Page 35 of Pageant

“Us?” Alejandra exclaims. “Do you have a death wish? I can’t believe the things you just said to those men. We thought you would be beaten to death for sure.”

There’s not a mark on any of the women, and I breathe a sigh of relief. After the performance I just gave in there, I hope I’m at the bottom of the rankings. If there are any punishments to be meted out for low scores, they’ll be mine.

I don’t like pain. I sweat at the thought of the dentist and even a bikini wax has me cringing, so being flogged, or punched, or tortured with knives will turn me into a screaming, sobbing mess. I only hope I’ll be able to draw strength from the knowledge that death will soon release me.

Overhead, I can hear Konstantin’s voice through a speaker. With one eye on Number Twelve through the glass as she stands trembling in front of the three Russian men, I sit down in an empty seat and whisper to the women around me, “What happened when you were all called into that room?”

They tell me about Konstantin’s bland questions, Elyah’s stony expression, Kirill’s boredom. No one can fathom what the point of the last few hours has been. Konstantin was impatient with many of the women, even yelling at some, but no one laid a finger on them except the guards who pushed them into the room and out of it again. It’s puzzling, but I start to breathe a little easier.

“Marija offered to sell us all out,” sneers the woman wearing Number Three, jerking her head at the platinum blonde in a blue bikini, silver heels, and a Number Six sash. She’s staring straight ahead with her arms folded and a sour expression on her face that tells me she’s been waiting for someone to tell tales about her.

“Fuck you, Nicoletta,” Number Six mutters, who I presume must be Marija.

Nicoletta recounts how Marija was all smiles for Konstantin and seemed to impress him, until she offered to reveal our secret conversations to our captors in exchange for better food and more comforts.

Olivia shakes her head, her expression furious. “How could you, Marija? The first opportunity you get, you turn on us?”

Number Nine, who I remember is called Klara, gives Marija a dirty look. “While we were crying and nearly wetting ourselves and just trying to survive, you were thinking about food.”

Nicoletta’s gaze fastens on my reddened throat. “That beast nearly killed you. What do you think of what Marija did?”

Everyone turns to look at me, their angry expressions telling me they’re eager to hear me denounce Marija. What she did doesn’t exactly endear her to me, but I’m not about to pass judgment, either. Who knows what we’ll all be forced to stoop to by the time this pageant is over?

“Marija was doing what she thought she had to do in order to survive. We all need to make it out of here alive, though I hope that we don’t have to trample on each other to earn our freedom.”

“I wasn’t going to tell those assholes anything important,” Marija says. “I just wanted another blanket. Bite me.”

The other women don’t seem like they believe her, but at least some of the heat has gone out of their expressions.

“Who’s the judges’ favorite so far?” I ask, hoping to change the subject.

“Marija,” says, Daiyu, Number Five, and they all nod in agreement.

“Or she was, until she offered to be Konstantin’s mole and Kirill laughed her out of the room,” Alejandra adds. “No one seemed to interest the men until you entered the room, Lilia.”

Number Seven, who I remember is called Madison, tosses her curly brown hair over her shoulder. “I’m so pissed off at this whole situation. I don’t deserve this. I have alife. Maybe I should try insulting Elyah or Kirill next time. No one did anything to stop Lilia from mouthing off. These men have no goddamn balls.”

She seems to be forgetting that Elyah nearly choked me unconscious. I grab her hand. “No! That’s suicide. If you start talking back, then you’ll be punished. Just try to fly under the radar while I draw the heat.”

Nicoletta leans forward and goggles at Madison. “Are you forgetting what happened to Valentina, the first Number Eleven? Listen to Lilia and keep your head down.”

The door opens and Number Twelve staggers through. Alejandra stands up to meet her, and Imani throws her arms around the other woman, who strokes her hair while she sobs.

“I know. I know, Imani. It’s over now.”

“It’s not over,” Imani cries as she wipes tears from her cheeks. “It’s only the beginning.”

A glum silence settles over us as we watch the next contestants. Number Thirteen, Shanae. Number Fourteen, Celeste. Number Fifteen, Deja. My stomach is in knots as each woman enters the judging room, wondering if this is going to be the moment when the gathering storm breaks and one of the women is beaten or killed for speaking out of turn. The two-way mirror and the speakers overhead give the impression that we’re watching a twisted reality TV show.

As Deja describes her career to Konstantin and I worry at my broken nail with my teeth, someone whispers, “I wonder what they’ll make us do for round two.”

That’s anyone’s guess. Konstantin wasn’t taking notes and he doesn’t seem to have a particular goal in mind for round one. I suppose he wants to throw each contestant into the competition and see who sinks and who swims. By being laid back and friendly with his smiles and saying things like, “I want to be entertained,” I sense he’s lulling us into a false sense of security that the competition won’t be too much of an ordeal.

I don’t believe that for a second. Every detail of this twisted competition has been scrupulously organized, and behind that smile is a man as cold and ruthless as a shark.

Whatever happens next, we’re going to suffer.

Deja is escorted from the judging room and pushed into ours, and though she seems shaken, she smiles when she sees us all gathered together.

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