Queen B

I'm in Big, Big Trouble Whoever said "the show must go on" probably had a decent show. Or else he wasn't in charge of it. He definitely wasn't the second act. If his curtain had been about to go up on a disaster as big as this one, he would have had to rethink that whole motto. We're about to flop so hard, they'll hear the impact in New York. Geologists will measure us on the Richter scale. I'll be the laughingstock of the school--again--but nobody cares about that. Why did Mrs. Conway put me in charge of this nightmare? I can guess why she had to bail, but what did I do to deserve this grief? I mean, what did I do to her? She could at least have shown up for moral support. Maybe she's out in the audience, but I don't dare peek through this curtain again. Mom, Dad, and Grandma Smythe are part of the record crowd packing our school auditorium, and the last thing I want to risk right now is accidental eye contact. It must be killing them to sit there next to each other, and since I begged them not to come tonight I can only assume they're doing it to punish me. It's been a war zone at my house lately, with Mom barely speaking to Grandma and not speaking to Dad at all. Unfortunately, Dad's speaking to me every chance he gets, like it's my fault Grandma's here making his life miserable. Okay, that is kind of my fault, but it was an accident. How many times do I have to say it? I hope Mom at least gives up on saving that empty seat for Trevor. There's no chance he'll sit there. He'd avoid the indignity of being seen with parents even if he weren't in the middle of a major hissy fit about cheap polyester, stuck-up high school girls, and the general unfairness of life. Which reminds me: I really ought to go see if he finished fixing that cape. It's just that I'm kind of paralyzed here in the wings. Fear will do that to a person. I would love to run crying to Kevin right now. If he weren't so mad at me. Boyfriends are supposed to be there for you in a crisis, right? Assuming he's still my boyfriend. I could definitely use some support right now, and I'm not going to get it from Hayley. If she stalks by one more time with that self-righteous look on her face . . . All right, so I should have told her! Excuse me for not wanting to brag about the most boneheaded thing I've ever done. Is it my fault Quentin has a big mouth? Well, maybe a little. But still. Oh, no! Principal Ito is dimming the lights. The show's about to begin. In My Own Defense . . . The first thing you ought to know is, I never set out to direct Hilltop High School's first Student Talent Showcase to Benefit Cancer Research. I'm not crazy--usually--and what normal person signs up for something like that? Besides me, I mean, because I swear I'm completely sane. At least, I was before all this started. Just forget about everything else for a minute--whose mental health wouldn't be touch-and-go after six solid weeks of up-close-and-personal time with Fourteen-Karat Carter? Oops--pretend I just said Sterling Carter. Ever since I vowed to stop hating the girl, I've been trying to break myself of calling her Fourteen-Karat, but that's no easy deal, believe me. The not-hating-her part, I mean. She's been obnoxious since the day we met, but ever since the winter formal, where she beat me out for Snow Queen and I stole Kevin Matthews from her, she's been a truly epic pain in the butt. It's a full-time job just trying not to stoop to her level. Because let's face it: I'm mostly nice, but I'm no saint. And even an angel would lose her wings if she had to spend any quality time with Sterling. The girl is heinous--sneaky, snarky, and a world-class soc. She's also a truly bad singer. Someone ought to at least clue her in on the singing. Someone other than me, I mean. Because even if I have gone crazy, I'm definitely not suicidal. Where's Simon CRoberts, Laura Peyton is the author of 'Queen B', published 2006 under ISBN 9780385731638 and ISBN 0385731639.