She wants to be Prom Queen. More than anything else, because it'll mean she's not a Lima Loser, because it'll mean that last year's nightmare, the pain of losing her child, the pain of losing the one man in her life she could actually love, would be over. She'd be Queen, uncontested, unarguably, and she could live her life, however mundane it might be, knowing for one shining moment she was Queen.
She wants him. Not because he's popular, or because he's hunky, or because he's the only one who can actually sing with her — although he is all that — but because when he's with her, she feels like she's on fire and ice and it hurts but it's the good hurt, like every nerve is electrified by his mere presence and she feels so stupidfor loving him so much, but she does. She doesn't care if she gets three slushies a day, so long as he's there to dry her off. She loves him, she wants to go to the stars with him, she wants him, wants him, wants him.
He hates it. Hates lying, hates pretending, hates acting like it doesn't hurt, because it does. Sure, people scatter down the halls when he passes by, a glance is enough to call most girls to him, but the one girl he wants … nothing. And he's tried it all. And he failed. So he gets it, now: she doesn't want him, and it's stupid to try. No one ever figured out why he went after the Big Woman on campus, and he's content to let them wonder, but the way she resists him makes him feel, for a second, like it's last year, and she is her.And that's all he really wants, now, isn't it?
All day, every day, she pretends like she's secure, when her whole world is falling apart. The ground upon which she walks could go flying out from under her at any second, and she's so scared. Not of falling … of being alone when she hits the ground. She's so used to being popular and pretty that it never occurred to her that there was something missing, and only when that was taken away did she get it. And it fucking sucks. She would trade her whole world in a minute just for the chance to see her smile, and to see her smile at him, tears her apart. Not just because he isn't her, but because he's actually a good guy who wants to make her smile. She hates it. She hates him. But mostly. she hates herself.
When he wakes up, when he walks down the halls, when he sings, when he tries to dance, when he's making out with her, all he can think of is her scent. Not the girl who is entwined in his arms, all pretty and sweet and abiding … for now. Her scent is too rich for him anyway. He likes her scent, the faint, flowery scent of someone who just likes the smell, instead of dabbing on a whole bottle because it's expensive and important to her image. Everything about her is image, everything about her is … real. When he was with her, everything felt a little brighter, a little crisper, the colours more vivid, the tastes more sweet. And he misses the brightness, but this is what he wanted, isn't it? He's taken the brightness out for the cheery fake smiles, and all he really wants is one smile from her.
Because we all pretend, safe and sound in our heads, that the ones we're with are the ones we want, and the day didn't go to bad. Life is a masquerade, and we've all become players Shakespeare could only dream about.