The Girl Who Wore Jordans

Chapter Forty-Three

      “I did!” Lauren said happily. I was almost positive that my eyes were about to shoot laser beams at her with the amount of fury bubbling inside. She had nominated me for fucking prom queen. One of my own “friends.” Unbelievable.

      I was a basketball player—not a prom queen. My mom had pushed me into pageantry once when I was younger, and let’s just say that she learned her lesson within the first hour of my experience. I was forced into a dress fit for a Barbie doll, and then told to walk on a stage. Sufficed to say that it didn’t exactly end well. It resulted in a becoming a life-scarring event at which—even to this day—I still shuddered at the memory. I felt so bad for my three year old self… Anyways, if I wasn’t meant to become the next Miss America, I had a hunch that being a prom queen wasn’t on my bucket list, either—in fact, I knew it most definitely was not.

      “Why?” I said slowly, trying to think of any logical benefits or explanations Lauren had for doing so.

      “Because at the time I knew that you and Eric were eventually going to get together, so why not speed things up?” she shrugged cheerfully. “Besides, you’re really pretty and so is Eric, so it’s only natural that the two of you would be nominated together. Every queen needs her king, right?”

      “Absolutely!” Tara exclaimed, backing her up with confidence.

      “I’m scared to ask, but when do we find out who, uh, won?” the words hesitantly exited my mouth.

      “On Valentines Day,” Alice stated informatively. I nodded, acknowledging her response, when she then took a turn on the romantic side. “It’s kind of sweet, actually. They gather the entire school in the auditorium, and then, after the drama club does some lame skit on love, the principal announces the winners. Red, pink, and white confetti then shoots out, covering the entire student body!” She ended on a dreamy note.

      “You’ll love it, Liz!” Lauren assured me. “The girls you’re running against aren’t even that pretty, and you have the one thing that they don’t!”

      “And what would that be?” I asked tentatively.

      “Eric Wilson, duh!” Tara answered.

      “I don’t ‘have’ Eric,” I said, “he’s a person, not an object that can be possessed.”

      “Basically, you’re going to win unanimously,” Alice sighed, picking up her hefty bag that contained all required materials for school and quite a bit of randomness that was unneeded for anything. “We have English. Let’s go.”

      “Bye!” Tara called.

      “Don’t miss us too much!” Lauren added with a wave.

      I allowed a deep inhale of air to exit through my mouth as I waved back, the sudden early symptoms of a headache attacking my poor brain. It felt as though my head was being used for a twelve year old boy’s drum lesson, my thoughts swiftly jumbled. Following Alice out of the room, my feet dragged me along the way. I knew the route well enough to our English classroom, so stopped taking note of Alice’s being for a few moments, as I was on autopilot. The journey to the room wasn’t even remotely time-consuming, but, in the mornings, with everyone traveling everywhere, the halls were generally flooded with perplexity.

      After a few minutes of accidentally being rammed into underclassmen, Alice and I had reached our given destination: Room 215—Seniors’ Honors English. Over the course of the year, we had done quite a bit in the class. Between reading multiple books and having countless essays assigned, it wasn’t exactly the easiest of classes for me. Somehow, I was blessed with the ability to process information at a relatively fast rate, so was considered “smart.” Thus, I landed myself in practically all AP and Honors classes. English wasn’t my strongest subject (that spot was reserved for sports—yes, they were, indeed, a subject), but I liked it. I spoke the language fluently, and my analytical skills weren’t lacking too much.