The Real Prom Queens of Westfield High by Laurie Boyle Crompton EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Laurie Boyle Crompton
- Language: English
- Genre: Gothic Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
We are closing in on the last day of junior year, and I’m physically in
trigonometry but mentally sunning myself on our deck. Mr. Mortimer
would be happy to know at least my daydreaming is somewhat
mathematical.
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Let x equal my SPF number. If the sun is positioned overhead at an 80°
angle, and the temperature is 78 degrees Fahrenheit, what is the ideal value
of x to achieve maximum tanning without risking melanoma as I bask in my
tankini?
My calculations are interrupted when an anonymous underclassman
knocks on the door and hands Mr. Mortimer a yellow slip. Without a pause
in his monologue on inverse trigonometric functions, Mr. M walks over and
hands me the “Report to Guidance Office Immediately” pass.
I quickly pack my books and give my best-slash-only friend, Marnie, a
shrug. I realize it’s pathetic to feel special over being summoned to the
guidance office, but I feel like a kite, cut free after straining against my
string all day.
Soaring toward the door, I try to float smoothly past Grace Douglas’s
desk, but of course she can’t just let me pass in peace. She hums a few bars
of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” just loud enough for me to hear. I
hang my head in shame, wishing I could disappear. You’d think Grace
could at least give the mocking Christmas Carol a rest on days when the
temperature rises above seventy. But her cruelty is like the number π.
Constant and irrational.
Hugging my books, I watch the hallway tiles as I shuffle my thick black
boots past endless classrooms. Students-slash-inmates sit in submissive
rows, their bored heads swiveling toward me as I slump by. Classroom by
classroom, they all turn back to their droning wardens once they see it’s just
me. A few kids from Grace’s clan actually point and laugh as if I’m their
walking punch line. Which, of course, I am.
I’m sure Grace gets a whole different reaction when she walks by. I
imagine entire classes standing up and clapping as she stops in each
doorway to pose and shake her glossy hair. The only people who ever wave
to me are Marnie and “the dweebs,” aka James and Rick.
Rick’s study hall is coming up on my right, and I slow down for my
shining opportunity to act like I’m popular. I peer through his open
doorway, a smile heading for my lips.
When I see Rick, my smile drips into my throat and turns bitter. I
swallow it.
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