Page 2 of Passenger Princess

“First runner up is…” Regina, the pageant runner, says, holding a thick white envelope. Last year’s Miss Americana stands beside her with a broad smile, holding a near-comically large crown on a pillow for the first-place winner.

It should be noted here Regina Miller also hates my guts.

It wasn’t like with Anne, where she hated me from the very start. No, I think she thought I’d be a fun way to get press, the “normal” girl they could promote as a, See! Evenyoucould be Miss Americana!I was a novelty, a novice who was fun to watch but never going to win.

Until the public fell in love with me.

The largest chunk of points in the final top ten of the pageant is a public vote, accounting for just over one-third of your total score. The contestant with the most votes gets the full thirty-five points, second place gets twenty-five, and so on. When social media and news outlets found out about therefreshingly authentic(their words, not mine) contestant, people became interested in the pageant, which has been waning in popularity since the early 2000s. According to one article, the advertising costs for this final competition are on par with the fucking Super Bowl.

So, while Regina believes I’m making a mockery of the pageant and going against everything its decades of tradition stand for, I’ve also sparked interest in the dying industry, so she’s had to learn to play nice with me.

Begrudgingly.

Regina cracks the golden wax seal on the envelope with a widesmile, pulls out the expensive card stock, and gazes at the name on the paper.

And for a split second, I can see it.

The tiniest crack in her well-practiced pageant face reveals the truth: disappointment and irritation.

My stomach flips.

Then it’s gone nearly as quickly as it appeared, and she’s turning towards the main camera, smiling wide and saying, “Miss Utah!”

This time, I don’t have to fake the look on my face as it goes slack, my jaw near the floor.

Anne’s smile falls, and she clearly mouthswhat the fuck, but I can barely focus on that, instead filing it in a mental bank I’ll open later and watch when I need a good giggle.

Because if Utah got second place, that means…

“Making our winner of the Miss Americana pageant, Ava Bordeaux!”

The shaking of my hands held in Miss Utah’s isn’t part of the facade. Instead, it is unbearably real as reality crashes in: I’m about to go on the craziest adventure of my life. I’ll travel, explore, and meet so many amazing people, all because I took a chance on myself and wanted my best friends to succeed.

My body goes into autopilot as I bend at the knees a bit for someone—I can’t even focus long enough to know who—to slip on the bedazzled sash as last year’s Miss Americana secures the crown on my head and another assistant hands me a bouquet of flowers.

I try to remember what I’m supposed to do, how I’m supposed to act, and how not to let imposter syndrome creep up. I didn’t plan for this. In my hyperfixation-studying of the pageant, I never thought I’d actuallywinthis thing.

The panic creeps in because,what am I doing?How did I get here? How do I tell them they’ve made a colossal mistake, I can’t?—

But then my best friends in the very front row catch my eye, cheering like absolute psychos, Jules sobbing, and Harper jumping excitedly.

And I remember what I’ve been saying for the past three months: inspiring the followers I accidentally accumulated and using it as a platform to encourage women and girls to bet on themselves, take a chance on themselves, and do one thing that scares them every day.

Shoulders back, tits out, bitch.

You were born for great things.

TWO

AVA

After hours of interviews, a healthy amount of tears, and a quick outfit change, I’m at an exclusive club in Atlantic City celebrating my win with my favorite people and a shit ton of strangers, wearing the most gigantic crown ever. (I took off the sash because it’s a bit much, but Iearnedthis crown, and I won’t lie, it looksgoodon me.)

Thursday is my first official event as the reigning Miss Americana, and that’s when I have to start playing by their rules to be the perfect pageant queen version of myself while going on the trip of a lifetime.

But tonight? Tonight, we’re celebrating.

This means I’m a little past tipsy, my feet ache from dancing too much, and I’m feeling on top of the world.

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