Read Prom Queen of Disaster Online
Authors: Joseph James Hunt
Prom Queen of Disaster
PROM QUEEN OF DISASTER
a novel by
Joseph James Hunt
© 2016 Joseph James Hunt
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, copied, or stored in any form or by any means without permission of the author. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
All characters, events, brands, companies, and locations in this story are used without any malicious intent. Any resemblance to actual persons is purely coincidental.
Stalk Me Online
for all the mean girls
PROM QUEEN OF DISASTER
WELCOME TO THE CITY OF SAN RAFAEL
Nobody does drama like cheerleaders do. They'll do anything to win, and ruin your life doing it.
AT MARIN COUNTY HIGH SCHOOL
Every girl wants the crown at prom, their picture in the yearbook to prove they were popular. But most importantly, a reminder they have no problem taking you down.
You're not worth anything until someone thinks you're a threat. From toddlers in tiaras to pubescent prom queens, everyone is competition when there's a crown involved.
Zoey will never know how deep she's in until it's too late, and now there's no going back because good girls always go bad.
Standalone: Yes
Cliffhanger: No
Sign up to Joseph’s newsletter for new releases, upcoming specials, or promotions.
Don’t worry, we won’t spam your inbox.
*warning: this book has mature themes*
READ RESPONSIBLY
Table of Contents
Their high-pitched wailing sent me upright in the driver’s seat. My clammy hands gripped the steering wheel tight. I drummed my fingers, watching the door above the neon sign for the
Fat Cat
bar.
“
C’mon
.” My teeth set into my bottom lip.
Occupying my hands, I flicked through radio stations and reached for the gloss-stained Starbucks cup—it was freezing, but a latte was a latte. I pressed the peddle gently and let the engine roar, that way they knew I was ready.
Moments waded slowly before a clatter of hands struck the windows of the silver Range Rover. I yelped. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, I saw the girls tugging the door handles. I flicked the latch for the doors. The four of them jumped inside.
“Drive!” They barked.
I fumbled my way out of the lot, spitting gravel and wishing my driver’s ed teacher could see me now. They were panting and scraping their hair into ponytails. Charlotte, always known as Char sat beside me, and behind us, Ava, Hannah, and Libby.
“What happened?” I asked as soon as we were outside of the bar. I pulled the car to a halt.
“What are you doing?” Char slammed her hands down on the dashboard. “Get moving!”
My foot on the gas. We were gone.
The bar was a thirty-minute drive outside San Rafael. We’d been going there for the past month now, each of us taking a turn to be the designated driver, except Char because it was her Range Rover.
“So?” I came to a stop light. “Did you break it off?”
They chuckled together. “You should’ve been there, Zo,” Char said.
“I was,” I said. “Before I
had
to start the car.”
“It was going
so
well,” Ava added.
Hannah snorted out a laugh. “It was
not
.” She threw her arms up. “As soon as they tried to blackmail, it went south of the border. We’re talking Mexico.”
“What?” I slapped my hands on the steering wheel.
“You know, guns, tequila,
cocaine
,” Libby listed on her fingers.
“That’s a party,” Char said. “But when the old guy loaded his gun.” She tssked her teeth.
I kept my eyes on the road. I couldn’t be caught driving. I was a minor, and it was 3 minutes until midnight. “How much did you ask them for?”
“A thousand,” Ava said.
“Two,” Char added. “Enzo was gonna pay. I could have bought myself a new pair of Loubies!”
“Why didn’t he?” I asked.
Ava forced a laugh. “Bellamy was snorting. So
he
freaked, pulled a gun, and like
four
other guys grabbed theirs.”
“Enzo
then
asked me if I’d go into the backroom with him,” Char scoffed. “What was he thinking?”
“You did, or you didn’t?” I asked, half-smiling. “Not judging, hope you used protection. Don’t want you finishing senior year chasing child support.”
Char punched me in the arm. “Could you imagine cheering like that?” She pulled herself out of the seatbelt to kneel. “But
no
, not this time. I had my fun. It’s senior year now.”
Ava, Char, Hannah, and Libby were all single. I, on the other hand, had been with Dylan McAlister since spring formal of freshman year. He knew what my friends did out here in the middle of nowhere; he was thankful they had me, perhaps because my parents were still some of the only people he knew that were churchgoers and they had instilled something in me.
“I barely had a drink of cola when Libby
pushed
me out the door,” I laughed, watching the lights turn green.
“Those boys didn’t understand us,” Char said. “All our money is on plastic, and of course, the little beat-up bar doesn’t have a card reader. I guess using
these
, can get out of hand.” She pushed her breasts together, bursting out at the drop.
“I swear they water their beer,” Ava said.
Hannah sighed into her chest. “I was supposed to be meeting that guy again.”
“Which?”
“Blue eyes,” she said.
Char laughed. “Can’t go back there now.”
“Sure there’s plenty more dive bars around,” Ava said.
“That was probably the biggest dive!” Libby snapped her fingers.
Char coughed loudly into a closed hand. “So.” She wiggled herself around to face us. “Back to mine, my mom’s out of town. There’s
two
bottles of wine,
plenty
ice cream, and the Prison Break box set.”
“I told my parents I’m stopping over anyway,” Ava said. “Least Zo can have a drink.”
“Yah!” Char snapped once. “Fun Zo.”
The other agreed and clapped with excitement.
It had only been since June when we would dress in the latest American Apparel and Forever 21 haul, caking our faces in make-up and filling social media with selfies. Now it was weekly. I drove, glancing in the rear view mirror, catching my eye shimmer with the purple smoky eye, forgetting who I was.
Our evenings had once been full of cheer practice and pom-poms. Spelling out “Marin” and dancing with our school mascot, Paddy the Panda. We all had matching blue and white outfits, short tops and even short skirts, except for the guys.
Thud!
A whipping strain from a pothole in the dirt road pulled us to a stop. Char went flying into the dashboard, whacking her hip.
“Owh.” She whacked the dashboard, pushing herself back into the seat and strapping down the seatbelt. “What was that?”
I changed gears, putting it in reverse. The car hissed, kicking dirt up without any movement.
“Well, that’s fantastic!” I said, thudding my forehead on the wheel. “We’re gonna have to push.”
“What?” Hannah asked.
“With these shoes?” Libby added.
“With these
nails
?” Ava said. They shoved their hands in their faces. French tips, manicured today. “What if they chip?”
“Maybe if we used a
real
road,” Char said.
“Yeah, where the
real
cops are,” I replied, trying to reverse out of the pothole.
August 1
st
, 2015 was the first time I went to the bar, Char and Ava had been before, they’d asked me, but it was date night with Dylan, and I would get stomach cramps lying to my mom. Mainly because she would visit me on sleepovers, the
just-in-case
mom. Since I was little, she’d befriended all my friends’ moms and bake them a welcome wagon of goods.
Saying
yes
to lying gave me palpitations—at first. It was pure adrenaline, chugging through me. Safe to say I was becoming good at lying.
Fat Cat
was the epitome of a dive bar. The front door was heavy with a metal mesh, and there were thick grid bars around the windows. Plumes of smoke released out into the clean air as we hauled open the door.
There was quiet as we walked in, dressed in crop tops and jean booty shorts. It was too hot to wear anything else, and free drinks came at a price, but as cheerleaders, we were hardly afraid to show a little—or a lot of skin.
“God damn,” an older man wearing ripped biker clothes said. Standing beside the pool table, pool cue in hand, he gestured to us. “Ladies.”
It was dark and seedy inside. Only a few lights gave way over booths and tables, and a further neon sign sat illuminating the bar. We sat in a booth of our own, but before long, the girls would move and sit on the knees of men for free drinks.
I’d join the end of a table and buy myself drinks. When it was my night to drive, I’d stick to soda and become the
mom
of the group, meaning no matter how hard Char would to remove her clothes and pose for free shots of top-shelf liquor, I’d have to shut it down. The other girls would always follow what Char did, so even when I did drink, I always found myself becoming the mom.
Most nights would be spent on my phone, texting Dylan and taking pictures. People wanted to know us and people wanted to be us, so posting about our lives was essential. Thankfully, neither of my parents or younger sister had social media, so they were none the wiser.
Dylan called me every time, asking if he could join me. It was our girl’s night, so the answer was always
no
. He worried, with Char’s history, he had to.
We sat arguing over who would get out and push. I sat in the driver’s seat, my hands on the wheel and my feet ready on the pedals. My position wasn’t up for discussion.
“
Like
, can’t you call Dylan?” Ava asked, “bring Bryce, Jonny, maybe Zack, someone who could get us out of this ditch?”
“Or get into
your
ditch,” Char said, smirking at Ava.
“You bitch!” Ava slapped her hands on the headrest. “I’ve been with Jonny before; his
mom
wants him to focus on school.
Whatever
.”
“No signal,” I said, throwing my hands. He was the first person I’d texted; I didn’t see them assessing the situation or getting us out of the pothole, even with their high-heeled shoes off. “Anyone got any signal?” I knew Dylan would be here if I asked.
We’d found a dead zone. Even with our phones pooled together, there was nothing. The only light around came from the car; everything else was dark.
“Someone needs to go out and find phone signal,” Hannah said.
“Great idea,” Char said. “Are you volunteering?”
“Let’s throw for it,” Libby said, holding out a closed fist. We would throw in cheer practice if there were something we wanted or didn’t want to do.
“I’m dr—” I began.
“No, no, no,” Ava stubbed her finger to my lips. “This is only to find signal, no driving involved.”
“Fine.”
“Rock, paper, scissors!” Char shouted. We threw our hands into the middle. “Rock, paper, scissors.”
The winner won the most hands, and they were safe, it got all the way to the last two. Me against Ava. I played paper, and she played scissors.
“Winner, winner,” she laughed.
“You can’t even drive, Ava, you’ve failed your test, like, twice already?” Char said.
“Three times?” Libby added.
Ava’s eyes shifted. “Two and a half,” she said. “I quit during the third; I didn’t want
her
to flunk me again. So I quit.”
Dud, dud, dud.
We screamed. All eyes on my side of the car. I didn’t turn. I pushed my entire body weight toward Char as she fumbled inside the dashboard. Our reflections painted on the inside of the windows in horror.
Cold washed over me as a breeze rolled through. I glanced up from my phone to see a guy of a similar age. He glared at me with a scowl on his face and his eyes a little red and busted. He walked over with a dirty cloth wrapped around his fist and wrist. Opening his mouth to say something, he was grabbed by his arm and pulled aside.
I went back to adding filters on pictures. But his face, it was familiar, or the face behind the bloodied eyes. For all I knew he was someone I went to school with, but in a school of over 1,200 students, people got lost all the time. I knew if I didn’t cheer, I’d be in the art studio wearing a paint-covered smock. I tried not to be
that
girl.
“Really?” he asked, whipping a towel over a shoulder. “Are you their photographer?”
“Huh?” I turned to see him. His face in full light. “What’s it to you?” The recognition vanished beneath his patchy stubble and eye swelling.
“Guess we can’t all be vapid valley girls,” he chuckled. “I thought you girls came from Calabasas.”
I smiled at his comments. “Now I
know
why you’ve been beaten up,” I said. “You’re a bit of an asshole.”
“A bit?”
I raised my eyebrows at him before setting my eyes back on my phone.
“You want another drink?”
“You’re offering?” I picked my head to his gaze and pulled the loose blonde hair behind my ears.
“It’s my job,” he laughed. “Don’t flatter yourself, valley girl.”
“Valley girl,” I grumbled. “Whatever—but I’ll have another.”
“Non-alcoholic?” he smiled to himself. “You’re clearly underage.”
I looked away. “Nobody else seems to mind.” I gestured to the room of men clinging to every word the girls were saying.
“You with them?” he asked, tipping his head up at them. “People like
you
don’t come here. What are you looking for?”
“Yeah, they’re my friends. I’m driving tonight, and I have a boyfriend, so,
yeah
.”
He chuckled. “Didn’t ask if you were single.” His jaw clenched. “Valley girls aren’t my type.”