Page 44 of The Accidental Beauty Queen
“Toe under, head on top. Toe under, head on top,” she chants, over and over and over again.
The end of the baton slams into my temple with a thud. “Ouch.”
“How do you even do that? The baton shouldn’t be anywhere near your head right now.” She takes hold of my wrist and pulls my arm out straight. “Try again. Toe under, head on top.”
My hand goes still and the baton stops moving, midair. “Why do you keep saying that? I don’t know what it means.”
Ginny takes the baton and points to the white rubber stopper-looking thing at the end. “This is the head. The other end is called the toe.”
Sounds simple enough. “How do you tell them apart?”
“The head is larger. Got it?”
I nod. But when I try the figure-eight move again, the head of the baton somehow ends up wedged in my armpit.
Twirling is so much harder than it looks. You have no idea.
“Okay, stop.” Ginny forces a smile. She’s trying to be nice to me, but her encouraging smile is starting to look a little strained around the edges. “I think we need to start with something easier.”
I hold the baton still. It no longer seems like a wand, more like an instrument of self-torture. “Good. The easier, the better.”
“Let’s try a salute. It’s super easy, but also important. Every baton routine begins with a salute to the judges.” She takes the baton from my hands, flips it around, and gives it back to me. “You’re holding it upside down again.”
“Sorry.” I grab it in the middle. So far, wrapping my fingers around the baton’s silver stick is the only thing I’ve managed to master.
Ginny flashes me a grin of encouragement. “Okay, now flip your wrist.”
I do as she says, and voilà—I don’t bonk myself in the head. Instead, I manage to whack Ginny in the nose.
She lets out a yelp and covers her face with her hands.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” I drop the baton like a hot potato, and it bounces a few times—head, toe, head, toe. My career as a twirler will never take off, but at least I learned something.
Ginny swishes past me, deftly moving around the baton without so much as stubbing her toe on it, and sinks onto the bed. “I can’t look. Tell me—am I bleeding?”
“No.” ThankGod. “But I think I should get you some ice, as a precautionary measure. You probably don’t want any more swelling.”
“You think?” She groans, then flops backward so she’s stretched out on the bed. “Today’s a disaster. Yesterday was a disaster, and the day before was, too. What did I do to deserve this?”
Unknowingly steal my fiancé, maybe?
I shake my head as if I can rattle the unwelcome thought right out of my mind. Ginny did nothing wrong. Adam was an unfaithful jerk. I’m lucky I found out just how awful he was before I walked down the aisle and made the biggest mistake of my life. I dodged a bullet.
End of story.
“Nothing.” My throat goes dry. “You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s just a bad week. Everyone has those occasionally.”
Ginny shoots me a wry glance.
“Maybe noteveryone.” Has Ginny ever had a bad day in her life? Not that I can recall. This week excluded, obviously. “It will get better. I promise.”
It can’t get much worse. That’s for sure.
“Sit tight. I’m going to get ice.” I grab the plastic ice bucket from the bathroom counter. “I’ll be right back.”
Buttercup follows me to the door. I’m not sure if she thinks she’s going for a walk, or if she just wants to stay glued to my side. I don’t know what’s going on with her, but suddenly she’s my biggest fan. She’s barely paid any attention to Ginny lately. The little bulldog even slept at the foot ofmybed, not my sister’s, which isn’t helping Ginny’s mood.
“Stay here,” I whisper to the dog. I hold up my hand in the universal signal for stop. “Do you hear me? Stay.”
