Page 137 of Double Bucked

The floors are polished. Red and purple ribbons twist along the staircases. Even the chandelier that hangs from the second-floor gallery seems to shine brighter.

There are workers in uniforms shuffling around, moving furniture and setting up tables for the after-party tonight. Security men in dark suits linger in the shadows.

We never used to have security before.

The girls pull me upstairs, past the gallery, and into an open room. Light shines in from the wide windows, illuminating the rows of dresses, the dressing tables, and piles of decorations, including the traditional horse head masks, which look bizarre in a pile on their own.

Immediately, I’m attacked with nimble fingers and bobby pins.

This must be how a bride feels on her wedding day.

A team of professionals goes to work.

As the Belleflower Queen, it’s my job to sit there and look pretty. The Belleflower Princesses keep fetching me little treats—iced scones and small nibbles to keep me going.

For hours, they work on my hair, and face, and my dress. The whole room has that thick, pungent smell of hair spray, and someone mercifully opens the window. The curtains billow like ghosts in the light breeze.

I’m in a slip with Arris comes and checks in on me. “Well, well.” He puts his hand on my shoulder. “I think we have the prettiest Queen this year.”

I roll my eyes. “You say that every year.”

“I mean it this year.” He winds his arm around me. He holds a goblet rimmed with jewels.

I remember this from my time as a Belleflower Princess. The special “Belleflower Queen” cup. Remembering Jade slurring her words downstairs, I shake my head. “Oh, no, thank you.”

“It’s tradition,” he says. He nudges the makeup aside to set the goblet down on the table in front of me. Then he waits, expectantly.

Right. Can’t break with tradition.

I lift it in both hands and swallow from the goblet. The drink inside is cold and refreshing. There’s a gritty taste to it, like earth and sweet honey. I take another sip, trying to parse the flavors. “This is delicious,” I admit. “What is it?”

“Just something to keep you in good spirits.” He winks at me in the mirror.

Another pin in my head. My scalp feels so tight my eyes water.

“Come,” my torturer/hairdresser says, “let’s get you in your dress.”

They fit me into the dress. One of the Belleflower Princesses—the youngest, maybe thirteen—comes over to me with a big smile on her face. In her hands, she carries the Belleflower Queen crown.

It’s a beautiful vintage piece. A thin headband threaded with tiny fabric flowers, darkened with age. I crouch so the girls can fit it on my head, and then the stylist tucks it in, making small adjustments.

The crown is heavier than I thought it would be. Its teeth bite.

But then I catch sight of the youngest Promise Sister. Her eyes are bright and big.

“You’re beautiful,” she says. Her voice is soft with awe.

I straighten up and turn to look at myself in the full mirror.

And for a minute?—

I forget why I’m here.

I forget about Daddy’s murder. I forget about Oculus. I forget about every bad thing that’s ever happened in this town.

I look like a queen.

Lace drips down me, tiny floral patterns beading against my skin like rain down a pane of glass. The neckline plunges down my throat and back, revealing clavicle and the squareness of my shoulders. The sleeves billow out but hug snugly at my wrists. White, flat shoes peek out from underneath the lace.

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