It’s all lame, if you ask me. I don’t see the point. Still, some people get really into this stuff. Like Kristen. But Kristen likes the idea of anything that allows her to be the center of attention. Last year she lost out to Trish Gillepsie, one of the cheerleaders. Which is funny because at our school, cheerleader is not synonymous with popular—but Trish allegedly gave head to half the basketball team, and all the footballers, and even a few guys on the chess team, in order to make it happen.
Or that’s the story I heard. And maybe the same story I told a few people. Okay, a lot of people. Everyone and anyone who would listen, basically.
Kristen was positively fuming when she lost out on the crown. I’m sure she’s coveting that tiara like crazy this year. I don’t know why, it’s just a stupid piece of plastic, but when Kristen wants something, she usually finds a way to get it. No matter who she has to destroy in the process.
I’m sort of irrationally pissed that she’s running at all, even though I’m not surprised. Sam agrees, evidently, because on our way to the art room—he’s gotten in the habit of meeting me at my locker so we can walk together—he stops in front of one of her shimmery glitter posters and grimaces.
“I can’t believe people care about this stuff,” he says. “And seriously, who would even vote for her?”
A lot of people would. Even now. Especially now. All the guys who want to sleep with her and all the girls who want to be her friend will fill in her bubble on the ballot. If anything, she has more of an advantage this year, by having two open slots for a new boyfriend and a new best friend. Also, people are stupid. You can never underestimate that factor.
Too bad Asha can’t run against her. Asha’s a year younger, still a freshman, so it wouldn’t work. And Trish overthrowing her isn’t an option, since this year her parents sent her to St. Juliet’s, the Catholic school, after they caught her sexing up the starting varsity linebacker in their bedroom over summer.
I really shouldn’t be giving this so much thought. I’m not going to the stupid dance anyway. Let Kristen have her stupid tiara if it makes her feel important. It shouldn’t matter to me.