By Thursday, it wasn’t even a debate anymore—my prom queen campaign had swallowed the school whole.
Flyers in lockers. Anonymous confessions about me posted on the school’s gossip page. Someone even started a Stan Arielle t****k account that went viral overnight.
And the best part?
I hadn’t asked for any of it.
The boys were pushing my name like I was a political candidate and they were my unhinged campaign managers.
“You ready for the big moment?” Jake asked at lunch, bouncing on his heels like a six-foot toddler.
“What big moment?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
Ryder smirked. “Don’t play dumb. You know what’s happening.”
“No, I actually—”
Suddenly, music blasted from the cafeteria speakers.
The crowd parted like a sea.
And all four boys—Jake, Jack, Ryker, and Ryder—were standing
