Beauty Queens

Beauty Queens Page 33

“Your problem is not having any trust. You expect the world to fail you, so it does. And then you get all pouty-pants about it. How’s that workin’ out for you, New Hampshire?”

Adina’s cheeks reddened. “Well, you’re the one who wanted to practice that pageant crap instead of trying to find a way off this island! We should have been looking for food and shelter days ago, trying to build a boat — something other than practicing our goddamned canned responses to stupid questions about our life goals thought up by clueless adults who need their own life goals!”

Taylor pursed her lips. “Well, like Ladybird Hope says: There’s two ways to look at things — crowns and pimples. For instance, right now, I am coated in a sweater set of sand. I could complain about that nonstop — pimples. Or I could see this as an exciting exfoliation opportunity that will give me the smoothest skin of my life — crowns. And you owe me another twenty-five cents for taking our Lord’s name in vain.”

“You are truly Satan’s sequined spawn.”

Taylor held the pale, wriggling grub up to Adina’s face. “So what’s it going to be, New Hampshire?”

“Adina … Adina … Adina …” the girls chanted.

Taylor dropped the larva into Adina’s open palm.

“Adina … Adina … Adina …”

Adina felt the slimy wetness of the bug in her hand. Her stomach lurched. The chants of her name grew louder. It was like falling, waiting for untested hands to catch her.

“Oh God …” Adina whimpered. In one quick gulp, she downed the white larva, then fell to her hands and knees, gagging like a cat with a hairball. The girls backed away, giving her space. Finally, Adina staggered to her feet and wiped her mouth. For a moment under the hot sun, she thought she might faint. Or hurl. Or both.

“Adina?” Mary Lou whispered. “You okay?”

Adina gave a thumbs-up, and the girls grabbed her in a group hug. They cheered. For me, Adina thought. They were cheering her, and she was hit with a sense of pride and camaraderie she would have found cheesy back home.

“You’re so brave,” Mary Lou said, hugging her.

“How was it?” Brittani asked.

“Not totally awful. It kind of reminded me of French kissing Jake Weinstein and his spelunker tongue.”

Taylor appraised Adina coolly. “Let’s all give some snaps to New Hampshire.” Taylor clicked her fingers like castanets and the others followed till it sounded like Cinco de Mayo night at the senior home. “All right, Teen Dreamers — start digging for worms. It’s what’s for lunch.”

Tiara heard singing, and for a moment she thought she was in her room back home listening to Boyz Will B Boyz and waiting for her mom to wake her for her daily weigh-in. Instinctively, she tried to shove her secret snack cake wrappers under the imaginary mattress, only to feel a caterpillar crawling across her hand, startling her awake. Nicole and Shanti were still passed out, and she definitely heard singing. She walked in the direction of the song, following it till she found a small, bucolic waterfall that fed into a turquoise pond. On the bank lay Petra’s mud-caked clothes.

Petra stood in the pond, her lithe back to Tiara. She was as skinny as a boy or a supermodel, or a boy supermodel, and Tiara felt a pang of envy that Petra would never have to endure daily weigh-ins or go on juice fasts. She felt bad for spying, though. It wasn’t very nice. Should she make a noise? What if she scared Petra? She was trying to decide the best way to announce herself when Petra, still oblivious to Tiara’s presence, turned and rose from the water, and Tiara made the only sound she could. She screamed.

“Oh. My. God,” Nicole said.

“You’re a … you’re not even …” Shanti stammered. “You’re really J. T. Woodland? From Boyz Will B Boyz?”

Nicole raised an eyebrow. “Not anymore.”

“I had your poster in my room when I was ten!” Tiara blubbered. “I wrote to your fan club. You sent me a bandanna with your autograph.”

“I hated those bandannas. They were so cheesy.” Petra pulled her knees close and rested her chin on them.

“I think you’re missing the salient point here,” Shanti said. “Miss Teen Dream is a girls’ pageant. You are not a girl. Ergo, you are disqualified.”

“Who says I’m not a girl?”

“You have a wang-dang-doodle!” Tiara squeaked.

“Is that all that makes a guy a guy? What makes a girl a girl?”