It is now officially the day of the Music Festival of Portland, and everybody in our music class is waiting anxiously for the results. Finally our teacher Mr. Jacobi walks in with a sheet of paper in his hand. I can feel the anxiety level rise in the class, but I'm fine. I know that my album will win Best Pop Album of 2020, and then I will officially have the record number of awards for anybody my age. He greets the class, and then starts reading the results. Best jazz single, best indie song, best electronic album, blah blah blah. Finally he gets to the one I've been waiting for. He says that this one was a close one for the judges to decide, but they figured out what they were going to do eventually. He reads the results:
"Best Pop Album of 2020: Zoe Adams! Congrats Zoe! Next.."
Wait. Zoe? Are you kidding me? Shes only been here, what, not even a semester and now shes winning my award? I turn to her and force a smile but on the inside, I'm seething. She comes up to me in the hall after and says sorry that I didn't win, but I say that it's fine because she deserves it, she worked really hard, blah blah blah. All lies. I say that I'll see her at prom and then I get into my car. I don't even bother to turn on music, I just start driving. I drive up to my favorite city overview and step out of the car and just stare at all the little lights. UGH! I can't believe it, she completely took over my life! I was supposed to win that award. ME. Not HER. I pace in front of my car, trying to think about what to do. My breathing is becoming more rapid and I try taking deep breaths like my therapist told me, but that doesn't work. "This isn't working, dammit! Stupid therapist!" I can't believe it! I am the famous one. I was supposed to win the music award and make the record books for all to see. This was never supposed to happen. That award was mine. MINE. Don't they understand I worked 10 times as hard as she did? Don't they understand that shes a little lazy child who doesn't deserve what they gave her? She puts on this cute little act making everybody think that she's so sweet and that she worked so hard and that she's some sort of prodigy. Don't they understand? I'M the prodigy, not her. Whatever. These thoughts keep running through my head until I finally get an idea: she wants to mess with me, then I'll mess with her. Easy. Little does she know, I'm crazy.
YOU ARE READING
Prom Queen
HorrorLily O'Brien has everything a girl could want: fame, beauty, and praise. But does she really, or is it all a facade?
