Beauty Queens

  “The first one.”

  Adina sighed. “Nice. You might want to take the gum out of your mouth next time.”

  The sun was hot. It burned holes in the fog cover and wilted the girls’ spirits. Periodically, they scanned the horizon for signs of a ship or plane, but there was nothing but those same darkening clouds in the distance. Only Taylor seemed unbothered by the heat, the bugs, the fear.

  “Again!” she called from her perch on the rock as the girls marched forward one by one addressing an imaginary audience:

  “I’m from Ohio, birthplace of seven U.S. presidents, and I hope you elect me to be your next Miss Teen Dream!”

  “Hello from New Mexico, Land of Enchantment. We’re the forty-seventh state, but I want to be number one in your hearts tonight!”

  “Hi. I’m from Arkansas, the cantaloupe state. And tonight, I hope you will hold my melons close to your heart and vote me your Miss Teen Dream.”

  Adina cocked her head. “Umm …”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Miss Colorado?”

  “Oh. Sorry!” Nicole sprinted to the sandy runway and walked it carefully, making sure to wave to the crowd with her elbows against her sides as she’d been taught. That way you didn’t get jiggle. She took her place beside Adina, towering over her, all legs.

  “Hello. I am Nicole Ade from the heart of the Rockies, the great state of Colorado!” She beamed.

  Adina slapped a fly on her cheek. She missed the fly, but now her cheek stung. “Miss Colorado, how do you feel about being the only African-American girl in the pageant?”

  “What do you mean?” Nicole shifted on her legs like a flightless bird.

  “You’re the only black contestant out of fifty states.”

  “It’s … it’s an honor to represent the great state of Colorado.”

  “I didn’t even know they had black people in Colorado,” Tiara said. “You never see them in the ski brochures we get at church.”

  Adina kept her focus on Nicole. A journalist was relentless in her questioning. “You don’t think the pageant’s a little racist? I mean, in the whole history of the pageant, an African-American girl has only won once — Sherry Sparks.”

  Nicole knew about Sherry Sparks and the scandal. Everybody did. In the forty-year history of the Miss Teen Dream Pageant, she was the only African-American winner — until it was revealed that Sherry had once shoplifted an eye shadow from an Easy Rx store and she was drummed out in shame. It didn’t matter that in the years since then, two white contestants had been disqualified for sexy phone photos, or that last year’s winner, Miss Florida, had been forced to apologize when it was discovered that she had gotten drunk at a frat party and a video surfaced of her sloppily twirling batons in her underwear and bra. No, it was still Sherry Sparks they talked about.

  “Well, you know how they are,” Nicole had overheard a pageant mom say to a hairdresser backstage once, and the hairstylist had nodded knowingly, as if they were discussing rambunctious toddlers or shelter dogs, things hard to train.

  Nicole hated that she could never quite feel like she was just herself, just Nicole, but that she was somehow representing an entire race. That’s how they saw her, as a “they” and not a “she.” She knew how to deflect this question, and she did so now with a boxer’s dodging grace. “The amazing thing about Miss Teen Dream is that it’s all about girls coming together — different races, creeds, ethnicities,” she said, looking from girl to girl with a reassuring smile. “There is no race in Miss Teen Dream. You are only judged on the strength of your character.”

  “Absolutely,” Shanti chimed in quickly. “Just like I’m Indian, but nobody’s judging me on that.”

  “You’re Indian?” Miss Arkansas brightened. “Oh my gosh, I bought the cutest Indian beaded bag at a gift shop in the Best Western outside Sedona.”

  “I’m not that kind of Indian,” Shanti said, her practiced smile never leaving her face, though it faltered just a bit, and in that slight wobble was something hard and angry, something that looked like centuries of colonial oppression boiling up into an I’m-going-to-kick-your-ass-in-this-pageant-and-then-take-over-all-your-beauty-out-sourcing-needs hatred.

  “So you don’t think racism plays a role at all, Miss Colorado?” Adina prompted.

  “No,” Nicole continued. “Miss Teen Dream represents the melting pot of American girls. I mean, just four years ago, a Latino girl took first runner-up. Before that, Miss California was first runner-up, and she was half Japanese. And that Filipino girl made first runner-up, too.”

  “You know what they say — the first runner-up is important in case anything should happen to Miss Teen Dream,” Shanti called.

  Nicole cut a glance at the Indian girl trying to horn in on her show. “Exactly. First runner-up is important.”

  “Very important,” Shanti echoed.

  “I said that,” Nicole muttered. She chewed at her finger.

  “Thank you, Miss Colorado. Who’s next?”

  “Me!” Shanti strode forward with a dazzling smile. She locked her position like a gymnast after a dismount, never wavering. “Hello. I am Shanti Singh, Miss California, and as an Indian-American, I represent the rich immigrant tradition of this great country. Though I am as American as apple pie, I can also make popadam as my mother and grandmother taught me. Bollywood meets Hollywood,” she said, attempting a joke.

  Jennifer raised an eyebrow. “She’s using her multicultural grandma? Man, she’s good.”

  Shanti adopted her earnest face, the one she’d practiced in the bathroom mirror every day for weeks. “My parents immigrated to this country for a better way of life. I am so grateful to this country that allows me to be whatever I want to be, whether it’s a television anchorwoman, a contestant on America Sings!, or the future Miss Teen Dream. Thank you.”

  The girls sat in the sand, sapped of all energy. Two contestants had salvaged pieces of metal from the downed plane and were using them as tanning reflectors.

  Taylor jogged in place on the beach, punching the air in a series of dancey boxing moves. “Let’s go, go, go, ladies! Miss Michigan, you’re up! Miss New Hampshire, you’re doin’ great. I almost believe you’re Fabio himself.”

  “I almost believe you’re not a colossal jerk,” Adina muttered under her breath. She was hot and tired and thirsty. Her words were like gunshots. “Miss Michigan! Yo! Front and center!”

  “I don’t think Fabio would say, ‘Yo!’” one girl complained, and Adina had to resist the urge to strangle the girl with her own hair extensions.

  Miss Michigan, Jennifer Huberman, sauntered over. Unlike the others, she looked like she enjoyed the occasional cheeseburger. She had real curves and a pantherlike walk. “Yeah. Hi. Jennifer Huberman, Miss Michigan. Go, Blue! I’m from Flint, the smaller Motor City. Well, before they went bankrupt. Now, I’m from Repossessed City. Sorry. Little gallows humor there.”

  “Great. Swell. Why don’t you tell us about your platform?”

  Jennifer gave Adina a shove. “Yeah? Why don’t you tell me about your platform, Homeroom?”

  “Whoa. Chill.”

  “Why don’t you chill?”

  “What pageant did you enter, Miss Orange Jumpsuit? What’s with the hostility?”

  “Maybe I don’t like people asking so many questions.”

  “Okaaaay. That’s kind of an important part of the competition.”

  “It counts for forty percent of your overall,” Tiara said as she practiced a circle turn in place.

  Jennifer relaxed. “Sorry. I don’t mean to get all up in your face. I’m just not used to this beauty stuff.”

  “You aren’t?”

  “No. First time. My guidance counselor got me into it. Some new program they’re trying out for at-risk girls.” Jennifer rolled her eyes. “Like this isn’t a gang. Please. It’s the freakiest gang ever.”

  “Just curious: How did you manage to win Miss Michigan?”

  “I didn’t. I was second runner-up.
”

  “What happened to the winner?” Adina asked.

  “She tripped.”

  “And the first runner-up?”

  Miss Michigan cracked her knuckles. “She tripped, too.”

  Adina swallowed hard. “Right. So, Miss Michigan, can you tell us about your platform? Please. I mean, if you’re okay with that.”

  “Oh. Sure. My platform’s called Don’t Even Think About It. I go into schools and I say, ‘Whatever bad thing it is you’re thinking of doing, don’t even think about it. ’Cause I can see into your soul, and I will hide in your closet and come for you in the night, and the last sound you ever hear will be my sharp teeth popping through the flesh of my gums, ready to eat you.’ Their eyes get all big. It’s awesome. I love little kids, man. They’re the cutest.”

  “Next!” Adina practically shouted. “Tiara, Miss Mississippi, right?”

  Tiara stared. “Is that my question?”

  “It is a question. I just wanted to make sure I got your name right.”

  “Oh. Hi, y’all! I’m Tiara Destiny Swan from Jackson, Mississippi, which is spelled M-I-double-S-I … um … shoot.”

  Adina looked to Taylor to end this travesty, but Taylor was trying to keep the signal fire going. The ominous clouds had moved closer to the island, and a strong wind came up, blowing sand and promising rain. “Tiara …” Adina had lost all steam. “What’s your favorite color?”

  Tiara’s eyes darted left and right in fear and her smile was strained. “Um. Thank you, Fabio. I personally believe that we have a duty such as … as Americans … to help other people who are not Americans such as the peoples of the China and the Alaska and the freedoms we enjoy in our great nation and such and that is my opinion which I personally believe will make us a stronger nation. Thank you.”

  Adina squeezed her hands against her head. “What are you even saying? You just made my brain die a little. You know, people, just being beautiful isn’t enough.”

  Tiara looked confused. “But … it always has been.”

  Petra gave a sudden cry, startling the others. “There it is!” She barreled down the beach in the direction of the skull-shaped rock and its long tongue of a jetty.

  The cry went up. “Oh my God! Is it a ship? It must be a ship! Ship! Ship!”

  The girls stumbled over one another on their way after Petra.

  Nicole cupped her hand over her eyes. “Where? I don’t see anything but some nasty-looking clouds out there.”

  Petra waded into the chest-high water, fighting the heavy surf, and grabbed at a small, green leather satchel. “Oh, Holly Go-Overnightly — thank God you showed up!” Grinning, she held the luggage aloft. “My overnight case — I found it!”

  “Are you kidding me?” Shanti complained.

  The wind rose, blowing sand into the girls’ faces. The cloud army advanced. It began to rain hard, then harder. The strip of beach seemed to vanish within seconds, and the girls were calf-deep in the sea.

  Nicole pointed out at the horizon. “Um, does that ocean look kind of high to you?”

  “How can the ocean get high? It can’t inhale. I know a lot about it. My platform is called Don’t Do Drugs Because They Make You Dumb,” Brittani explained.

  “And I thought it was just inbreeding,” Petra quipped.

  Nicole began to back away from the beach. “Hey, y’all, I don’t like the looks of that wave out there.”

  The back of the sea curled up and fanned out, blocking the sky, threatening to bear down on the island.

  Taylor gave three short, attention-focusing claps. “Miss Teen Dreamers! This is your team captain speaking. It is time to get our Rumpelstiltskins in gear and run for higher ground. Ready? Okay!”

  Taylor tried to lead the way, but many of the girls ran scattershot for the forbidding jungle, scrambling over brambles, scraping their tender flesh against the prickly trunks of the palms. They were nearly up the first hill when the wave hit full force, upending girls like bowling pins, the fast-moving current carrying them down, out, under.

  Tiara, Shanti, and Nicole had managed to climb into the branches of an ornately limbed tree. Below them, Petra held tight to a low-lying branch with a precarious crack in it. The water tugged at her overnight case, bending the tree dangerously close to the raging waters and threatening to bring them all down.

  “You have to let go!” Shanti yelled.

  “I can’t!” Petra shouted. If she let go, her pageant dreams and her secret, more important dream would wash away with it.

  “Let it go!” Shanti tried to kick the case loose. The strain broke the tree’s limb, and the four girls plummeted into the water and were borne along by the fast-moving current. They bobbed up and down like a wet Whack-A-Mole game, their screams cut off only when they disappeared for a few seconds before fighting their way back to the surface. They barely even noticed the falls as they slipped over them.

  Jennifer had been the first one away from the beach. She broke right, running hard and fast toward the volcano and the mist-shrouded circle of mountains that bordered it. The water caught her like a giant Slip ’N Slide, spinning her through trees, making her dizzy.

  “Holy f —!” she managed before going under again, as if the water sensed that young ladies of such beauty and promise should never curse.

  “Move, move, move!” Taylor shouted to her crew as the angry sea chased them relentlessly. “Go higher, Teen Dreamers!”

  The girls clambered over the steep terrain. The growth was thick here, and the ground turned to mud as if by an alchemist’s touch, but they managed to reach the top of the mountain.

  Taylor addressed the soaking, exhausted survivors. “Ladybird Hope says a lady’s true colors come out in times of crisis. These circumstances are not as big as you are! We are bright, shining lights in the darkness, and nothing can extinguish the fierce light of a Miss Teen Dream’s true heart.”

  “That’s mixing your metaphors!” Adina spat out bits of mud and grass.

  “Don’t be a hater, Miss New Hampshire,” Taylor scolded.

  “I hate everything about this! It’s the beauty pageant from hell! I didn’t even want to be a Miss Teen Dream! Do you know why I’m here? I’m an investigative reporter for the New Castle Knights school paper. I embedded myself so I could expose the pageant from the inside.”

  “That explains the budget weave,” Miss Ohio said.

  Adina whipped around. “This is my own hair.”

  Miss Ohio put her hands up in a “whatever” gesture.

  “Why did you want to do that?” Mary Lou asked.

  “Because it’s wrong! It exploits women. We’re parading around in bathing suits and evening gowns, letting people judge us for the way we look. No wonder the world doesn’t take us seriously.”

  “What’s wrong with wanting to look pretty?” Brittani asked.

  Taylor’s face was as hard as the lava cliffs jutting up from the island green. “I am shocked, Miss New Hampshire. You are a real Judas. When we get back, I intend to make a full report to the pageant officials and have you replaced with your state’s first runner-up.”

  Adina threw her hands in the air and laughed bitterly. “Fine. You do that. IF we ever get back, Little Miss Perfect!”

  “For your information, I have not held the title of Little Miss Perfect since I was six. We will be rescued, Miss Teen Dreamers. I have absolute faith in that. And you, Miss New Hampshire, will be reported.”

  “Cripes, you guys. Let’s not fight. At least we’re safe here,” Mary Lou said.

  The muddy ground shook. Adina’s eyes widened. “Oh sh —” The earth beneath them gave way suddenly, and the girls were swept down the mountainside in a spiral of mud and sequins and screams.

  LIVE ON BARRY REX LIVE

  BARRY REX: Ladybird Hope, thank you for joining us tonight.

  LADYBIRD HOPE: You betcha, Barry. I just want to assure everybody out there in our great nation that we’re doing everything we can to make sure we bring these girls hom
e safe. You know, Barry, it just makes my heart kinda sick when I think of all the bad girls whose planes could have gone down. It’s such a tragedy that these sweet girls who follow the rules set down for women through the ages while also learning to walk in bathing suits and heels are the ones who are now missing. Some of those bathing suits are from my own Ladybird Hope, Pageant Princess swimwear line, which is America’s bestselling teen swimwear line, by the way.

  BARRY REX: The plane was a Corporation plane, which have been rumored to have navigation troubles. The Corporation has been accused of cutting costs on its airlines. Do you think that could have something to do with this? Does this reflect badly on The Corporation?

  LADYBIRD HOPE: I like your suit, Barry.

  BARRY REX: Can you answer the question, please?

  LADYBIRD HOPE: Barry, my opponents will stop at nothing to smear me just because I’m a straight talker who loves her country and her pageant. I can’t talk too much about it, but there’s evidence, Barry, that the plane was shot down by hostile forces. That this was a terrorist attack on this country’s best and brightest. The sort of scenario I warned about in my new book, Get Scared, America!

  BARRY REX: What are you saying, Ladybird?

  LADYBIRD HOPE: I’m saying that if I were president, this wouldn’t have happened. Not on my watch.

  BARRY REX: The call-board is lighting up like a Christmas tree over here!

  LADYBIRD HOPE: Well, it’s no coincidence that Christmas is Jesus’s holiday, Barry.

  BARRY REX: We’ll take your calls in a moment. But first, Ladybird, you’ve come under fire recently for your promotion of a pageant that some see as antiquated. That the system rewards girls for being pretty and it values compliance and conformity rather than the boldness and rule-breaking that we pride in our boys and which often help them feel entitled to success, to getting ahead in life.

  LADYBIRD HOPE: Well, frankly, that’s the sort of stuff I expect my critics to say, because they want to turn all women into sluts who can get an abortion at the drive-through while they’re off at college gettin’ indoctrinated with folk-singin’, patchouli-wearin’, hairy-armpit-advocatin’ feminism, which is just one step away from terrorism, and we should all be afraid of that.