Page 16 of The Prom Queen Project
“Oh, come on, Dad. Isn’t there like some sports game on right now?”
“That’s very anti-feminist of you,” he said, his attention still fixed on the television.
I stood from the couch and placed my hand on his shoulder. “I’ll remember that next time I ask you to buy me some tampons.”
“I just didn’t know which ones to get! I thought you still wore pads!”
“Okay, that’s enough of this conversation,” I said with a shake of my head as I rose to my feet and walked over to a nearby bookshelf in search of a new read. Pursing my lips, I glanced back and mumbled, “It’s Natracare size regular…or super, depending on my flow.”
He pushed himself upright and cleared his throat. His fingers plucked at the fabric of his pants.
I arched a single brow before turning to face the bookshelf again. I couldn’t help but chuckle at how uncomfortable he looked. I ran my fingers along the spine of each book, tracing the titles with my eyes as I waited for him to respond.
“Noted.”
“Chill, Dad. It’s just tampons.”
“I’m chill!”
“You’re literally a doctor.”
“Yeah, it’s different when it’s your daughter,” he groaned as he rubbed his temples. “You’re not supposed to grow up.”
“Can you control time?”
“No.”
“Then, I’m going to grow.”
“I know, smart ass. Doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.”
I flicked my eyes to the ceiling. “Well, you have fun with your old lady show. I’m going to go find a book to read upstairs. The choices down here are shit.”
“Watch your fucking mouth.”
“Touché.” I narrowed my eyes at him, taking note of the smirk he wore. “Do we still have any of that spaghetti you made a couple nights ago?”
“Leftovers are in the fridge,” he said with a smug expression on his face. “And by the way, I learned that recipe by watchingHell’s Kitchen,so you’re welcome.”
I shuffled away from him, never meeting his eye line as I refused to give him that satisfaction.
After warming up the bowl of spaghetti, I crept past him, stepping delicately on the balls of my feet.
Ten minutes were enough when it came to dealing with Doctor Dad. He was best handled in small doses. Thankfully, as it hadturned out, he was far too invested in the show to even realize my presence, anyway.
By the time I entered my room, I felt like I had run a marathon. A big house was all fun and games until it took three business days just to get from one room to the next. I threw my journal haphazardly on my bed and placed the bowl of spaghetti on my desk.
While skimming over my bookshelves, my eyes eventually connected with the beautiful pastel covers on the top shelf. TheTwistedseries. I’d heard good things about Ana Huang. I pluckedTwisted Lovefrom the shelf and flipped to the first page as I sat down at my desk. Happy endings always seemed to be easier to find in books. Maybe that’s why I found myself so captivated by fictional stories. It was nice to escape into a world where things had a pre-planned formula. In fairytales, every problem magically worked itself out, and all the pain a character endured would eventually be worth it. Too bad reality didn’t play by those rules. In real life, the bad guys didn’t just win sometimes—they won most of the time.Just ask Donald fucking Trump. Here, it wasn’t a Happily Ever After—it was more like a Happily Never After. That’s why I had to put on an act at school, because, let’s be real, who always came out on top in the end? The cheerful, obedient, blue-eyed, blonde girl with a radiant smile, and the IQ of a lemon.You could probably thank Hitler for that one.I just needed to work on the ‘dumb’ part.
Buthey, what could I say? I was the child of a cardiothoracic surgeon and a world-famous author. Big brains and nerdy hobbies were in my DNA.Oh, and my dad probably gave me some of his cringey cursing habits.
Only a few chapters from the end, I heard my dad’s voice call out for me. I felt my cheeks flush with color at the words I had just read. Spice level rating 4 out of 5 peppers for sure. I tried to erase the naughty thoughts from my mind as I scrambled tofocus on something—anything else. Looking down at the small spaghetti stain on my hoodie, I felt the color on my cheeks fade.
Yep, that’ll do it.
“Clarke, a boy is here to see you!”
A boy?Oh shit! Abercrombie—I mean Elliot—was here.
