Page 37 of The Accidental Beauty Queen
I need some space.
A cheeseburger party in yet another hotel room isn’t exactly an escape, but it’s as close as I’m going to get until the pageant is over. “I’ll stay for an hour or less, and then I’ll come right back. Deal?”
“Fine.” Ginny snaps a shower cap over her hair mask and leans closer to the mirror to inspect her face. The swelling has gone down quite a bit, but she’s still not even close to being back in beauty queen form. Her complexion is covered in red splotches and she looks weirdly out of proportion, almost like a Picasso painting. Her cheeks seem normal-size but her lips are still comically huge and one eye is bigger than the other.
It’s been nearly forty-eight hours since our visit to the urgent-care clinic. The doctor told her she’d be back to normal in three if she was lucky, and Ginny’s always been lucky. Her life is definitely charmed. We both thought she’d be ready to compete by tomorrow.
Neither of us mention that now, though. I’m sure Ginny is still holding on to hope, and I don’t want to upset her. Besides, maybe she’ll wake up tomorrow and miraculously look like herself again. God, I hope so. The talent preliminaries are tomorrow. I managed to survive the interviews and actually did okay in the swimsuit competition, but talent is another matter entirely.
“You can’t go like that, though.” Ginny spins around to aim a disgusted glance at my Hogwarts T-shirt and sweats. “No way.”
“Yes, I can. It’s casual. Torrie specifically said to wear sweatpants.” I gather my hair, plus the five pounds of extensions attached to it, into a messy bun.
Ginny pulls an alternate sweatshirt out of her closet and shoves it toward me. It’s pink. Because of course it is.
“Who’s Torrie, again?” she asks.
“Miss Tennessee. She seems really nice.” I snatch the sweatshirt from her hands and glare at it. “Is this really necessary? It’s a cheeseburger party.”
“I know, but you’re supposed to be me. And right now you look a little too much like...”
“Like myself?” I snap.
She blinks, and in an instant her expression changes from annoyed to hurt. “Well, that is the whole point of taking my place. Remember?”
Right. How could I forget? For days, I haven’t been allowed to wear my own clothes, use my own name, or in any way act like myself.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “I’ll wear the sweatshirt.”
I shut myself in the bathroom to pull it on, not so much for modesty reasons but because I feel like I might cry all of a sudden.
I felt so good after the swimsuit competition. As cheesy as it sounds, I was proud. But now I’m being reminded once again that I’m not actually good enough to be here. Taking Ginny’s place is supposed to be aprivilege, not just a favor.
Why should I miss being Charlotte?
“You might want to rethink the messy bun too,” Ginny says through the door.
I fling it open. “The bun stays.”
“It could damage your extensions,” she counters.
“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” I say hotly.
We’re bickering like we did when we were teenagers, but I don’t care. She’s getting on my last nerve.
I grab a room key and tuck it into the kangaroo pocket of Ginny’s pink sweatshirt. Have I mentioned the sweatshirt is cashmere? Who wearscashmeresweats?
Beauty queens, apparently. And as much as I hate to admit it, the sweatshirt is super comfy. Maybe even the softest thing I’ve ever worn, damn it.
Couldn’t she be wrong about something? Just once?
“I’ll be back in an hour or less,” I say, pausing by the door.
Ginny ignores me because it seems we’re fighting now, which is exactly what I was trying to avoid by escaping for a little while. Perfect.
I slip the Miss Texas sash over my head. Ginny watches me in the reflection of the mirror, but says nothing. I can tell watching me take her place is more painful than she realized it would be.
But it was her idea, not mine. I didn’t want any of this. I have nothing to feel guilty about.
