My mind is a mess with the memories of two days ago when Rose confronted me. It caused me to bump into strangers as I walked through the busy corridors of school. It felt anything but normal. The way most people have treated me since is absurd.

Instead of people clearing the way for me to walk in busy hallways, most people stood where they were and ignored the fact I was there. Instead of people gazing at me from head to toe, people whispered as soon as they saw me.

If there was one place I didn't want to be, it was school. I don't want to deal with people looking at me like I'm crazy. I just want to be at home in my room, where no one at school is.

Believe it or not, there is probably some gossip going around right now that is about me. So far, it seems like it isn't good. I will have to do everything I can to protect my reputation and social status at Westdale. I worked hard to build it, so I can't let it crash down already.

For starters, I will make sure my appearance looks decent enough for the few hours left of the school day. I made a U-turn to the nearest girls' restroom, and Mercedes followed. There were only a few girls in the restroom who were applying make-up, adjusting their hair, or washing their hands.

I approached an idle sink and took out a few make-up products. I took a quick second to stare at Mercedes at the corner of my right eye, and then turned back to the mirror.

"I'm just so confused right now," I mused, more to her than myself. "Why are people treating me so differently."

"What do you mean?" Mercedes asked as she adjusted an earring.

"People don't treat me like I'm the queen bee anymore. They don't stare at me when I walk through halls, or even compliment me," I groaned, taking out a make-up brush from my cosmetic bag. "It's happened ever since Rose decided to confront us where everyone could see and hear."

"Maybe you should've walked away as soon as she started talking the other day," she said. "It would've saved you a lot."

"It would've worked," I started, "if you at least told me as soon as the incident started."

"I didn't think about it then," Mercedes stated.

"Whatever. The situation is over anyway," I frowned, combing a hand through my hair.

Every strand of my wavy hair wasn't tangled. They were just fine. Except for the fact the curls didn't look. . . good enough. They lacked volume and didn't look shiny, not even through the artificial life of the restroom.

I opened my backpack and rummaged through everything in there. As hard as I looked, all I could see were textbooks, folders, notebooks, stationary, and a stash of tampons. Nothing in my backpack would be beneficial for my hair. In fact, I didn't even have a hairbrush. Normally, I'd have one, but I've forgotten it at home.

I turned to Mercedes, who silently stood in front of the mirror, wrapping her natural curls into a high ponytail.

"Do you have any hairspray or something?" I questioned with a frown. "I could use some right now."

"I don't have any," she apologized. "Sorry, Milli."

"It's fine. I'll just put my in a ponytail or something," I sighed, grabbing a hair tie that was in my make-up bag.

I stretched it around my hand and gathered my hair to the back of my head. Not too low, but not too high either. I wrapped the hair tie around my hair twice, brushing back the shorter strands of my hair back with my other hand. It looked presentable. Since there are a few hours of school left, I won't have to worry too much about it.

My ears flinched when I heard the late bell ring, vibrating off the thick walls of the restroom. At this point, Mercedes and I were the only people in there. I quickly gathered all my cosmetic supplies back into my make-up bag, stuffing it back into my backpack after.

We exited the bathroom and rushed down the corner to Ms. Davis' classroom. The door of her classroom was wide open. When we walked inside, everyone was in their seats, faint whispers roaming the room. The teacher was at the front, writing something on the white board in big letters.

Mercedes and I snuck to our seats before the teacher turned around to face the class. Just in time, too. As soon as we were settled, Ms. Davis turned to the class with a stern expression spread across her face.

"Class, please," she stated with a clap. "Simmer down. Class is starting now."

Everyone stopped chuckling abruptly and whispering loudly and stood straight on their chairs. I gently tapped my feet against the carpeted floor, already wishing for class to be over.

"Before class starts, I will hand back in your research papers. They have been graded recently," Ms. Davis proclaimed, adjusting the rim of her glasses as she picked up a thick stack of papers.

From the corner of my eye, I could see people exchanging anxious glances at each other. No kidding, I feel a bit scared to find out my score, but I'm sure that I did well. I mean, why wouldn't I do well? From what I remember, I had decent grammar and the topic I wrote about was interesting.

"Here is your essay, Ms. Campbell," Ms. Davis proclaimed, placing my essay at the center of my desk. "I would recommend for you to credit all the sources you use, have a bit more structure in your writing, and improve basic punctuation."

I raised an eyebrow as her as I picked up my paper. My eyes opened wide as my mouth dangled wide open. At the top right corner of the first page, a large sixty-three was written in blueberry blue ink.

I felt nothing but shocked. When I was writing my paper, I thought that I'd do decent. . . and have a seventy-five at least. But no, I have a sixty-three. This must be wrong. I did everything I could to get the best grade possible, and now I'm left with this.

Because it was a research paper, and not any normal assignment, this will have a huge effect on my grade in this class. Right now, I have a seventy-two percent. It isn't impressive. It isn't too bad either. It's just average. This assignment will drop my grade to a low sixty, possibly even a fifty.

It's anything but passing.

Fortunately, I can ask Ms. Davis to give me some type of extra credit as long as I do an assignment or something. If that doesn't work, I can ask her if I could brush up my research paper, and at least bring my score up to a seventy.

Knowing Ms. Davis, it will be hard to convince her to do anything, but it's worth the try anyway.

***

"Can I have some type of extra credit on my research paper, Ms. Davis?" I pleaded with her, my hands desperately gripping tightly against the rim of her desk. "Or is there any possible way I can redo my paper or improve it?"

"I'm sorry, Millicent, but that isn't possible. I can't give you extra credit or allow you to redo your paper," Ms. Davis shook her head side to side. "The research paper isn't a normal homework assignment, so I can't change your score."

"Please?" I sighed, clasping my palms together. "I really need this."

"Again, I can't do anything about it. If you want to improve your grade in this class, you're going to have to pay attention in class and study for tests," she suggested.

"Okay," I slurred my voice.

Getting my grade up in English would be easier said than done. With the school year coming to an end in two and a half months, there are going to be fewer assignments and more exams. However, because of those exams, I can boost my grade by a lot if I study for at least an hour a day.

As much as I dislike studying, I will have to do it for the sake of my grade. It's for the best, right? Right.

I began to trudge my way out of the classroom and through the crowded hallway. I plastered a fake smile across my lips, letting my lengthy ponytail sway back and forth as I walked. A few people stopped dead in their tracks to stare at me, but a lot of people continued to blankly stare at their phones, friends, lockers, or whatever they were looking at.

I grimaced for a split second, but I pursed my lips back into a fake smile. Mercedes joined me in the hallway, walking behind me with her phone in her hand, scrolling through whatever she was viewing on the screen.

After several minutes of rummaging through students who walked back and forth throughout hallways, we exited the building. We stood in front of the curb of the student parking lot. Like usual, my mom is picking me up, and it is the same for Mercedes.

A black Porsche pulled around the curb in front of me, the window of the passenger seat rolling down. It was my mother's car. I waved goodbye to Mercedes and entered the car, fastening on my seatbelt a couple of seconds later. The smell of Mom's strong perfume stung my nose. I tried my best to avoid sneezing from the smell by covering my nose a bit.

"Hey, Millicent," Mom said with a smile. "How was your day?"

"My day. . . was fine," I lied, slouching my back against the leather passenger seat of the car.

"Are you sure? I can feel that something is off," Mom glanced at me before taking off.

"Yes, I'm sure, Mom," I lied again.

I rolled down the window of my seat. The steady air from outside drifted into the car, blowing against my hair. The smell of trees and plants from outside covered up the strong smell of Mom's perfume.

My school day was horrible. I can't wait to get home, where I can feel like me. The fact that less people stared at me in hallways and didn't clear a path for me to walk was shocking, as if I'm not the queen bee anymore. No one ever takes their eyes off of me when I'm around.

If this gets worse, then I will need to take serious action. I can't let go of my title. I can't bear the fact that fewer people will adore me. Fortunately, I have a plan that will make me get the most attention for the rest of the school year and the next school year.

I will go to prom this year. Because I've bought tickets and signed up to be elected for prom queen, I don't stand a chance to lose my title. My eyes lit up, automatically causing me to reach down to my backpack and pull out my phone.

Instead of scrolling through dozens of missed calls from friends or scrolling through Instagram posts, I went to the messaging app of my phone and tapped on a contact I never wanted to tap on.

It was my ex-boyfriend, Charles. The reason why I'm doing this is because he needs to be the one to go to prom with me. I sent him a quick text message that told him to meet me at my house as soon as possible.

Back when we were dating last year, prom was announced early. We decided to sign up to be one of the couples to apply for prom king and queen. When we broke up, none of us decided to drop out of the competition, and I'm extremely grateful for that.

Even if I don't want to be anywhere near Charles, this will have to be done. At this point, I don't care if people start rumors about us being at prom together. I only care about winning prom queen to keep my title as queen bee.

The car pulled up on our driveway in front of the house . I rolled my window back up, threw my backpack on my shoulders, and went inside our home. Like usual, it was awfully quiet. I'm used to it. For my entire life, the house has been silent enough to hear a pin drop. Unless my dad and his friends came over, or my mom was speaking on the phone.

I walked through the spacious, professionally decorated foyer to the furnished living room. I slouched down in a cream-colored armchair, a couple of meters away from our overly-expensive electric fireplace that was worth every penny.

"Do you want some lemonade, Millicent?" Mom offered, holding up a tray with two glasses of lemonade. "I made this earlier."

"Thanks, I'll have some," I carefully took a cup off a tray.

The glass itself felt freezing, like snow that had fallen on the ground on a winter day. I took a small sip of the lemonade, the freshly squeezed lemons mixing perfectly with the sugar. I managed to drink it all up within a minute or two. I placed the cup on the accent table inches away from me.

"Do you have any homework you need to work on today?" Mom asked, reaching out for the remote control to turn our television.

"Yes, I do," I sighed. "In fact, I'll do it now."

"Alright," Mom muttered before glancing at the TV.

I got up from my chair and made my journey upstairs. I went back into the foyer and climbed up the set of stairs, as if I were climbing a mountain. I walked into my room and closed the door behind me. I tossed my backpack on the floor and slouched on my bed.

Instead of studying or working on my homework immediately, I laid there, patiently waiting for Charles to come here. Every ounce of me wanted to see if he would agree to go to prom with me, even if we're exes and don't like each other.

I heard the doorbell ring from downstairs. I wandered out of my room to the front door, which Mom was already in front of. She opened the door, her smile spreading broader.

"Charles, it's nice to see you!" Mom cheered, motioning him to come inside. "What brings you here today?"

"Hi, Ms. Campbell. Millicent invited me here," Charles replied, glancing at me for a split second.

"Okay, just tell me if you need anything. I'll be here," Mom proclaimed as she closed the front door.

"I'll take it from here, Mom," I said before motioning Charles to the staircase.

He raised an eyebrow, but after a few seconds, he followed me up the stairs and down the hall to my bedroom. I pulled a rolling chair from my desk for him to sit on, while I sat at the edge of my bed.

I don't know if it will be challenging or not to convince him to go to prom with me, but there is one strategy that I will use that is guaranteed to work. Sweet talk. If I give him compliments and ask him to go with me politely, he will say yes.

"You look nice today," I complimented him, staring up and down at him. "Are those jeans you're wearing new? They look great."

"Thanks, I guess. And yeah, these jeans are new," he answered, brushing his lap.

"That's nice. I also like your hair," I added. "It's so blonde and shiny."

"Thanks. . ." His voice trailed off. "Why are you acting so. . . nice to me? The last time we talked, you didn't sound friendly."

My mind trailed back to that day in Ms. Davis' where we had a substitute teacher. He walked up to me and tried to ask me to give him a second chance, but I refused. I have to admit that I could've told him in a calmer way, but right then, it wasn't possible.

"I know, but the reason why I'm doing this is because I have a favor for you to do for me," I smiled innocently.

"What do you want?" Charles sighed while clenching his hands.

"Can you please go to prom with me?" I pleaded. "We never dropped out of the competition to win prom queen and king, so we still have a chance. Plus, we already bought our tickets several months ago. We're not going as a couple. We will just go to hopefully win prom king and queen."

"So you're saying that we should go to prom together so we can win prom queen and king again?" He asked.

"Yeah," I said. "So are we going to go together or not?"

"Fine, I'll go with you. I have nothing better to do, anyway," he shrugged his shoulders.

"Great!" I smiled. "Make sure you look your best on prom night."

Little did I know that convincing Charles to go to prom with me would be easier than I thought—especially since we're not dating. Now that I have a "prom date", I'm guaranteed to get prom queen and keep my title as queen bee. The throne will remain mine and everyone will give me the most attention.

This will be a piece of cake.