Prom Queen Perfect Page 2

  “You lucky son of a gun.” One of Adam’s friends let out a low whistle.

  The other soccer players agreed. They started nudging Adam and peppering him with questions about what he’d done to deserve this treat from me. One of the boys tried to make a grab for the carbonara, but I made a tsking sound to stop him.

  Adam, on the other hand, crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. After years of psychological warfare, I could tell he was scrambling to figure out what I was up to.

  "Remember our little spat about the prom venue last Saturday?" I opened the first container. The delicious smell of adobo wafted out of it. "I felt so guilty about it that I decided I simply have to make it up to you. That's why I woke up early this morning to prepare your favorite dishes. So, what do you say, Adam?"

  I made my voice sound a little more saccharine than usual for our audience’s benefit. On the outside, I was radiating good will and positive karma. Inside, I was thinking, See, Adam? I'm not selfish, because I consider other people's feelings. Even yours, you despicable, little—

  "I need to talk to you in private." Adam stood up and grabbed my elbow. Loud whoops followed us from the table. I turned back to grin at his friends, confident that I was getting what I wanted. This was almost too easy.

  “What did you want to discuss?” I said when we stopped near an empty table.

  Adam didn’t even bother to beat around the bush. He spun around to face me. "You're saying you cooked adobo, carbonara, and mango float for me this morning? You expect me to believe that?"

  "Why is that so hard to believe?" I said indignantly, placing my hands on my hips. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me. For example, I happen to be very good in the kitchen."

  Adam snorted in disbelief. "Alex, you don't even know how to turn on a stove."

  "I do, too," I insisted.

  "Really? How?" Adam leaned back on his heels, clearly awaiting my answer.

  Crap.

  My mind raced to think of something. What did our cook do earlier when he prepared all this food? How did he turn on the stupid stove? I couldn’t remember at all. Trying to salvage what was left of my dignity, I said, "Simple. You twist that little knob thing."

  "You're hopeless." The corners of Adam’s mouth tilted up. I got the distinct feeling he was desperately trying not to laugh. "If this is still about making Bayview Country Club our prom venue, you can forget about it."

  He left before I could even respond. All I could do was watch him walk away with my mouth hanging open, looking not unlike the goldfish I had when I was little. Adam made me so angry that I forgot where and who I was and did the unthinkable.

  I stamped my foot like a child.

  Adam: 2. Alex: 0.

  ***

  The rest of the day went downhill after the cafeteria incident.

  Cory snickered when I got caught daydreaming during class. You have no idea how much I wanted to turn around and glare at her, but I reminded myself that we were barely even in the same species.

  That was the trouble with frenemies. As much as they tried to play nice, their envy always seeped through the cracks.

  To top it all off, my fresh oxblood manicure chipped. I couldn't wait to get home and drown my frustrations in a banana split dripping with chocolate syrup.

  As I made my way toward my soul-crushing Economics class, I found four girls blocking my way near the water fountain. Patricia Rodriguez, a mid-tier junior known for desperately wanting to climb up the social ladder, and her two friends surrounded another junior girl I didn’t know.

  Patricia flipped through the pages of a floral notebook. "Now, I wonder what secrets Christy has stashed in here."

  "Probably a lot of emo entries about how no boy will ever like her," added one of her friends with a little laugh.

  "Just give it back." The girl, Christy, tried to reach for the notebook, but Patricia raised it out of her reach.

  "No way, loser."

  Ugh.

  I so did not have time for girls who weren't pretty, smart, or rich enough to be popular and took their frustrations out on other people.

  Not today.

  "Give her the notebook back, Patricia," I said, my voice sounding strong and scary in the quiet hallway.

  Patricia and her friends froze, their eyes darting from me and back to each other. They looked torn between continuing their little game, or disobeying me which was tantamount to treason in Asia Pacific Academy. I owned this school. They all knew it.

  "This has nothing to do with you, Alex.” Patricia tried to mirror my tone and failed. A bead of sweat began to form on her upper lip.

  I made a tsking sound at her. "If you want to commit social suicide, go ahead and make me repeat myself."

  Patricia opened her mouth as if to argue, but she then snapped it shut without saying anything. She was smart enough to know I wasn't kidding. Without saying another word, she shoved the notebook into Christy's chest and left, her friends trailing behind her.

  Christy and I were left staring at each other in the hallway. She swallowed a few times. Her eyes bugged out at me, like I had told her I didn't condition my hair. It was the first time I had ever gotten a good look at her, and I was surprised by what I saw. Christy, whatever her last name was, had gorgeous eyes, expressive and round with long, spiky lashes—a little like Bambi. No wonder Patricia picked on her.

  “Are you okay, Christy?” I was expecting thanks, to be honest, so I was surprised by what she said next.

  "You... you know my name," Christy whispered, clutching the notebook to her chest.

  I didn't exactly know her name five minutes ago, but I knew it now. That was all that mattered, right?

  "Why do you sound surprised?" I said. "We're in the same grade."

  "But you're Alex dela Cruz," she replied, her eyes still wide, "and I'm nobody."

  Her tone sounded so reverent, and I would be lying if I said it didn't make me feel good. The good feeling didn't last for long, however, because Christy soon burst into tears right in the middle of the hallway. This girl had so much to learn about high school survival.

  Lesson number one: vindictive teenage girls were drawn to tears like sharks to blood in water.

  "I just want to be left alone." Christy wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, but there were more on the way. "No, that's not true. I want people to see me. Really see me. Oh, God, I don't even know what I want. No wonder I don't have any friends."

  "Don't cry," I said, digging around for tissues in my purse. "Please. It's going to ruin your mascara."

  She needed to stop crying, because the bell was going to ring any minute now. Being late to Economics was not an option.

  A hysterical laugh bubbled out of Christy’s lips, which made me worry about her mental stability. Still laughing, her eyes snapped back to mine. “The last time I tried to put on makeup, I almost stabbed my eye out with my mascara wand. I’m pretty much hopeless.”

  “You’re not.” As if my mouth had a mind of its own, I said, “I’ll teach you.”

  “You will?”

  No, I wanted to say, because I didn't have time for Christy in my hectic social calendar. But then, Adam's infuriating face popped into my mind. If I helped Christy, I could prove to him once and for all that I wasn't selfish. Helping Christy was a lot like volunteering. It sounded like something my sister would do.

  "Of course," I found myself saying. "I'll teach you how to put on makeup. And more."

  So much more.

  "What do you mean?" A little crinkle formed between her eyebrows.

  I didn't answer right away, because I was examining Christy from head to toe. Great skin. Okay teeth. A pretty face and a dry sense of humor hidden behind a hideous haircut. This wasn't going to be as difficult as I first thought. In fact, I had a distinct feeling this was going to be too easy.

  I couldn't wait to see the look on Adam's face when he found out I went out of my way to help another person. It would serve him right for ca
lling me selfish.

  My decision was made.

  "I'm going to change your life," I said. "Christy, I'm going to make you popular."

  Chapter Two

  One weekend, that was all the time I needed to transform Christy Marquez from an invisible misfit into a ruling princess of Asia Pacific Academy.

  Our chauffeur stopped the car in front of her house at 10:00 A.M. sharp on Saturday morning. Christy walked out the front door wearing faded jeans that were three sizes too big, a Jansport backpack that looked to be about fifteen years old slung over one shoulder. All she needed was some flannel and a choker, and she could’ve looked like a walking relic from the 90s. I didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused.

  The moment Christy slid next to me on the back seat, I snapped a photo of her with my phone. I wanted her to take a long, hard look at the girl in the photo, wide-eyed and so obviously lost, because she was going to vanish in a few hours.

  When the car began to speed away, I turned to Christy. “What do you have in mind?”

  “What do you mean?” Christy shrugged off her backpack and placed it by her feet. Sunlight streamed through the trees we passed and cast a halo over her head.

  “Well,” I said, drawing out the word for added suspense, “not a lot of people get the chance to start over in high school. Do you want to be queen of the drama kids? Do you want to take over the volleyball scene? Who do you want to be exactly?”

  “Oh.” Christy’s face fell, like I’d just told her Christmas was a lie and there was nothing for her under the tree. Her eyes, the ones that looked so much like Bambi’s, found their way to mine. “I just want to be me, but I haven’t figured out who that is yet.”

  I grinned, cocksure and a tiny bit reckless. “Sweetheart, none of us have.”

  We walked in and out of boutiques for most of the day, carrying more and more bags with each passing hour. It took us a while to figure it out, but Christy had a vintage-inspired style with a bit of edge. She gravitated toward leather jackets, floral skirts, and leather oxford shoes in black and cognac. Maybe we hadn’t discovered where she was supposed to be in the social hierarchy, but we were perfectly fine in the style department.

  I was making a note to order MAC lipsticks online since they weren’t available anywhere in the city when a Chopin piece Mommy loved started blaring from my phone. I restrained myself from rolling my eyes when I saw who was calling.

  I stepped away from the beauty counter and pressed the answer button. “You have reached Alexandra dela Cruz. She is unable to come to the phone right now. If this is Adam, please leave a message, and she’ll call you back when monkeys grow wings.”

  “Sure, I’ll call back when you grow wings.” Adam’s voice sounded as dry as a hot summer day. “That should be in about five minutes.”

  “Did you just indirectly call me a monkey?”

  “No, Alex, a monkey would be a better cook than you.”

  I. Was. Going. To. Kill. Him.

  Fine, I didn’t know how to turn on a stove, but I would learn how to cook faster than Adam would ever grow a heart. Instead of continuing to look for blunt objects to murder him with, I said, “What do you want?”

  “I sent you a ton of emails about alternative prom venues,” Adam replied. I could almost picture the little V that formed between his eyebrows every time he wanted to tick something off his to-do list. “You haven’t replied, and I want to get this over with.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Doing what? Designing your prom queen campaign poster?”

  “Well, the font has been giving me a lot of trouble.”

  Adam’s sigh was long and exaggerated purely for my benefit. He sighed like we were in a car chase, and I had asked him to pull over so I could pee. “I’m not kidding, Alex.”

  “Fine. I’ll get back to you.”

  Still fuming, I hung up and stalked back to the beauty counter. Christy stood by it, a row of mascaras lined up in front of her. Her eyes scanned the crowd, clearly looking for me. “Alex?”

  “Coming.”

  I proceeded to plaster a gigantic smile on my face. This, walking toward Christy in the beauty section of the department store, was exactly where I needed to be.

  For the nth time since the day started, I imagined the look on Adam’s face when he realized I took time out of my hectic social schedule to help another human being, to make someone else’s life better. He was going to regret calling me selfish.

  I was going to make him eat his words—every last, delicious syllable.

  ***

  Sometimes, I exceeded even my own expectations. By the time Monday morning rolled around, Christy Marquez was an entirely different person. Gone were the baggy jeans that looked to be several years too old and the horrible Jansport backpack.

  The Christy Marquez who sat next to me on the back seat wasn’t the kind of person who got cornered in hallways by the likes of Patricia and the Clones.

  Whoever this Christy was going to be, she was not the kind of person you messed with.

  Kohl lined her eyes, adding an edge to the innocence that radiated from them. The rest of her makeup was simple, subtle shades that flattered her olive skin tone. Her previously frizzy hair now hung in a messy fishtail braid down one side of her neck. This girl wore our drab school uniform like it was fresh from the runway.

  And she was going to make her grand entrance in a few minutes.

  “Do I really look okay?” Christy stared down at her clasped hands, her nails painted a dark shade the manicurist called Onyx.

  "You look gorgeous.” I made my voice sound as reassuring as possible.

  Should I or should I not give Christy’s hand an encouraging squeeze? Not being selfish got confusing at times.

  “Maybe I should just wipe off some of this makeup before I go inside?” Christy said, still staring down at her hands. She clenched them so tightly that her knuckles started to turn white.

  “No, I think—”

  "Did you ever play with your mother's makeup when you were a kid?" Christy’s eyes bore into mine before I could even finish my sentence, wide and a little wild. "I remember smearing my mom's red lipstick all over my face and putting on her pearls. I thought I looked fantastic, but I looked like an idiot. That’s exactly how I feel now."

  I was stunned.

  Because guess what?

  For the first time in a long time, someone—Christy Marquez, of all people—said out loud words that often floated in and out of my head. Every time I looked into a mirror and swiped on a new shade of lipstick, I heard my mother’s voice, wondering why I wasn’t as beautiful as her and Alice. I knew I was beautiful, but it was never quite enough.

  I was never quite enough.

  I snapped out of it as fast as I could. This moment wasn’t about me. This was about Christy, and all the ways she was going to help me make Adam regret ever calling me selfish.

  "Christy, make sure to listen, because I'm only going to say this once," I said, sounding like I was about to address an entire nation. "You happen to be my friend, and I, Alex dela Cruz, do not have ugly friends. You look a-freaking-mazing. Are we clear?"

  To my utter horror, Christy looked ready to burst into tears, threatening to undo fifteen minutes of careful eyeliner application. “I just don’t think you get it. You’re Alex dela Cruz. You’re beautiful and smart. You get everything you want.”

  Not everything.

  Not the most important things.

  I almost shook my head at her. Instead, I opted for a mysterious smile. “You might be surprised. I have a ton of flaws, Christy. Just ask Adam. He’ll tell you all about them.”

  “Well, you can be kind of bossy.” Amusement glittered in her eyes, and I was surprised by the sudden jolt of emotion in my chest. All because she wasn’t on the brink of tears anymore.

  It was a strange feeling, actually caring for another person.

  Without saying another word, I reached over Christy and pushed the car door open
. Asia Pacific Academy waited beyond it, hers for the taking. She already had one foot out the door when she turned around and smiled. “Thanks, Alex. For everything.”

  I wanted to say that it was nothing, but a sudden onslaught of guilt rendered me speechless. My motives in helping Christy weren't exactly selfish, but they weren't un-selfish either.

  From my perch on the back seat, I watched Christy walk into the school. I might have as well scripted the whole scene, because everything played out as I imagined it would. The crowd parted for her, their mouths hanging open. They didn’t question if she was a new girl. No, it wasn’t that big of a cliché. They recognized her, and I watched the hope blossom on their pathetic faces, hope that they, too, could transform themselves.

  But they couldn’t do it.

  Not without my help.

  I searched the crowd for Patricia and the Clones, but my eyes landed on something even better. In one corner of the school parking lot, Stephen radiated good looks and testosterone like it was his job. He stood surrounded by his fan club, male and female alike, but they might have as well been invisible for all the attention he was giving them. His eyes followed Christy, zoning in on her like they were magnets and she was the North Pole.

  This was a welcome development.

  I filed it away for later use.

  When Christy finally disappeared into the hallway, I hopped out of the car. You know that moment in the movies where the victory song starts playing? This was it for me. I was determined to go on a major shopping spree after school, buy myself a new dress or five. I deserved it.

  My happy, little bubble popped when I heard familiar footsteps behind me. I turned around and came face-to-face with Adam who was practically glowering down at me. The morning sun beat down on him, emphasizing his tanned forearms and making him look hotter than ever. Too hot for 7:30 in the morning.

  "Don’t you think it’s a bit early to start terrorizing the villagers?" I said by way of greeting.

  On a normal day, Adam would’ve responded with something equally insulting. This time, he didn’t stop until there were only a few inches of space left between us. “What did you do to Christy, Alex?”