Page 50 of The Accidental Beauty Queen
“What’s up?” I ask.
Truly, what could it possibly be? I can’t take any more surprises. My nerves are more frayed than Mrs. Bennet’s inPride and Prejudice.
Ginny sighs and presses a plastic bag of ice against the rapidly forming bruise on the bridge of her nose. We ordered the ice from room service. Thankfully, they didn’t rat me out.
“Come on, Charlotte. We both know what’s going on here.”
I swallow. “We do?”
Okay, maybe the room service people did tattle on meand tell her the hotel is, in fact, full of ice. It’s practically an igloo. Or worse, maybe she’s found out about Gray and me.
I feel sick. Buttercup seems to sense my panic and crawls into my lap.
What is up with this dog? Does she think Ginny and I have actually switched places?
“What’s going on is that you can’t twirl.” Ginny drops her ice pack and gestures toward her head. “As evidenced by my face.”
“In all fairness, I’m only responsible for your nose,” I retort.
I’msonot in the mood for her criticism. Can’t she see how hard I’ve been trying? Does she have any inkling at all how miserable this whole charade makes me?
Of course she doesn’t, and that’s my fault.
I wonder what would happen if she knew the truth about why Adam and I broke up. Would she have still asked me to take her place?
Probably.
Maybe.
Or maybe not.
I’ll never know, because it’s too late. I’m swimming in sequins, and I can’t back out. We’re in the home stretch. In a matter of days, the prelims will be over and the top twenty will be announced. I’ve got a shot at this. Or...she’sgot a shot.
Except she’s right. I can’t twirl, and the talent prelims start in just a few hours.
I take a deep breath. “What are we going to do?”
“You’re going to have to sing,” she says.
“No.” I shake my head. Hard. “No way.”
My sister is fully aware that I can’t carry a tune. Once, when we were in high school and Ginny was trying to rack up volunteer hours for yet another pageant and I needed service hours for my college applications, we went Christmas caroling together at a local nursing home. Midway through “O Holy Night,” the activity director asked me to lip-synch, I kid you not.
Ginny was given a solo, because of course she was.
I did the rest of my service hours at the Dallas Food Bank.
“Look, it’s not like any of these girls are Beyoncé or anything,” Ginny says.
Is she sure about that? Has she seen Jordan Collins, Miss American Treasure 2013? Because she and Queen Bey look more like identical twins than Ginny and I do.
“A handful of the contestants have actual talent, but most everyone is faking it. Trust me. You can do this.” Ginny smiles, but I can tell it’s forced. She doesn’t have any more confidence in my vocal abilities than I do.
She’s desperate. If I don’t show up and display some sort of talent, it’s over. For both of us.
But I can’t even bring myself to try karaoke at the school carnival. Two Halloweens ago, when the principal put me in charge of the karaoke booth, I traded places with the teacher who ran the cake walk. Because I knew the kids would try and goad me into singing something.
Also because cake.
