“I’m sorry,” she told them again. “I’m hosting book club at my house tonight and I still have to go to the store for some snacks and stuff. I promised the girls.”

  “Book club tonight?” Lishia questioned. “What about youth group?”

  “I know . . . I know . . .” Megan looped the handle of her bag over her shoulder. “I wasn’t thinking too clearly when I agreed to it. But after blowing book club off last week, I felt I owed them this.”

  “Seems like you’re ending up owing a lot of people a lot of things,” Janelle said in a snippy tone. “Not to mention your real friends.”

  Megan tried not to show her irritation over this. After all, a prom queen was gracious. Still, it seemed like Janelle had been on her all afternoon. And even though Lishia and Chelsea seemed happy for Megan for finally securing a date for prom, Janelle had been a wet blanket, acting like Dayton would only be interested in one thing after prom was over.

  As Megan wheeled a cart through the grocery store, she tried not to be angry at Janelle. In a way, Janelle was simply expressing Megan’s own worst doubts. On the other hand, doubts and naysayers would not earn her the crown. Still, as she loaded a package of chocolate mint cookies into the cart, she wondered if she cared as much about being prom queen as she had a few weeks ago. If she’d known then what a long ordeal it would be, would she still have gone for it? Of course, it was too late to back out now.

  Holding her head higher and reminding herself of how a prom queen walks, Megan stopped shuffling her feet down the junk food aisle. Really, she decided as she put a large bottle of soda in the cart, she was on top of her game. Already a solid week into her campaign, she was gaining support and momentum with each day. She had a date for prom who was both popular and attractive. The fundraiser was just days away—and from the looks of things, and thanks to her friends, this event was sure to be a success.

  Another success turned out to be her book club that night. Whether it was due to having it at her house or the refreshments or the fact that Megan pretended to have read and enjoyed the book, all the girls seemed to have a really good time. They stayed late.

  As they were gathering their stuff to leave, they thanked her and even offered to help her with her campaign. She explained about the fundraiser and how they could still use some extra hands following the dinner and auction. “You know, it’s for a really good cause,” she assured them. “The soup kitchen downtown will benefit.”

  The book club agreed to be the cleanup crew. Not only did it get Megan off that particular hook, but she thought her friends would be pleased at her ability to recruit help like that. She waved goodbye and closed the door, letting out an exhausted sigh of relief. That was over.

  As she began to clean the living room where they’d met, she commended herself for her good discipline during book club. Carefully avoiding the calorie-laden snacks, she’d simply sipped her Diet Coke and munched celery sticks. She was just about to pour the leftover cookies into the bag when her resolve and self-control completely dissolved. She was so hungry!

  Almost unconsciously, she polished off the rest of the cookies. Then she laid into the chips and the Peanut M&M’s and everything that remained behind. Feeling foolish and frustrated, she went to bed with a stomachache and very low self-esteem. She promised herself she would do better tomorrow.

  Megan felt exhausted after church, as if she’d run a race and could barely put one foot in front of the other. All she wanted to do was to go home and sleep for the rest of the day. But she’d promised Lishia that she’d help glaze bowls today. So instead of looking forward to a long afternoon nap, she was driving Lishia and herself toward school, where the art room would be opened up for several hours so that volunteers could finish the last of the soup bowls. Hopefully a bunch of people would be there, and perhaps Megan could even slip out unnoticed.

  “I don’t see many cars here,” she told Lishia as they parked by the back entrance to the art room. Mrs. Steiner was just unlocking the door.

  “Hello, girls,” she called as she disarmed the security alarm. “Come on in.”

  “I guess we’re the first ones here,” Lishia said as they went inside.

  “Or the only ones.” Megan set her bag on a table.

  “Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us today.” Mrs. Steiner turned on the lights in the pottery room, revealing stacks of more soup bowls. “I think there are about seventy or so to do.”

  “Let’s attack.” Lishia pulled on a paint-splattered shirt. “That’s more than twenty each. It usually takes a good five minutes or longer to do one.”

  Megan frowned up at the clock, doing the math in her head. “That means, with just us, we’ll be here a couple hours.”

  “At least.”

  As it turned out, they were there nearly three hours, and by the time Megan got home, it was close to five. She still had homework, but all she wanted to do was sleep . . . and eat.

  As motivation for continuing on her diet and not giving in to her hunger pangs, she forced herself to try on the prom dress again. She tugged it on but still couldn’t get the zipper up. Now prom was less than two weeks off. What if she never fit into this dress? Then she remembered Mom’s Spanx. Worst case scenario, she’d resort to that. And really, two weeks was long enough to lose five pounds. “Think positively,” she told herself as she peeled off the dress.

  “Want to eat with us tonight?” Mom called into her room. “I put a frozen lasagna in the oven, and it’ll be done around six.”

  “No thanks,” Megan answered as she hung the pretty garment back in the closet.

  “Megan?” Mom came into her room as Megan was pulling on sweats.

  “Uh-huh?” Megan slumped down into her desk chair and heaved a weary sigh.

  “Are you still doing that crazy diet?” Mom peered down at her with a concerned expression.

  “It’s not a crazy diet.”

  “It’s not a sensible way to eat.” Mom frowned.

  “I thought you’d be happy that I’m eating vegetables.”

  “Vegetables are fine. But living on celery, cucumbers, and diet soda is not a balanced diet.”

  “I eat other things too.”

  Mom sat on the edge of Megan’s bed. “I’m worried you’re wearing yourself out, Megan. Working so hard on your campaign and the fundraiser and then this diet. It’s not good for you.”

  “It’s only for a couple more weeks. The fundraiser will be done after Wednesday.”

  “But will you last that long?” Mom’s brow creased. “It’s like my mother used to tell me—you’re burning your candle at both ends. Eventually it’ll catch up with you.”

  Megan picked at the hole on the knee of her sweats and shrugged. “I’m fine, Mom.”

  “You’ve never been my high-energy girl, Meggie.” Mom leaned forward, peering at her. “I can tell you’re exhausted.”

  “I’ll admit I’m a little tired.” Megan sighed. “But really, I’m okay.”

  “What about your schoolwork?”

  “What about it?”

  “Is it suffering?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Well . . .” Mom stood slowly. “How about joining us for lasagna. It smells really yummy.”

  “I know.” Megan sniffed the air, wishing her mom hadn’t opened her bedroom door to let it waft in.

  Mom touched Megan’s cheek. “Really, Megan, you don’t look healthy to me.”

  “I’m just tired.” Megan nodded to her computer. “And I still have a lot of homework.”

  “Okay.” Mom went to the door, then paused.

  “Maybe I’ll have some lasagna later.” Megan forced a smile. “If there’s any leftovers.”

  Mom laughed. “Of course there’ll be leftovers. Good grief, it’s big enough to feed eight.”

  But as Mom left, Megan knew she was going to avoid that lasagna like the plague. To get rid of the tempting smell, she sprayed some cologne in the air and closed her door.

  It wasn’t until ten o’clock that Megan lost her self-control. She sneaked into the kitchen and sliced into the lasagna. She didn’t even warm it up, just ate it cold with her fingers. Then she got a plate and cut another piece. Once again, she went to bed with a stomachache and a guilty conscience. Who was she fooling anyway? Some diet!

  Megan was barely inside the school on Monday morning when she noticed that Amanda Jorgenson and Hallie Bennett had both begun their campaigns for prom queen. Of course, their signs were bigger and brighter and fresher looking than hers. Not only that, but someone had drawn felt pen mustaches on some of her posters.

  “I kind of expected that,” Megan told Lishia as she paused to pull down a ruined poster hanging outside the commons.

  “It does seem ironic that the graffiti appeared at the same time the other girls’ posters went up,” Lishia said wryly.

  Megan glanced over to where both Amanda and Hallie had set up campaign tables on opposite sides of the commons. Amanda’s table was decorated with balloons, and her boyfriend, Tyler, was handing out some kind of goodies to a small crowd.

  “Are those cupcakes?” Lishia asked.

  “Who cares?” Megan shrugged.

  “I didn’t have breakfast,” Lishia admitted.

  Megan glared at her. “You’d go eat the enemy’s food?”

  “Hey, if I eat one of Amanda’s cupcakes, that’s one less for her to give away.”

  “Whatever.” Megan was setting up her own table now, arranging her campaign goodies and dwindling supply of chocolate bars.

  “I’ll be right back,” Lishia promised as she headed for Amanda’s table.

  “What’s up?” Dayton asked as he joined her, helping himself to a chocolate bar.

  She tried not to show her dismay as he tore off the wrapper and bit into the bar. “Just setting up for business,” she said in a forced cheery tone. “How are you doing?”

  He grinned with chocolate on his teeth. “Great.” Now he picked up a button, and as he was pinning it on his shirt, Lishia returned with both a cupcake and a large heart-shaped sugar cookie.

  “Amanda’s giving away cookies too?” Megan frowned.

  Lishia turned the cookie so Megan could see where Hallie’s name was written in pink icing, then took a bite out of it. “Someone’s a good cook.”

  “Not Hallie,” Dayton told her. “She made me cookies once and they tasted like dog biscuits.”

  Lishia laughed. “Well, these are good.”

  He nodded. “Guess I better go find out for myself.”

  Megan was tempted to stop him but remembered Lishia’s rationale—one less cookie for someone else. Still, it irked her. If her friends acted like they were interested in the other girls’ campaigns, it would reflect poorly on her.

  “You’re not in the hospital after all?”

  Megan looked up to see Zoë glaring at her. “Huh?”

  “I thought you’d been in a car wreck or something.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you promised to take me to youth group with you on Saturday and never showed.”

  Megan slapped her forehead. “Oh, Zoë, I’m so sorry. I totally—”

  “Never mind. I didn’t really want to go anyway.” Zoë picked up a chocolate bar and ripped the wrapper off, dropping it on the table.

  “But I didn’t mean to—”

  “Forget it.” Zoë rolled her eyes, then turned her back to Megan and walked off.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Chelsea asked as she joined Megan at the table.

  Megan confessed her faux pas.

  “Oh, that’s too bad. You should’ve told us, we could’ve taken her.”

  “I would’ve, but I completely forgot. I had book group and—”

  “Too much on your plate?”

  Megan shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Well, in a few days the fundraiser will be behind us. Then maybe we can help you more.”

  Megan brightened. “That’d be nice.”

  “Are those cupcakes?” Chelsea’s eyes lit up.

  Megan just nodded. How was she supposed to compete with that?

  14

  By Wednesday afternoon, Megan felt like she was running a marathon—and she was still not halfway through it. Besides some last minute details regarding the fundraiser that night, Megan had been staying up late trying to learn her lines and songs for Fiddler on the Roof and trying to keep up with homework. Plus, this morning she’d met her book group girls for a seven o’clock breakfast meeting.

  As she trudged toward the cafeteria to spend some time at her campaign table, she felt more like giving up than ever. How could she possibly keep this up?

  “There you are,” Lishia said cheerfully as she came up to the table. She set a cardboard box of soup bowls down. “Those are heavy.”

  “Oh . . . hey.” Megan feigned a smile as she peeked at the colorful bowls. “Those turned out good.”

  “Are you okay?” Lishia peered curiously at her. “You look beat.”

  Megan just nodded. Lishia had no idea.

  “You guys ready to do some decorating?” Janelle entered the cafeteria with two grocery bags in her arms.

  “Decorating?” Megan frowned.

  “For the fundraiser,” Janelle said with irritation. “Remember your special project?”

  Now Chelsea was coming toward them with two large buckets filled with fresh flowers. “Check out these blooms,” she called. “Le Fleur’s donated them to us. They said they’re a little old but still good for a one-nighter.”

  “Pretty.”

  “I’ve got a bunch of old canning jars that Kate’s loaning me to put them in—you know, for vases,” Chelsea explained. “We’ll tie those with raffia. Kind of a homespun look.”

  “Oh . . . nice.” Megan nodded.

  “Let’s get to work,” Chelsea said.

  Megan knew that meant her too. So instead of “manning” her campaign table, which no one seemed interested in anyway, she made a pretense of helping her friends for a while. Finally she knew she had to make some excuses or risk being late to rehearsal. “I wish I could stay longer,” she told Chelsea as she started to pack up the stuff from her campaign table. “This is really fun. But I have play practice.”

  “Oh . . . ?” Chelsea just nodded, but she was obviously disappointed. “I thought maybe they’d let you have this one afternoon off.”

  “I don’t know . . .” The truth was, Megan hadn’t even thought to ask. But it seemed a little late now.

  “You’re bailing on us?” Janelle demanded as she carried in another box. “There’s a bunch of boxes that still need to be unloaded.”

  “I have to get to rehearsal,” Megan explained.

  “Yeah, right.” Janelle rolled her eyes. “Too busy.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Lishia told Janelle. “I asked a couple guys from art to help bring stuff in. They’ll probably be here soon.”

  “Go ahead and go,” Chelsea told her.

  “I’m really sorry,” Megan called as she grabbed up her bag and took off. But as she was leaving she could hear Janelle still murmuring about how Megan managed to get out of everything. Do not react, Megan told herself as she exited. As she hurried to the auditorium, she reminded herself of the goal. A prom queen has dignity . . . A prom queen is gracious and kind to everyone. Even if she felt like smacking Janelle, she would control herself.

  Of course, she was late for rehearsal. Mr. Valotti seemed short on patience as she rushed up to the stage, where the actors were already in position. “Hope we’re not taking you from something important,” he said in a tone that warned her not to respond.

  “Sorry,” she muttered as she dumped her bag in a corner, then took her place next to Jack.

  “I guess I’m not needed now,” Clarisa said a bit sullenly.

  “Thanks,” Megan told her. “And sorry.”

  Clarisa just shrugged, then moved offstage.

  Megan wanted to offer a full apology, but Mr. Valotti seemed determined to keep things rolling. After she blew her lines for what seemed the tenth time, though, she could tell he was getting seriously irritated with her.

  “Did you go over your lines at all?” he demanded.

  “Yes.” She nodded. “I thought I had them down.”

  “Well, you may have to make a decision, Miss Bernard.”

  “A decision?”

  “Which you want more—to be queen of the prom or to be in this musical.”

  “I want to be in the musical,” she assured him.

  “Then be in it.” He clapped his hands, signaling it was time to start a different scene.

  Megan’s face was flushed with embarrassment as she left the stage. Her heart was pounding hard, and she could tell that tears weren’t far off. Plus, she was hungry. She stepped into the shadows, determined to hold it together. A prom queen did not fall apart in public.

  “I think he should just let Clarisa take the part,” a guy was saying on the other side of the curtain. “All Megan does is mess up.”

  Megan hurried away to escape that conversation. It was the last thing she needed to hear right now. But in her rush, and thanks to the dim light, she ran smack into Jack.

  “Watch it,” he said sharply.

  “Sorry,” she told him. It seemed to be her favorite word today.

  “Oh, it’s you,” he said. “That’s okay.” Now he looked more closely at her. “Are you upset about something?”

  That was all it took—like the dam had broken open, her tears came falling fast. “Come on,” Jack said gently. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  Soon they were outside the auditorium, blinking in the bright sunlight, and Jack was looking at her with sympathy.

  “I’m falling apart,” she told him. “I’m a total mess. I should drop out of the musical and stop running for prom queen and just—just—I don’t know. Go live under a rock somewhere.”

  He hugged her. “No, you shouldn’t. You’re just having a bad day, that’s all.” He stroked her hair. “Just take a few deep breaths, and trust me, you’ll feel better.”

  Standing there in his arms, she did take a few deep breaths, and before long, she did feel better.