Page 17 of The Accidental Beauty Queen
It’s the picture of our mother taken the day she was crowned Miss American Treasure. Ginny’s brought it all the way here from Texas, and I hadn’t even noticed it until now.
I pick it up, studying the smile on my mother’s face. It’s pure elation. Pure joy. And for the first time in my life, I have the tiniest inkling of what it must have been like to feel like the prettiest girl in the room.
To feelseen.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible.
I take a deep breath. Could I do it? Could I walk across a stage and hold my head up high while a panel of judges scrutinize everything about me?
I’m not sure I can, but I think I have to try.
For Ginny.
And maybe, just a little bit, for myself.
“I’ll do it.”
5
“What did you just say?” Ginny’s eyes fly open, and she sits straight up in bed as if she’d been lying there just waiting for me to cave.
Oh my God,isthat what she’s been doing? Acting like she’s too sickly and pitiful to care about the pageant anymore so I’d feel sorry for her and give in?
What have I done?
Ugh, I played right into her hand. “Don’t make me say it again, or I might change my mind.”
“Too late.” She drags herself out of bed. She’s definitely still not herself, but the thought of the pageant at least gets her into a vertical position. “I heard you. We’re doing this.”
“We?” I lift a brow as she stifles a yawn. “I realize you’re running on adrenaline right now at the prospect of transforming me into... well...you, but you’re under the influence of massive amounts of Benadryl. Maybe I should try doing this on my own.”
“Please.” She gives me an exaggerated eye roll and weaves a little from side to side. “Like you could orchestrate your own makeover.”
I shrug. “How hard can it be? It’s makeup, not rocket science.”
Ginny shuffles past me, toward the coffeemaker. “That’s what Anne Hathaway thought inThe Devil Wears Pradauntil Meryl Streep ate her alive.”
Again with Anne Hathaway. Am I the only one who sees what she actually looks like? From now on, I’m watching every movie she ever makes in the theater instead of waiting for Netflix.
That’s a promise, Anne!
“Earth to Charlotte. You totally spaced out just now.” Ginny shoves a coffee filter into the machine, then turns to face me again. “You can’t zone out like that in your interview. You know that, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.” It’s not like I’ve never sat through a job interview before. I am, after all, employed.
At an actual job, mind you. I don’t sit around getting paid for posting photos on social media.
Now that I think about, I’m relieved that the prelims kick off with personal-interview day. Sitting across from a judge one-on-one sounds far easier than flouncing across a stage in platform stilettos and a sparkly dress.
Or, God forbid, a swimsuit.
“Oh no.” I think I might be sick to my stomach. How could I have forgotten about the bathing suit competition? “I’m going to have to wear abikini, aren’t I?”
“Not today.” Ginny shrugs.
Only someone like my sister, whose every pore is documented on Instagram, could be this casual about donning a bikini in public.
I try to just breathe and push the swimsuit portion of the pageant to the farthest corner of my mind. After all, Ginny could be better by then.
