RACCOONS?!

#1

((Rebekah Hayes continued from I Just Want To Look Good For You and/or Guys and Dolls))

Rebekah quivered in her chair. Dani sat to the left of her, Chloé to the right. Someone was at the microphone, calling for quiet, telling everyone to please turn their attention to the stage, because it was time to announce the results.

Her heart was jackhammering against her ribs, and she felt lightheaded. This was going to be bad. This was going to be so, so bad.

She did what she always did in these situations, and thought about animals. Animals didn’t do homecoming, and they didn’t do elections. Queen bees were born queen bees, and they were never anything else. The same went for mole rat queens, and for queen ants. Nobody voted for them to be queen, it was just something that everybody else in the colony knew. Girls like Chloé and Dani were natural queens. They were beautiful, they were rich, and they had social status. Girls like them deserved to be on this stage, basking in the spotlights. They were made for nights like this.

Molly was different. Molly had a twin, and a large brood of siblings with whom she had to scrap for resources. In this way, and only this way, Molly was more like an elephant seal. The biggest and baddest elephant seal in a colony was called the Beachmaster, and he became the Beachmaster by beating every challenger to a pulp. And once he’d done that, he stayed Beachmaster because nobody wanted to die. Molly was competitive, attention-seeking; the sort of person who got to be queen by fighting for it.

There were three queens on this stage, and only one of them was going to win, and that was a problem. There was no such thing as mutual queendom in the animal kingdom. You never had two queen bees in a hive, or two Beachmasters on the shore. There was no such thing as a queen who didn’t get to be queen. Queen bees who weren’t recognized by the hive didn’t seethe with resentment and post rude speculations about the hive queen’s sexual activity on Twitter while eating a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. That was a uniquely human concept, a sociological failure on par with the atom bomb or complimentary vuvuzela distribution.

Then there was Rebekah. Rebekah was a human being. Human beings didn’t have queens naturally, they just saw what more developed species like ants and mole rats were doing and decided to join in. What came naturally to other species had to be affected in humans. Rebekah wasn’t rich like Dani, or sophisticated like Chloé, or magnetic like Molly. She was part of the cheerleading team and part of their social circle - but that was because she’d learned to ape the mannerisms, not because she inherently belonged there. Rebekah didn’t belong on their stage. She only nominally belonged in their genus.

A loud scattershot of applause dragged her back into the moment. Richard Buster, a natural Beachmaster who’d been born into the wrong species, acknowledged the adulation with quiet confidence. There was a satisfied grin lurking beneath his expression, like a fish stirring the surface of an algae-covered pond. It was like he’d never doubted the result for an instant.

The announcer took a breath, and Rebekah froze, preparing. If Chloé wins, look left and squeeze Dani’s hand for moral support. If Dani wins, look right and give Chloé one of those sad “shake it off, Champ” smiles. If Molly wins, look left and right, doing a sympathetic head bob to reassure both of them. And if you win… look up and wave to the flying pigs.

“We have a tie!” the announcer said, causing a murmur. Rebekah looked right and then left, giving encouraging “You got this!” nods to Chloé and Dani.

“Please cast a tiebreaker ballot for either Chloé Delacroix…”

Rebekah breathed a quiet sigh of relief. A tie was the best possible result. Now whoever lost would know that it was only by the thinnest of margins. There’d be a bit of jealousy and probably some passive aggression but no major schism. She probably wouldn’t even need the racc-

“...or Rebekah Hayes.”

The bottom dropped out of the world. Rebekah’s eyes snapped open, bulging out like a tarsier’s. She could feel, actually feel, all of the eyes on her. There were ripples of laugher throughout the room, mumbled things she couldn’t hear, but could sense the intentions behind. Her body went rigid, a prey animal remaining perfectly still to avoid detection in this room full of hungry social predators. She stared straight ahead, refusing to pay any heed to her peripheral vision, to see how Dani and Chloé were reacting to this. If she didn’t see them, if she didn’t move, didn’t react, then she could tell herself, for another few seconds, that they didn’t hate her.

Voting papers were distributed to those on stage, and those in the audience who wanted them. Rebekah stared at the blank paper, her face ashen. The marker trembled in her hand. She didn’t want this. She hadn’t… she’d actively campaigned against herself, and everything. She didn’t even vote for herself the first time… she’d voted for Chloé. She could… just do it again. She could just put Chloé’s name down, and then she’d be queen, and everything would be fine. She could crumple up her paper and eat it. She could tear the voting slip into confetti and shout some curse words. She could still lose this, if she wanted to.

”You could be Queen, you know.” Her mother’s words slithered through Rebekah’s ears and draped themselves around her cerebral cortex. Had she… had her mother really believed that, in the moment? Had she actually been proud of her daughter, just that once?

“Hand in your slips, please.”

Rebekah didn’t want to be Queen. She didn’t want to beat Chloé. She didn’t want a dime-store tiara or to dance in a cloud of cologne and hormones with Richard Buster, and she definitely didn’t want the big glaring spotlight at center stage. She only wanted to see her mother’s smile again, and to know that it was real.

So she put her own name down, scribbling it quickly before she could change her mind. She instantly regretted it, and moved to scratch it out, but the paper was plucked out of her hands.

They counted the votes, and counted them again, to make sure.

Rebekah’s brain went into overdrive. She sweated nervously - dogs sweat through the glands in their paws, contrary to popular belief - and the microphone let out a screech of feedback as the announcer pulled it inwards to make the announcement - screech owls aren’t named properly, they should actually be called whinny owls or trilling owls - and the results were in.

“Your Homecoming Queen is… Rebekah Hayes!”

Rebekah’s hands flew to her face, stifling a scream - a Siberian tiger’s roar can be heard two miles away. Everybody heard that, just now - and the tears came immediately - sea otters cry when they’re separated. You’re crying in public, everyone sees you crying - and she looked at Dani - peacocks are prone to jealousy and will attack when their territory is encroached upon - and she looked at Chloé - Cape Buffalo charge when surprised, and will gore unwary tourists. You’re dead to her - and she looked at Richard - many ungulates use musk to attract mating partners - and sea cucumbers spew out their guts as a defense mechanism. Your stomach’s turning and you’re going to throw up in front of all these people - and - you’re a flatfish, you’re the lowest, most repulsive bottom dweller - you’re a cuckoo bird and you’re an imposter and a parasite, you don’t belong here - 52 Blue is a whale that emits sounds at a pitch that no other whales can hear, and it’s the loneliest animal on earth and it’s going to die alone and no one will ever love it and no other whales will ever want it because it came out wrong - I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, and I didn’t mean it, I shouldn’t have done it, please don’t hate me, I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry.

She somehow made it to her feet, still sobbing, and they pressed the crown onto her head, and everybody was looking at her, looking at her tear-stained face, at her ruined makeup, all smudged on her cheeks and on her gloves, and they all saw her, and only after they’d all had a good look at her, the horrible backstabbing girl who’d stolen the crown from her friends and taken what she didn’t deserve, did she remember what she was supposed to happen now.

“NOW!” she blurted, as loudly as she could through the tears.

And the spotlight whipped away and focused on the doors to the gym storage room as they burst open. Out came two people, dressed in the raccoon costumes that she’d managed to rent at the last minute. The two boys she’d paid her entire allowance to started dancing, waving to the crowd, and clowning for all they were worth.