Three months, seven days, and twelve hours. That’s how long I kept up the act. I always thought I was smarter than this, that I never needed to stoop to the level of some dumb, Disney channel character who pretends to be something they’re not.

Clearly, I was wrong.

Unfortunately, I’m currently knee deep in fountain water trying to scrape the bird poop out of my frizzed hair, so I learned the lesson a little late.

I don’t know where to even start with this story, so you’re just going to have to be patient with me here. I guess it started when Jason Seder asked me to the Spring Fling Formal our school was hosting. For the past couple months I had been flirting my way to the top, trying to act like one of the hot, brainless drill team girls him and his teammates were always drooling over. What I lacked in flexibility I made up for in ass kissing, and I did a lot of it.

What I failed to realize, was that if I was going to be THE Jason Seder’s date, I was going to have to run for the homecoming court along side him because apparently “Every king needs a queen babe,” was all I needed to hear before I went running to the SBO for an application. Unfortunately for me some of the drill team girls weren’t very happy about it. They’d been tanning, primping, and tidying themselves up for months to run for homecoming queen, and now they were going to lose it all to some unpopular wanna be who was only going to be nominated because I was the hottest guy in schools date. So they hatched a plan.

Now I’m here, wearing a cheap crown from Amazon with a ruined sash, dunked into a fountain covered in a bucket of bird poop. Don’t ask me how they got it, I really don’t know. All I have to say is seeing your homecoming date look at you in disgust as his goons point and laugh is really eye opening. Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to be his date, maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to take a picture with the girls at the fountain, and maybe I shouldn’t have worn such a tight fitting dress. All I know is I’m going to be the laughing stock of my school, and they are gonna pay.

...for my dress.