Not Another High School Love Story

12. Control

It's not like I wasn't already distracted enough, but any luck I have at paying attention during fourth and fifth period is lost after I find the note. I'm still surprised by it, but for the most part I'm pissed off. What makes Brent think it's okay to screw with me even more than he already has? We just barely managed to get things back to a semi-peaceful state, and I'm not eager to fuck it all up again. If he wanted to pass notes like we're in middle school then he should've done it before he decided to be such a douchebag. Needless to say the note ended up in a crumpled mess at the bottom of my bag where it sat for the rest of the day.

I'm pretty sure I did well on my last few exams, so no harm done really, but that doesn't mean I'm over it. In fact, I continue to stew about it now as I sit in the student council meeting, trying to give a damn about prom themes while all I can think about is Brent Fox. And another thing! He has my number, he clearly knows how to use a cellphone, why didn't he just text me? Of course then he runs the risk of Madison seeing his phone, or Marcus, or any of his other friends that he would sooner die than come out too. Lucky for him I'm not that petty, but I have half a mind to ask his girlfriend what she thinks about the note. I wouldn't do that to him though, and I guess he knows that.

"We can't do a floral theme for prom, how basic can you get? It's in March, it's practically still winter anyway." Madison argues from across the aisle. It's always interesting to see her go back and forth with Queen during these meetings, because he's one of the only people she can talk to without resorting to insults. Just another one of the superpowers that makes him the perfect person to stand up to her. As president of the yearbook committee I was guaranteed a spot on the student council, and it wasn't much of a surprise when they volunteered either. There are two other kids here too, but I've never bothered learning their names.

"People want something beautiful, and breathtaking—something they're not going to forget. They don't need big budget and overproduced, Madison, it's just got to be special. Did you even look at the samples I printed up? Springtime is about hope and rebirth, and it symbolizes, you know, the change we're all making as we head into graduation." Queen is impassioned, clearly he's found his calling. "All you brought were pictures of clouds and stuff. I'm not saying paradise is a bad idea, but no one wants to watch you parade around in a halo all night, pretending you're God's gift to humanity."

"Well it wouldn't really be pretending, now would it?" She smirks, and the other bitchy cheerleader who's a part of the council snaps her fingers.

"Cute, but maybe you should focus more on your campaign for prom queen and let me worry about the rest." He shoots her a sneer and folds his hands. I can already tell they're going to bicker about it for the whole half hour, and I have literally zero interest in butting in as I rest my head in my hand. Besides, it's almost December, which means there's still a ton of time before prom, I don't know why they need to make a decision right now. I hate to agree with either of them but I think Queen's right, Madison's better off just worrying about herself. That's what she's good at anyway.

Being prom queen means everything to her, for whatever reason, and I know she started brainstorming her campaign as soon as senior year began. A big part of that campaign is having the right king, of course, and who better than the star quarterback? It's such a disgustingly cliché story that all of us saw coming, but there's a catch. The Ken to her Barbie isn't as perfect as everyone thinks. There's another twinge in my gut as I think about them together, and even though I swear it doesn't bother me I still find myself bending down to dig through my bag.

The note is right where I left it, crushed under my books, and I take it out as I try to smooth the crinkles as quietly as I can. A quick glance reassures me that Madison and Queen still have the room's full attention while they argue, and I hold the paper just under the table as I read through it again. It doesn't say much, it's nothing more than a hastily scribbled message asking me to meet him under the bleachers after the football game later. As simple as he tried to make it for me, I can't help but overanalyze it as I attempt to decipher its true meaning. Our last encounter hadn't gone so well.