Page 18 of Small Town Sash

"Already?" Jenesa pouted theatrically.

"Mom's rules," Hadley replied with a sigh. "During pageant time, I need to be in bed by 10."

"You are a grown woman, right?" Jenesa asked in confusion. "Aren't you in charge of your own curfew and bedtime?"

"You would think so," Hadley stated with a shrug, "but you can't fight the iron fist of pageant prep."

"Escape while you can," Avery teased, mock-serious.

"I'll see you tomorrow at practice, then?" Braden asked, concern lacing his casual tone.

"Sure will," Hadley promised, a grateful smile on her lips.

She navigated through the sea of dancers, the weight of Tina's words and her mother's expectations pressing down on her. Stepping outside, the cool night air wrapped around her like a reality check. She made her way home, each step a reluctant march toward the gilded cage she lived in.

The house was dark except for the kitchen light spilling into the foyer. Her mother stood silhouetted against the soft glow. Her stance was rigid, brow furrowed.

"Where have you been?" her mother demanded.

"Out with potential sponsors," Hadley replied, hoping it was enough to appease her mother.

"Sponsors, really? I heard you were out with a group of riffraff, including one of the judges," her mother's voice was sharp, accusatory.

"Mom, it's not what you think—" Hadley started, but her mother cut her off.

"I heard about your little spectacle at the Coffee Loft. Dancing with that trainee, the one that's a judge. You know that could cost you your spot in the pageant."

"No, Mom. Braden's just?—"

"Doesn't matter," her mother snapped. "Appearances, Hadley. It's all about appearances."

"Mom, I?—"

"Listen to me. You're so close to that crown. Don't throw it away over some boy you just met."

Hadley's protest died in her throat. She wanted to argue, to defend her innocence and her need for something real, but the set line of her mother's mouth told her it would be futile.

"Fine," Hadley muttered. "I'm going to bed."

"Think about what you've worked so hard for, Hadley," her mother called after her. "And what you're willing to risk for it."

Hadley climbed the stairs, the echo of her mother's words chasing her up to her room.

Hadley's hand paused on the banister, her heart sinking. The soft carpet under her feet muffled her steps as she retreated to the sanctuary of her room. She closed the door with a quiet click, leaning back against it.

"Risk," she whispered to the silence. The word felt foreign, a luxury she couldn't afford. Her eyes flickered to the rows of tiaras perched mockingly on a shelf above her vanity— shiny shackles meant to keep her the way her mother wanted her.

"Right," she scoffed, peeling off her clothes and slipping into an oversized T-shirt. "Because sparkly headgear equals life fulfillment."

The mirror caught her reflection, a tired girl with hollow victories. She poked at her curvy frame and frowned at the black hair tumbling over her shoulders. "More than pretty," she murmured. "More than this."

Her bed beckoned, a cocoon of blankets promising oblivion. She crawled in, pulling the covers high. Sleep, however, was a coy lover, evading her grasp. The ceiling stared back at her, unblinking.

"Mom could've been a general," Hadley mused. "Charge."

She imagined saying what churned inside her. 'Let me be happy.' But the words clung to her tongue, heavy with consequences. Dreams of tiaras clashed with dreams of freedom, a mountain of 'shoulds' and 'musts' dominating everything in her life.

"Braden would get it," she thought. A smile crept onto her lips, only to fade. Even he was tangled in this mess now—all because of a muffin and a dance.

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