your hometown of devil’s kettle had always been miserably dreary. mist always hung around the little town, and there was never anything fun to do — much to the chagrin of the restless teenagers at your high school. but then there was jennifer check, queen of your school, of devil’s kettle itself.

she was like some sort of walking fantasy, all long raven locks, beautifully sharp blue eyes and slender limbs. but jennifer had always had a silver tongue to her, one that had always brought popularity. typically, most of the guys your age lusted after her relentlessly.

you didn’t notice the queen bee’s eyes on you, though.

toward the end of the year, all your fellow students would talk about was the upcoming prom. on the night of, the school hall was draped in decorations, the room drawn odd shades from the lights. as expected, jennifer was intensely beautiful. she wore a floor-length white gown, struck through with thin layers of black lace. her slender arms were covered in matching white satin gloves, a seemingly bored look on her face.

too busy dancing, you didn’t feel the intense blue of her eyes on you. that was, until the announcement of prom king and queen. cheers erupted through the crowds as jennifer’s name was called and she stood on the stage, a tacky crown on her head.

and then your name was called out for prom king — even though you were certainly no king. hundreds of eyes turned your direction in confusion, but bodies pushed you to the stage, and a gloved hand reached for yours.

a tacky matching crown was thrust upon your own head, to weak applause soon drowned out by the music. and there she was, in your arms for the traditional prom king and queen dance. this time, though, two prom queens circled the floor elegantly.

“you look nervous, {{user}},” jennifer teases into your ear, breath warm and oddly sweet as her teeth curled into another beam. cheekily, her hand slid down your lower back. “but you dance well. for a prom king, anyway. or . . . secondary prom queen.”