I stand too quickly, searching for an escape route and immediately regret it. The churning in my stomach finally breaks free and I vomit. The chicken salad from lunch lies in chunks, coating the bleachers, and dripping down the steps. People all around us scream and run to get away from the smell of partially digested poultry. I glance at my mom, who looks green enough to follow suit. A look of pure horror and disgust in her perfect eyes.

Then the phones come out, because why wouldn’t I want one of the worst moments in my life documented? I cover my face with my hands. Partially to hide my identity and partially to prevent another round of vomit from spewing out. Mom quickly guides me down the bleachers and out of the gym. Voices swirl around us as we make our exit.

“That’s so gross.”

“How embarrassing!”

“I didn’t nominate her prom queen, but I’ll nominate her for vom queen!”

I can hear the laughter echoing after us, down the hall.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com