As we all are aware, Homecoming week is quickly approaching us in its red-clad, spirited glory. This week of festivities is a high school translation of Valentine’s Day, except taken a step further, because on Homecoming you can’t sulk in your solidarity unbothered, you have to wear the shame through the absence of a boasting mum harnessed to your chest.
Contrary to these feelings though, I, Jasmine McMasters, your Homecoming Ballot Queen, don’t have to stress about these minute details. Epitome of finesse and tack. I’ve been sweeping pageants and racking up boys since I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I routinely rotate the trophies which grace my oak wood mantle every week, as to keep dust from tarnishing their metallic surfaces. This week, my fireplace is featuring my ninth grade first place horseback riding plaque and a classic photograph of me shaking hands with JFK. The entirety of my life has been chronicled meticulously by my doting mother through a series of high end scrapbooks, so that one day when I am a mother, my children will know the legacy of which they are intended to fulfill.
Year after year, the grandiose following I have secured prevents me from qualifying for most high school competitions, but this year my popularity pool has increased to such an outstanding size that the administrators of Legacy High School can no longer deny my superbness in mind and body and have allowed me to be listed as a contender on the Homecoming ballot. When it comes to announcing court finalists though, I will cease to be surprised if once again my potential has been stunted through disqualification for simply being too good. As a supreme socialite there are indeed challenges I must face, but trumping boys, friends, and Mansfield in general ain’t one of ‘em.