Page 36 of The Accidental Beauty Queen
I sigh inwardly. Of course I haven’t. I’m just a placeholder. I’m not even competing in this thing. Not for real.
But when it’s my turn to walk onstage, it certainly feels real. The dazzling set is real and so is the surge of adrenaline that hits my veins when the announcer calls my name and the warmth of the spotlight turns toward me.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.
I’m doing it. I’m walking the runway, and it’s not nearly as scary as I thought it would be. Every time a worrisome thought about my appearance enters my head, I think about Miss South Carolina. If she can do this, I can too.
Music is playing over the loudspeakers. It’s a song by someone named Zayn or Justin or Harry that I’ve heard the tween girls go crazy for at the karaoke booth at my school’s fall festival. The beat’s familiarity gives me a little boost and, miraculously, I realize I’m moving with what I think is known as swagger.
My head spins. I’m actually—dare I say it—enjoying myself. Almost. I’m still playing a part, only this time I’m the one cast as Miss Texas. Not my twin. Not Ginny.
Me.
I reach the middle of the runway, and I pause to stand with my hands on my hips and my head tilted just so, exactly like Ginny taught me to do. One by one, I look each judge in the eye. They’re seated in the same order as they were yesterday during the interviews, and each one of them smiles back at me.
Until I get to the end.
Him.
Again.
His gaze is impassive. Stoic. And it never wavers from my face, as if he’s dead set on ignoring the fact that I’m standing there in a bathing suit that could probably pass for a push-up bra and panties.
Look at me, damn it.
I do a little spin, then arch a brow. It’s a challenge, and we both know it. I’m daring him to look. It’s his job, after all. He’s here to judge me in all my bikini’d glory. He can’t just ignore me and refuse to venture a glance below my neck.
But that’s obviously his intention.
He’s getting me back for calling him creepy. Fine. Two can play at that game. If he wants to ignore me, I’ll ignore him right back.
I keep moving—past the judges’ table and all the way to the end of the runway, where I do the pose, turn, pose combination that Ginny made me practice for half an hour. I’m not completely sure I get it right, but close enough. I’m not sprinting offstage, and there’s not a jazz hand in sight.
On my way back toward the stage, I pass the judges’ table again and flash judges one through five each another grin. When my handsome, book-quoting nemesis comes into view, I pretend he’s wearing Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak. I look right through him.
When I’m back at the top of the stage and my ninety seconds are nearly up, I give one last hair toss and cast a demure glance over my shoulder. Then, and only then, do I catch my Slytherin friend watching me.
I do something I know I shouldn’t.
I wink at him.
He drops his gaze immediately, focusing on the binder spread open in front of him. Once again, he’s all business as he jots something down in his judge’s book, but I’m almost certain I spy a tiny hitch in the corner of his lips. The barest hint of a smile.
Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking.
10
Ginny isn’t crazy about the whole cheeseburger-party thing.
“I thought we could order some room service together and watch a movie. You know, Netflix and chill.” She frowns as she catches my gaze in the reflection of the bathroom mirror where she’s busy putting a deep-conditioning mask on her hair.
I know I’ve been out of the dating scene for a while, but I’m pretty sure Netflix and chill means something else. Still, I refrain from correcting her, lest it lead to another conversation about my relationship status.
“We will when I get back. I promise.” I flip open my suitcase and pull out my favorite sweatpants. “I won’t stay long, but I think I should at least make an appearance. Don’t you? Won’t it be weird if I keep staying holed up in here? Don’t you usually socialize with the other contestants?”
Ginny sighs. “I guess. I’m just getting a little bored. I think I’m stir-crazy from hiding in this room, you know?”
As a matter of fact, Idoknow. The Huntington Spa Resort is a nice place and all, but being trapped in here with my twin is beginning to feel like a bedazzled prison sentence. Every time I turn around, Ginny’s coming at me with a brush or an eyelash curler or lip liner. The sheets on my bed are stained from self-tanner, so it looks like I’ve been rolling around in Cheeto dust every night before hitting the hay. I barely recognize my own reflection in the mirror, and I can’t remember the last time I cracked a book.
