by Adan Ramie
“Third place, with 102 votes, Anna Courts!”
“Second place, with 144 votes, Fiona Lancette!”
Are you breathing?
“And first place, with 189 votes, is the girl we all knew would win. She’s sweet, she’s beautiful, and she knows all your secrets. Give it up for our Female Student of the Year, Victoria Brown-Graham!”
Smile. Relax. One foot after the other, careful to avoid Suri’s bag, up the steps, across the stage… Big smile. Breathe, good. Dip your head to take the sash, raise an arm to wave – not too far! – parade float wave, Miss America wave.
“Victoria, how does it feel to be Female Student of the Year for the fourth year in a row?”
She expects you to talk. She expects – they all expect – something magnificent. Something sweet, brave, uplifting, and thought-provoking. Something that will make them all re-evaluate what they are even sucking up air for, if they aren’t up to par with the great Victoria Brown-Graham. Wow these morons.
“Thank you so much, Ronnie, for that beautiful introduction.” Sweet, shy smile, make them think you’re that same bashful girl you were four years ago. Make them all feel like you’re talking to them individually. That’s right. “When I moved here four years ago, I didn’t know anyone at this school. I was the gawky new girl with braces and glasses, and I was so behind the times, I still wore straight-leg jeans and turtlenecks!”
Listen to those cat-calls. Those idiots actually think you would spit on them if they were on fire. Give them a wink.
“But you all saw something in me that even I couldn’t see. You took me in, brought me up to speed, and made me feel special.”
Crouch down, get on their level. Knees together; you don’t want an up-skirt shot to ruin that spotless reputation.
“Ashlynn, you taught me everything you knew about fashion. You made me throw out that awful dark lipstick and all those spaghetti-straps.”
“Emily. You are one of the sweetest people I know.”
Sweet like an antifreeze smoothie. Stupid cow.
“Hannah, you changed the way I thought about myself.”
Tried to give me an eating disorder. Good thing you’re fatter than me.
“You helped me to eat healthier and get into such great shape that I made the cheer-leading squad freshman year.”
They think whistling will rile you. Look them right in the eyes.
“Jacob, Matthew, and Austin: you three protected me from being taken advantage of, and helped keep me from making some bad dating decisions early on.”
Like dating any of you. Disgusting pigs.
Now, the staff… Give them that A+, Polly Perfect smile.
“Mrs. Daigle. You are a constant inspiration.”
How can she walk around with that nasty thing on her face?
“Against odds that might have made weaker people hide, you keep your head up high. You’ve taught me the value of self-worth.”
“Mr. Wynn, what can I say?”
I could say you tried to get me alone as a freshman, but we’ll let Katie Palmer do that for us in her next suicide blog.
“You give me spirit. You coach a great team who are easy to cheer for. Go Stingrays!”
Kick, clap, bounce. They love it.
“And last, but never least, Miss Cailloux.”
You are delicious.
“You helped me when my grades were down to see that I needed to do better to get into college.”
And gave me so much to daydream about in class.
“Without you, I think that some days I might have just stayed home from school.”
Wishing you were with me.
“Thank you for getting me through the last four years.”
Don’t watch her leave. End on a high note, cheerleader forever.
“Without every single one of you, my life would be so much different. I’m so proud to be the Female Student of the Year for such an amazing school!”
The crowd goes wild, of course. Hand over the mic, take your flowers, and get off stage. This is it. It’s all over. Keep those pearly whites out until you’re out the door and on the back of her bike. One deep kiss, she revs the engine, and you’re gone.
Originally published 2015-12-11: Goody Two-Faces – This story was written for a flash fiction challenge in 2015.
This week’s flash fiction was inspired by a prompt by Our Write Side author, A.L. Mabry, for her regular feature, Coldly Calculating. The prompt was called “Knocking Down Miss Goody Two-Shoes.” I may have interpreted it a little broadly, but I think this story does it justice, and it was a BLAST to write.