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The Night I Slapped the Prom Queen

By Emily Waller All Rights Reserved ©

Humor / Drama

Blurb

By now, most of you have probably heard some version of the story - or should I say the legend- of Golden Grove High School’s senior prom. You probably know about the rumors: the shower of feminine hygiene products, the stage-dive gone wrong, and, of course, the bitch slap of the century. Well, I’m here to give you the full shebang. This is Jackie Gordon, prom queen runner-up, reporter for the Golden Gazette, and all around totally rad gal, and I’m here to set the record straight: All of those things you heard about totally happened.

Not a Great Start

By now, most of you have probably heard some version of the story - or should I say the legend- of Golden Grove High School’s senior prom. You probably know about the rumors: the shower of feminine hygiene products, the stage-dive gone wrong, and, of course, the bitch slap of the century.

Well, I’m here to give you the full shebang. This is Jackie Gordon, prom queen runner-up, reporter for the Golden Gazette, and all around totally rad gal, and I’m here to set the record straight: All of those things you heard about totally happened.

But, for the sake of a great story, let me start at the beginning.

And this story starts with me waking up in an empty hotel room.

I have awoken to many a skull-splitting headache before. What can I say? I’m a teenage delinquent with a long and, to be perfectly honest, somewhat questionable history of bad decision-making. I’m no stranger to waking up and instantly regretting the choices I made the night before. (The choices that I can remember, at least.)

I know hangover headaches. Trust me; I’ve certainly encountered enough of them. But this headache- this headache was not one of them. Nope. This headache wasn’t so much a hangover headache as it was a: ’I am in so much pain I may actually be dying. Like, for real’ headache.

Okay. That’s an exaggeration. But I probably would have categorized my pain level somewhere between “punched in the face by Batman” and “smacked in the head with a hammer.”

The last thing I could remember before waking up was climbing into my friend Lauren’s janky blue 1999 Honda Civic and squeezing myself into the middle seat between Shannon and Emma (and their poofy dresses.) We were headed right to the Sheridan Hotel where the dance was going to be held, and all of us were singing along to the lame Black Eyed Peas song blaring from the radio.

I simultaneously realized two things: first, I was duct taped to a swivel chair, and second, it was prom night. PROM. NIGHT. This was the one and only night I had a shot at achieving Prom Queen, the dream come true of high school girls everywhere, and this was the night that somebody decided to kidnap me.

Literally any other night, I would have been totally cool with waking up in a random hotel duct taped to a swivel chair. Okay, maybe not ‘totally cool,’ but still. I’d probably be a lot less pissed, at the very least.

For the love God, I was wearing a gown! A six-hundred dollar gown! And five-inch heels. And enough makeup to give a truck stop hooker a run for her money.

Maybe, in light of my ravishing beauty, I had been mistaken for a princess or something by a band of rogue mercenaries hungry for ransom money? Okay. Not likely. But hey, that would really have given me a confidence boost.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have much time to daydream about my heroic rescue at the hands of a sexy foreign (preferably Spanish) prince, because right then the door swung open to reveal my heinous kidnapper.

Lo and behold, there she was. My arch-nemesis, my worst enemy, my rival Prom Queen candidate and the bitchiest bitch ever to walk the halls of Golden Grove High School. Maxine Murray.

Well, that explained a lot.

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