Page 30 of Passenger Princess

I stare at him for long moments, watching him drive with one hand and pet my kitten with the other, completely at peace, before I sit back with a smile.

After our next rest stop, where we successfully get Peach to use the litter box and eat before she falls asleep in Jaime’s lap again, I’m reading when he speaks. “If we play twenty questions, do I get any?”

I put down my book, confused, before looking at him. His gaze is fixed on the road, avoiding looking at me. “What?”

“The other day, you wanted to play twenty questions, and I shot you down. If we play now, do I get to ask any?”

I fight a smile, trying to act casually like he's a wild animal I'm afraid to scare off.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

“All right. Let’s do it.”

We filter through a few easy questions, where I learn he doesn't have a favorite color (shocker), and just like me, he didn't go to college after high school. I tell him about how, even when I was a kid, I couldn't pinpoint what I wanted to be when I grew up, waffling from an astronaut to a makeup artist to a marine biologist to an actress.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks eventually.

“Doing what?”

“The pageant. I get that you never did one before, but people don’t really stumble into this kind of thing. What made you try?”

“What, you didn’t look me up before we got on the road?” I ask with a smile.

“I’ve seen the press' version of why you got into this, but they all have an angle they’re working. I want to hearyourversion."

I like that.

I like that he wants to hear whatIhave to say on the topic rather than trusting journalists and whatever story best suits their readership, some making me a villain, others making me into some martyr out to change the industry, when really it's none of those.

“Well, I applied because I’m impulsive and I wanted to help my friends,” I start. “My best friends own businesses, and they were struggling. We were hanging out and venting, and I decided to find a way to promote them. I stumbled on an ad for the pageant, and….I don’t know. It kind of spiraled from there.”

My mind moves back to that night, lying on my bed and drinking wine while Harper and Jules complained about not knowing how to promote their businesses.

“I just…I just need one person to collaborate with to get my name out there. It seems like that’s the key these days. You need some social media clout, and then you're gold.” Harper sighs, flopping back onto the white lace duvet on my bed before rolling onto her belly and propping her chin in her hands. “And I’m just so…bad at it.”

She is. Not because she’s not the sweetest, kindest human on this planet, but because Harper has absolutely crippling social anxiety, making owning her own business where she needs to hype herself up a near impossibility.

“I get it,” Jules says with a sigh, swirling her glass filled with some sweet concoction meant to continue the buzz we’ve been stoking for hours. “The studio is doing okay, but I’m barely filling two classes a day.”

For as long as I've known Jules, she's wanted to use the small inheritance her grandmother left her to open a dance studio. Last year, she found the cutest location and jumped on it. She teaches kidslessons and runs adult fitness classes, but it isn’t growing the way she hoped it would.

I sigh, hating to watch my friends struggle.

“You guys need some kind of…in,” I say, scrolling on a social media app mindlessly. “A celebrity or some influencer. Someone in the area you can do posts with and tag all the time.”

“Yeah, I’ll just go into my phone now and call one right up,” Jules says sarcastically, and I roll my eyes.

“I know it’s easier said than done, but I just meant one person could be the answer for the both of you.” My mind keeps moving, trying to put pieces that are just out of reach together. Tapping on the search bar, I type in a few keywords—New Jersey dance influencer—and press go before scrolling. A few of the names and faces look familiar from one of the many reality shows they tried to make in the state.

“What about the C-listers that post incessantly? Like local celebrities?” I ask, an idea starting to form in my mind. We could easily get a list together and send out some feelers for collaborations. I’d even be happy to do it for Harper and Jules, since they either don’t have the time or energy to do it themselves.

“What about them?” Harper asks, confusion written on her face.

“If you could design some pieces for one to wear to events or something, it would be a perfect fit. They’d be tagging you for wearing your dresses. Since their fan base is usually hyperlocal, meaning if one of them has a birthday or a wedding or just a special occasion, they’d have your name in their mind for who to hire.” I turn to Jules. “And you, you could mention so and so trains at your studio or are taking classes there. Angle it as a trendy new way to work out, which is what you’re going for anyway, right?”

If I was interesting at all, I’d put all of my energy into being an influencer myself just so I could promote my friends’ businesses, but no one really finds much interest in a bartender with little to no real social life.

And then I see it.

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