Page 59 of The Accidental Beauty Queen
Dad and Susan don’t appear to notice any tension between the two of us, which should be a relief. But honestly, it’s kind of a blow. The real Charlotte—as inme—is usually far more supportive of Ginny. At least I like to think she is.
But when I try to remember the last time the sight of my sister wearing a tiara elicited any sort of praise from my lips, I come up empty and an uncomfortable shame settles over me.
I didn’t even come to Orlando to support her, did I? I’d planned on attending the finals, just like Dad and Susan. But the main reason I showed up was because I wanted a vacation.
Some holiday.
Nothing has gone as planned. Not one thing. Although I have to admit that this week has had its fair share of...moments.
As if on cue, my gaze flits to our new ice bucket.
“I guess all those twirling lessons paid off,” Susan says.
“She didn’t twirl,” Ginny says flatly.
“Really? Why not? You worked so hard.” Susan waits for an answer, and the room falls silent.
Oh, right. She’s talking to me. She thinks I’m the one who’s spent months practicing all that complicated head, toe, head, toe stuff. “I thought it might be nice to try something different. You know, more creative.”
My word choice is less than ideal.
Ginny takes immediate offense. “Really? I thought you changed plans because you kept dropping your baton earlier.”
“Charlotte.” Dad’s voice carries a hint of reprimand.
Ginny shrugs. “It’s true. Ask her.”
I sigh. Clearly we’renotadults. We’re being petty and childish, which is absurd. After all, we’re in this together.
“Charlotte’s right,” I say. “I’m pretty terrible at twirling. Thank goodness Buttercup was here to save the day.”
“You’re kidding.” My dad looks at Buttercup—fast asleep, snoring and grunting on my pillow—and laughs. “Forgive me, but I just can’t picture that dog doing much of anything.”
“She’s a good dog,” Ginny counters. “Abrilliantdog, in fact.”
Dad lifts a brow. “That’s high praise coming from someone who just met her a few days ago. When did you become such an animal lover?”
The question is directed at my sister, but I intervene, since technically we’re talking about me.
“Charlotte likes animals,” I say. I don’tdislike them, anyway.
“Since when?” Dad asks, sounding genuinely curious.
Ginny opens her mouth to respond, but again, I answer for her. “Since always. She just doesn’t dress them up in sweaters and bunny ears and plaster them all over her Instagram page.” I clear my throat. “You know, like I do.”
Ginny nods. “It’s super cute when you do that, though. Don’t you think so, Dad?”
Our father glances back and forth between the two ofus.
My stomach drops.Oh God. He knows.
I do my best to get the conversation back on track by launching into a detailed description of my talent routine. There’s another shaky moment when Susan points out that Charlotte is the big Harry Potter fan in the family, not Ginny. But when I give Charlotte credit for coming up with the theme for the routine, she seems convinced.
Susan smiles at Ginny. “It’s nice that you’re helping your sister with the pageant, Charlotte.”
If she only knew.
“I’ve been a big help. Huge,” Ginny says. “But it means a lot to Ginny. I know it does, even if she forgets to say it sometimes.”
