Page 7 of The Prom Queen Project
“Is this a joke to you, Mr. Keller? Because if you need another round of dentition to wipe that smirk off your face, that can easily be arranged.”
He zipped his lips shut with his hands, twisting his wrist to signal a locking motion and throwing the invisible key into oblivion.
Even though I had only met Elliot twice, I could already tell he rarely ever took anything seriously. We both turned our attention back to our assignments.
After a few minutes had passed, I couldn’t help myself as my eyes drifted to the side again. Elliot wore a strained expression on his face. I could practically see the gears turning in his head. How could a simple essay be stressing him out so much? Just think of a goal—literally anything. Or make something up. That’s what most people did, anyway. It wasn’t that hard. Actually, judging by the pulsating vein bulging from his forehead, maybe it was that hard.
“Psst!”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
“Do you have a death wish?” I hissed.
“Stop being such a goody two-shoes. Just let me see your essay.”
I squinted at him and gestured to our surroundings with my hands. “Goody two-shoes? I’m literally in detention.”
“Whatever. Just show me what you’re writing.”
“Hmm, let me think about it.” I tapped my chin. “No.”
“Stop being such a Princess, Princess.”
“Stop being such an ass, ass.”
He pursed his lips. I saw his eyes dart down at my paper and then back up at me.
“Don’t you—” He interrupted my words by snatching the paper off my desk in one swift motion. “Dare.” I rolled my eyes, finishing my sentence a second too late.
Hearing the crinkling of papers, Mrs. Hawthorne abruptly looked up at us. Thankfully, we didn’t sit at the front of the class, or else she definitely would’ve noticed that I no longer had a paper on my desk. I scribbled miscellaneous doodles on the desk to make it seem like I was still writing.
2+2 is fish.
Poo Poo Pee Pee.
F is for friends who do stuff together.
Honestly, I was just jotting down whatever came to my mind. Anything to appear busy. When I looked up again, Mrs. Hawthorne was flipping through another page of her book. Thank god for this blind and deaf old lady. Who else could be so oblivious?
“Give that back, dickhead.” I reached out my arm to grab the paper.
Elliot’s eyes were wide, his face red. The palm of his hand was covering his mouth. Before I could ask what his problem was, he burst into laughter. He stood from his desk, clutching his stomach, causing Mrs. Hawthorne to promptly move toward us.
“Your goal is to be Prom Queen? How cliché are you, Princess?”
My face felt like it was on fire, the heat flooding my cheeks as they swelled with color.
“Well, at least I have a goal, Mr. Underachiever. Maybe that’s why I’d never even heard of you before yesterday. You’re unimpressive and mediocre at best.”
Mrs. Hawthorne grew closer, but I didn’t care as I shot out of my seat, my nostrils flaring.
“Better mediocre than a wannabe Prom Queen with half a brain.”
“At least people actually know that I exist!”
“And you think that’s a good thing?” I stared at him blankly, trying to grasp what he was saying. “Oh, what? You didn’t knowthat half of the senior class can’t stand you and your idiotic friends?”
“Enough!” Mrs. Hawthorne stomped angrily, pointing her finger at Elliot. “You haven’t written a single thing down, and we’ve been here for twenty minutes,” she snapped. I chuckled, feeling victorious. “And you!” She pointed at me, my laughter ceasing instantly. “You wrote about the shallowest thing I have ever even heard of.”
