Dream On, Teenage Queen-Writer's Cramp

Simone sets her sights on victory. But realizes her individual talents alone won't win.

Dream On, Teenage Queen

          Simone Devereux didn't walk into the annual Spring Brain & Brawn Blitz -- she descended, like a celestial being gracing a peasant festival with her reluctant presence. Dressed in a custom athletic fit that somehow managed to scream "I don't need this to win" while simultaneously advertising her last three trophy wins, Simone surveyed the courtyard of Westbridge High with the disdain of a queen forced to inspect a pigsty.

          "Ugh," she said aloud to no one, because Simone only spoke aloud when she wanted an audience. "Is that Kevin in a headband? Seriously. What is this, a gym class, or a Hunger Games audition?"

          She adjusted her titanium-plated water bottle (monogrammed, of course) and stretched with an elegance that defied human anatomy. Around her, students sweated, strategized, and double-checked their shoelaces. Simone didn't double-check anything. She
knew. She'd aced every pop quiz since ninth grade, bench-pressed her ex-boyfriend (briefly), and once solved a Rubik's cube in 37 seconds while reciting Shakespearean sonnets. She didn't prepare -- she reigned.

          The Brain & Brawn Blitz was Westbridge High's most prestigious competition -- a grueling, three-hour endurance test of mental agility, physical stamina, and sheer willpower. Obstacle courses, riddles, balance beams, trivia relays, and a final puzzle that had broken lesser minds (and at least two sophomores).

          Simone had won it the past two years. In her mind, she'd already won this one, too.

          "Ladies and gentlemen," boomed Mr. Thompson, the overly enthusiastic gym teacher, "Welcome to the 14th Annual Brain & Brawn Blitz! Remember: it's not just about speed. It's about grit, wit, and... uh... perspiration!"

          Simone rolled her eyes so hard she nearly dislocated a retina.

          "Boring," she muttered. "Clearly written by someone who's never won anything."

          The starting horn blared.

          Simone bolted forward -- not in a sprint, but in a power glide, as if gravity owed her favors. She crushed the first mental challenge (a logical puzzle about three trains and a confused conductor) in 22 seconds, then sauntered past students still scribbling furiously.

          "Pathetic," she yawned, tossing her answer sheet like it was a receipt she didn't need to keep.

          Next came the agility course. Simone leapt over hurdles, scaled the rope wall, and flipped over the cargo net with the grace of a panther who'd attended finishing school. Halfway up the monkey bars, however, tragedy struck.

          A rogue bird -- a fat, smug-looking pigeon with what could only be described as intent -- dive-bombed directly over the bars. And released.

          Simone screamed -- a high-pitched, aristocratic shriek usually reserved for expired avocado toast.

          She slipped. Fell. Landed in a mud puddle that, statistically, should not have existed in a sterilized high school courtyard but somehow did.

          "MY LEGGINGS!" she wailed, scrabbling out of the sludge, now sporting what looked like a Jackson Pollock tribute to swamp life.

          Students gasped. A few pointed. Someone took a video. Simone glared.

          "Foul! This is clearly sabotage! I demand an inquiry!"

          Mr. Thompson, holding a clipboard and a bag of sunflower seeds, shrugged. "Bird poop is a natural obstacle, Simone. Nature doesn't bow to queens."

          Simone's eye twitched. Unbelievable.

          She dragged herself to the next station -- a memory challenge involving 30 obscure state capitals. Usually, child's play. But now her brain felt sludgy. Was it stress? Trauma? Mud toxicity? Whatever it was, she blanked on Delaware's capital.

          "Dover," whispered a soft voice beside her.

          Simone turned. It was Maya, a quiet sophomore who wore socks with cat faces and once won a national origami competition.

          "I know," Simone snapped. "I was pausing for dramatic effect."

          Maya blinked slowly. "Uh-huh."

          Simone scribbled the answer, but penalties for late submission had already been recorded. Her score plummeted.

          By the time she reached the final leg -- a maze of riddles leading to a hidden puzzle box -- Simone was in last place.

          She stormed through the puzzle maze, snapping at students who dared to stand in paths.

          "Move! I have dignity to reclaim!"

          She solved riddles with furious accuracy -- "What has keys but no locks?" -- A keyboard, obviously, who even -- but every victory was cold. No one cheered. No one cared.

          At the final puzzle, she a tangled knot of wires, mirrors, and a single glowing button -- she froze.

          Instructions flashed: Only those who accept help can press the button.

          Simone stared. Her fingers hovered over the wires.

          "Help?" she scoffed. "I don't do help. Help is for people who fail."

          She tried pulling a wire. Nothing.

          She tried logic. Nothing.

          She tried begging the puzzle box, quietly, under her breath. It remained unimpressed.

          Then Maya appeared, calmly walking up behind her.

          "Stuck?" Maya asked.

          "I'm contemplating," Simone corrected.

          Maya tilted her head. "The button only works if two people press it together. Symbolism or something. Mr. Thompson said it was 'a metaphor for collaboration.'"

          Simone blinked. "That's... that's stupid. What if someone has no friends?"

          Maya shrugged. "Then I guess they don't win."

          Simone looked at her -- really looked. Maya wasn't mocking her. She was just... there. Offering.

          The realization hit Simone like a poorly aimed dodgeball.

          She needed help.

          "Fine," she hissed. "But if we win, I get to make the victory speech."

          Maya smiled. "Sure. Let's collaborate."

          They pressed the button.

          Lights flashed. A siren blared. Confetti cannons erupted -- poorly timed, one misfired and hit Mr. Thompson in the face.

          The scoreboard updated.

          Maya and Simone: 1st place.

          Simone gasped. "We... we did it? I did it?"

          Maya patted her shoulder. "Team effort."

          Simone opened her mouth to argue -- then stopped.

          It had been a team effort.

          And oddly... not the worst thing ever.

          As the crowd cheered -- mostly for Maya, honestly -- Simone straightened her muddy, bird-bombed outfit.

          "Alright, peasants," she declared, stepping up to the microphone. "You may have witnessed a miracle today. Me... accepting help. But let's be clear -- I still would've won eventually."

          She paused.

          "Probably."

          And for the first time, Simone Devereux smiled -- not a smirk, not a sneer, but an actual, genuine, slightly confused smile.

          Maybe, just maybe, she's learning.

Word Count: 997
Prompt: Dream On, Teenage Queen