Read The Real Prom Queens of Westfield High for Free Online Page B

corporate brand logos with buster signs drawn through each of them. I’d be a day-dreamy cloud pattern, cut into wispy swirls that curl around in a decoupage overlay.
    Leaning forward, I consider Rick. He’s a bit of an enigma. I take in his goofy expression, his blue eyes, his brown waves resting on his neck. Looking down, I smile with inspiration. His BlackSpot sneakers. He’s wearing checkered ones for the last day of school, and they perfectly capture his irreverent sense of humor. He wags his shoe, and I look up to see him watching me with an amused look. I grin back and then remember: the finger cot , Elf Ucker Incident, social banishment. I look away as my mind shreds his sweet sneaker quilt square.
    I tune back in to James asking, “Do you think there’ll be a keg tomorrow night?” He’s trying to sound cool but comes off like a little kid, excited about a birthday party that’s rumored to have a piñata.
    â€œWell, just in case, we should ride together Saturday,” says Rick. “Who wants to be designated driver?”
    â€œI’ll do it,” I volunteer. If there’s going to be alcohol, I like the idea of having an excuse to avoid drinking. I can act flaky enough sober, and besides, there’s apparently some bad gene in my family that makes certain members turn into asshats when they drink. It’s the reason my dad’s not in the picture. I figure I’ll hold out as long as I can before feeding that asshat gene some booze, just in case I have it.
    ***
    On Saturday, it’s obvious right away when we show up at the party that we didn’t need to bother with the designated driver routine. But it is a very good thing the four of us came, since we make up nearly half the party guests.
    We sit awkwardly in a row, trying to make a dent in the massive bowls of chips and Cheezy Poofs the graduating kid’s mother lined up along the table. The discomfort is so strong I can’t help but focus on it.
    I try escaping into a daydream of being home, getting a little quilting in before the show starts. We were each given a thick packet of Prom Queen dos and don’ts to study. It included a spreadsheet of acceptable hobbies, and quilting is very much not on that list. I won’t have much time for sewing anyway, since I’ll apparently be participating in various afterschool activities such as pep club. Yay .
    I take a sip of apple juice that makes me cough, and everyone turns to look at me. I shake my head and wave them off. “Nothing.” I croak, pointing to my throat. “I’m just choking a little.” The silence creeps back in, but everyone keeps watching me, sort of smiling and nodding. Finally, I drop my head and curse my plastic cup of apple juice.
    Marnie springs up. “I know what we can do!”
    â€œ Leave ?” I whisper hopefully.
    â€œLet’s play the adverb game!”
    Which, I have to tell you, ends up totally saving everything. At least the poor kid won’t have nightmares about his graduation party for the rest of his life because those of us who are there end up having a pretty great time.
    If you’ve never played the adverb game, you should. It’s loads of fun. What you do is divide into two teams and write down a bunch of adverbs on slips of paper. Then each team picks an adverb from the other team, like for instance happily , which no one would actually use because it’s too easy but this is just an example.
    Next, you make up a two-person scene that the other team has to act out in a way that illustrates the adverb. So, like, with happily , whatever the scene is, even if one guy is robbing the other guy, they both have to act happy so their team can guess the adverb. The ten people at the party make the perfect number of players.
    We all go from bored out of our skulls to laughing as we shout out a jumble of obscure adverbs. Our team comes up with a scenario where one kid is trying