I Gotta Kill the Prom Queen

Ch, 5 - Surviving Satan

The first week was a killer. I didn't even have time to jot down updates in my diary. I woke up early. Like crack of dawn early and got myself semi perfect. Not perfect, of course, because only Tiffani is allowed to be perfect, but I was allowed to be a step under her and that was better than my usual sweat pants and a messy bun.

Tiffani's initiation was literally me being her 'beck and call' girl 24/7.  I did her homework, I supervised Marta eating Tiffani's meals (don't ask, I still have no concept of why this happens), I made out with Ronald because she was too tired to do it. (Probably from not eating, like ever - maybe Tiffani is the robot), and did anything and everything she asked me to without question and with a smile.

The robot minions multiplied to four. Well, five if you count me now which I totally do. I'd learned their names, and after a full week of being overloaded by Tiffani totally get the robot like qualities. They are flipping exhausted.

Tiffani wakes up at six. When she gets up we are expected to be there, helping Kiki get her ready. Oh!!! Kiki. You don't know Kiki?  Let's just say Kiki is a gift from the Gods of cosmetology.  Tiffani's dad gave her Kiki  for her sixteenth birthday (along with the car) but Kiki was the real gift here.

She's not from America but she speaks perfect English and is on call at all times whenever Tiffani needs her to make her look amazing. She does hair, makeup, massages, mani's, pedi's, the works. And you don't pay her! Her payment is living in a mansion, eating, and..... well, that's  her payment I guess.

At first I was  thinking I'd better call Aimes from Law and Order Special Victims Unit because Tiffani's dad bought her a person, and that's like over the limit. But after the first full body massage (a gift for surviving pledge week) I started thinking.  I mean, Kiki seems really happy. She's wearing designer clothes, she has a car, a boyfriend, and she smiles non stop. That doesn't seem like a victim to me.  But I did put a pin in it and I will ask her sometime if she's as happy as she seems. And if she came in a box. I mean, how do you give a person as a gift, that's the real question.

Week two I began to feel like a bit of a minion myself.  I was sleep deprived, I had lost ten pounds from being with Tiffani 14 hours a day without food and sometimes things in my mind swam in and out like a fog. But I was relatively happy. I knew my plans for the day every day and I got a certain satisfaction out of not having to make any decisions on my own anymore. And that's when Tiffani set the hook.

"Okay hookers, it's time to get the games rolling. This years competition is tough and we are really going to have to step it up. I was thinking of going with a theme. But here's the game. You don't get to know what the theme is. Let's see if you can figure it out."

The minion four clapped and I jumped on board. I had no idea what was happening but I've gotten pretty good at following the low key emotion of the crowd.

Tiffani hit the intercom switch and Marta grunted in reply.

"Bring in the presentation Marta. It's time to get the games rolling."

Marta replied with a slur of aggressive sounding Spanish and Tiffani smiled.

"Aria. Remember your place, and your pledge. You have sworn your reputation and your life to me. And now it's time to give back for all the goodness I've given you."

I didn't remember a life giving pledge but a week of being called maggot had taught me to just smile and nod my head. At this point Tiffani was a shoe in for presidency, or running a giant successful cult. She had the charisma and the techniques to clear your mind and numb your soul. And as many times as I'd seen her serial killer smile, I never actually believed she was evil.

Marta, coffee colored skin and round plump body struggled up the stairs with a giant whiteboard covered in paper. We stood at the top of the railing while Tiffani tapped her nails on in annoyance while yelling at her for taking her time.

"Oh My God Marta. Maybe we could replace you with a 97 year old catatonic person. I'm pretty sure we'd get more results. I'm cutting your sugar and carbs Marta. It won't make you any less of an idiot, but maybe those marshmallow arms will get some strength."

Marta, who was surely the inspiration for the maids of Family Guy and Will & Grace began chanting what I could only believe were Spanish death threats. She grunted and glared at Tiffani with the look of someone who was about go postal.

With her burst of adrenalin infused anger Marta made it up the stairs and we gathered in Tiffani's room waiting for the big reveal. Marta made the sign of the cross and with the stealth of an overweight doxen on fire took off out of the room.

Tiffani slowly took the paper off the board revealing a picture chart of 12 members of the homecoming court. Six girl and six guys with movie star smiles, underneath a picture of a throne.  At the bottom were pictures of ten headstones.

Her own picture was outlined with a big red heart, as was Ronald McDonalds.

"There's no way I won't be Queen this year. And you girls are going help seal the deal.  Each of these candidates have good statistical odds of making a run. We won't let them get to that point. We start with Tori."

Each of the girls on the floor looked at Tiffani like she crapped jewels. I stared at the board, and saw the look of determination in Tiffani's eyes. I had no idea what we were about to begin.  Maybe if I had I would have made a run for it.  Maybe with a little more sleep (and a sandwich) I could have processed exactly what was going on. But there's no excuse good enough, because I sat nodding like a bobble head as we planned a takeover that would make gorilla warfare seem like preschool games.

Tiffani flipped the board and an 8X10 picture of Tori was front and center. All around the picture were times and activities. Each moment of Tori's day lined up like an itinerary. 

"The theme this year is Urban Legends. I know, I said I wasn't going to tell you, but it's too amazing not to. It came to me in a dream. Granted, the dream was laced with vodka and Vicodin but it was a good one. Now, let's begin!"

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And that my friends, is where it began. You don't have to read on, I partook in the fruit of evil doings and I feel horrible about it. Well, mostly.  There were some
Good times too. But mostly, there was murder.  Is it becoming any clearer why I have to kill her?  No?  Keep reading.