Free The Real Prom Queens of Westfield High by Laurie Boyle Crompton

those boots are getting burned.”
    Amy will become a shoulder-length redhead. And not just any redhead. She’ll be a dramatic, fire-breathing redhead, “forced to stop playing wallflower.” Amy grins maniacally but there’s terror in her eyes.
    â€œYou’ll be wearing Nőrealique Glamour products,” Victoria explains. “Think diva, with an extra splash of Va-Va-Voom.”
    Victoria also casually offers Amy gastric-bypass surgery, which I find obscenely rude. I mean, sure, Amy’s overweight and all, but as she points out, she isn’t a whole hundred pounds overweight.
    â€œYou might not officially qualify for the surgery yet,” Victoria tells her cheerfully, “but you can probably put on a little quick weight to make yourself eligible.”
    â€œThat sounds healthy,” Kelly says.
    â€œI’ve done research on the procedure.” Amy dips her head. “I think I’m still too young to consider something so drastic.”
    Victoria looks disappointed a moment then brightens. “How about a little lipo?”
    â€œUm, well…” Amy stammers and blushes so hard her face turns purple.
    â€œButt, abs, chin, thighs—whatever you’d like.” Victoria acts as if Amy should feel grateful rather than insulted. “That goes for the rest of you, as well. We’ll be putting you all on a strict diet and exercise regimen, but a little liposuction can be a girl’s best friend.”
    I look to Kelly in amazement. I’m pretty average-sized, but she’s downright skinny. “Nobody told us we signed up for Fat Camp,” she grouses.
    Amy still seems taken aback by the news that she might need major surgery to fit into a tiara.
    â€œWe are not officially recommending you undergo any procedures,” Victoria says. “We’re merely making options available. Anything you’d like, rhinoplasty”—I grab my nose—“breast implants”—I grab my chest—“tooth veneers”—I hold my hand across my mouth. “We can even get those ears of yours pinned back, Shannon.” I slam my hands over them but can still hear her. “There’s no shame in giving Mother Nature a little help, ladies.”
    My heart beats hard and fast. Making fun of my own goofy ears is one thing. Having some beauty queen suggest I have them surgically altered is something else entirely. I imagine myself as one of those makeover show freaks lying on the operating table with my eyes taped shut and my blood everywhere.
    â€œAnd don’t forget, even at your age, Botox can be a girl’s best friend.” Victoria gives a creaseless smile.
    â€œI thought you said liposuction was a girl’s best friend,” Kelly says.
    â€œLet’s just start with hair and makeup, shall we?” says Victoria brightly. “You three think about what other beautification procedures you may wish to have while you’re here.”
    â€œIn case we want to look as plastic as you?” Kelly asks with mock innocence.
    Victoria’s face reddens behind her thick foundation. Insulting her looks is a low blow and, to be honest, I don’t think she even looks all that plastic. She calls out, “Cut, cut, CUT! I don’t need this abuse!”
    â€œIt’s fine.” Mickey has reappeared. “That will all be edited out.” I hope that includes the part about my ears. “Let’s take five and then we’ll move forward with makeovers. This scene will be all about a fun day in the salon.” She takes two strides away before twirling back and commanding in a deadly tone, “Have fun with it!”
    She flings the curtain back with such force I catch a glimpse of a whole separate room behind it. It’s filled with electronic equipment, rows of television screens, and at least a half a dozen people dressed all in black. I shouldn’t be surprised there’s a