‘Oh ye of little faith!’ Josh says. ‘I think you might be forgetting something …’
‘And what’s that?’
‘That love –’ he grins, offering me his hand – ‘is love.’
We gather in the hall, at the front of the stage, ready for the crowning ceremony. The music has already stopped, and the crowd murmurs, waiting for Harrington to approach the mic. The votes are counted by an independent adjudicator and sealed in a little golden envelope, meaning even he doesn’t know who’s going to win.
‘Here,’ Tiffany says, pushing her phone into Owen’s hands. ‘Live-stream this.’
It wasn’t a request; I can’t believe the audacity.
‘You know you don’t have to do what she says, right?’
Tiffany shoots me a death stare. ‘I’m sorry, Zach, how does this concern you?’
‘I’m just saying. You do realize he’s not your servant?’
‘It’s fine, Zach,’ Owen says. ‘I don’t mind, honestly.’
‘See,’ she says. ‘He doesn’t mind.’
‘What makes you so certain you’re going to win anyway?’
‘Do I ever lose?’
‘So you have rigged it then …’
‘I’ll let you in on a little secret, Zach.’ She leans in close and lowers her voice. ‘I don’t need to rig anything. I know you think everyone wants the gay couple to win. But nobody’s gonna vote for them because everyone knows their relationship’s done for. Being prom king and queen is part of mine and Ethan’s story. It’s something we’ll tell our grandkids one day. But Kellen and Rhys? What’s the point in them winning if they’ll be broken up in a couple of months?’
‘What?’ I say. ‘How can you say that?’
‘I’m sure Rhys thinks it’s fun to rough it with a scholarship kid. But they haven’t got a future together. Not like me and Ethan. I doubt they’ll even make it through the summer.’
She says it with a smirk that actually turns my stomach. Rhys is supposed to be her best friend, but she couldn’t care less about his happiness. I don’t exactly love him and Kellen as a couple either, but now? I want them to win just to spite her.
She turns to Owen. ‘Start the stream as soon as Harrington starts talking.’ She goes to disappear into the crowd. ‘And may the best woman win.’
Just when I think I can’t hate her any more. My eyes burn into the back of her head. I can’t stand her arrogance; it’s all I can think about as Mr Harrington approaches the microphone to launch into another long-winded speech about tradition. Owen starts the live Instagram stream and, over his shoulder, I can see people already starting to comment. It amazes me that people actually care about this. The viewing numbers go from double to triple. Countless strangers who don’t even go here. Why on earth are they all so invested?
Mr Harrington drones on for so long that even the people in the live stream are getting impatient. I’ve got it open on my phone now, just so I can read the comments.