Page 75 of The Accidental Beauty Queen
Whether it happens or not, the damage is done. And in that moment, I know I will never kiss Gray Beckham again.
19
Isit, numb, as the contestants take the stage. They parade down the catwalk in a long, radiant row. And unlike the many, many pageants that Ginny has strong-armed me into watching during my lifetime, the faces of the girls competing for the crown are familiar to me.
I know these women. They lifted me up and encouraged me when I didn’t think I’d be able to stand on my high heels without tumbling to the ground, much less strut down the runway with any level of confidence whatsoever. They squeezed my hands and wished me luck before I went onstage. They fed me cheeseburgers and celebrated my win in the talent competition with genuine hugs and well-wishes. Lisa Ng even tried to help me when it looked like Buttercup was having some kind of seizure.
I went into this charade assuming pageant girls were self-obsessed ditzes, but they’re not. I’d fallen victim to a stereotype. These are accomplished, inspiring women—women who cheered for me when it would have been so easy to cut me down so they could get ahead. But they didn’t. Instead, they supported me, made sure I had my moment.
How did I repay them?
By lying to them and cheating, that’s how.
God, I hate myself. Is there a single person in this room I haven’t betrayed or disappointed in some way over the course of the past twenty-four hours? I squeeze my eyes closed. I know the answer to this question, and it makes me want to disappear.
For real this time.
I force my eyes back open so I can see Ginny. She’s gorgeous, as always. Resplendent really, in that daring red dress. I can’t help but wonder what she and Gray said to each other earlier in the hallway. Bile rises to the back of my throat with every possibility that flits through my mind.
I swallow it down as best I can.
“Are you okay?” my dad asks.
I nod. “Just peachy. Why do you ask?”
“Because you’ve got a death grip on my arm, sweetheart.” He drops his gaze to my fingers, wrapped tightly around the tweed sleeve covering his bicep.
I hadn’t realized I’d been touching my dad, much less acting as a human tourniquet. I bury my hands in my lap. “Sorry. I guess I’m nervous.” I give him a shaky smile. “For Ginny, obviously.”
Yes, for Ginny.
But also for me.
Where do we go from here? Do my sister and I go back home to Texas and pretend none of this madness ever happened? Impossible. Things have changed between us in ways I still don’t understand. Ginny will always be in my life. Obviously. But as I sit here in the dark, I can’t imagine what our new relationship will look like. Or maybe I can, and I’m just not sure I like what I see.
Once the group of beauty queens has paraded up and down the stage, they disappear again behind the velvet curtain. The emcee calls each state winner to the stage, one at a time—in alphabetical order, as per usual—where the girls are presented with the box of questions. Miss Alabama, first out of the gate, draws a question about arming teachers as a response to the recent rise in school shootings.
If it were me up there, I’d know exactly what to say. As a school librarian, I have strong feelings about the subject. I can’t see how adding more guns to the mix could possibly help matters, and I’m prepared to defend my opinion in a calm, rational manner.
But I’m no longer part of this pageant, so my opinion doesn’t matter. Why do I keep forgetting that? And why, as we move through the alphabet onstage, do I keep answering the questions in my head as if I’m preparing for my turn?
This is Ginny’s dream. Not yours.
Right. And when the emcee announces Miss Texas, I’m reminded why she’s the family beauty queen and I’m the librarian.
My sister glows. There’s no other way to describe it. Her skin is luminous, and her hair shimmers so much beneath the massive stage lamps that it looks as if she’s been dipped in starlight. She’s even somehow repaired the sash I cut in two. As for the dress, it’s a knockout. It looks even better from a distance than it did up close. It’s dramatic and theatrical—just the sort of thing a newly crowned Miss American Treasure would wear on her victory walk.
As gorgeous as she looks, it’s not her appearance that makes her look so regal. It’s her confidence.
Ginny carries herself like a queen.
It’s the one thing we don’t have in common. We’ve got the same DNA, the same family, and most of the same formative life experiences. We grew up in the same home and went to the same schools. When we look in the mirror, we see the same, identical face. But I’ve never had even a fraction of Ginny’s belief in herself.
It’s something I’m going to work on from here on out. Because Adam never could have broken my heart if I hadn’t let him. If only I’d believed in myself a little more, his obsession with Ginny wouldn’t have crushed me the way it had. Of course I would have been devastated. But maybe I wouldn’t have held on to the pain for so long. Maybe I wouldn’t have blamed my sister.
If only.
“Miss Texas, please select your question.” The emcee waits as Ginny chooses a folded square of paper from the acrylic box in the reigning Miss American Treasure’s arms.
