Page 51 of The Accidental Beauty Queen
“I can’t.” Gray will be there. Watching me.Judgingme. I’d never get through the first verse of whatever show tune Ginny has in mind. It’s always a show tune, isn’t it? Either that, or opera. Which isbeyondout of the question. “Let me rephrase. Iwon’t.”
I’m putting my foot down. I’d rather quit the pageant than sing.
“Then what do you propose?” she asks through gritted teeth.
Just as I’m about to revisit the idea of a dramatic reading, Buttercup lets out a timely snort. My gaze flits to the dog, and a crazy idea pops into my head.
So crazy that it just might work.
13
For the record, Ginny thinks I’m making a huge mistake. Shocker, I know.
She’s so against the idea of incorporating a live animal into my performance that she caved on the dramatic reading front. She practically begged me to do a Shakespearean monologue, but I refused.
That’s right—I finally stood up for myself. Although, I guess technically I stood up for Buttercup.
After learning she could sit and stay, I wondered what other tricks she might have in her repertoire. As it turned out, she knows quite a few. Don’t get me wrong—she’s no doggy Einstein or anything. But she knows how to sit, lie down, and shake.
After a few hours of practice, and a lot of treats, I’ve taught her how to give kisses on command. And I’ve also managed to get her to play dead, although that particular trick isn’t too reliable. She only does it about half the time, but I’m still incorporating it into our routine. Worst-case scenario, she gets up and I crack a joke or something.
Right, because now you’re a pageant queen, a stand-up comedian, anda dog trainer.
“I still think maybe you should do that thing fromMacbeth,” Ginny says as I slip a bedazzled Miss American Treasure tank top over Buttercup’s head.
She and Ginny wear the same size shirt. Let that sink in for a minute.
“Nope.” I shake my head. “Trust me. I’ve got this.”
Ginny sighs. For a minute, I consider letting her in on exactly what I’ve got planned. But I can’t. She’d never, ever go for it.
I, on the other hand, am brimming with confidence.
For once in my life.
“Can you get one of the other girls to record your performance? Even if it’s just from the wings. I really want to see it.” Ginny hands me her phone.
I tuck it into the bedazzled tote bag dangling from my elbow that holds treats for Buttercup and a few other things that my sister doesn’t need to know about.
“I’ll do my best.” Like the swimsuit competition, the talent preliminaries are conducted for a private audience consisting solely of the six judges.
But I’m sure the contestants waiting in the wings will be watching. If we go in alphabetical order again, I can probably get Torrie to tape it for me.
“Okay.” I slip the Miss Texas sash over my head. “I think we’re ready.”
“I’m so nervous I feel sick.” Ginny flops down onto the bed.
Welcome to my world.
“Wish us luck.” I slip into the nude platform stilettos and wobble toward the door. I lobbied hard for more practical attire, but Ginny wouldn’t budge.
I tell myself that’s fine. I can deal with the shoes. I’ve worn them so much in the past few days that my feet are already shredded to bits. What’s a half-dozen more Band-Aids?
Besides, things could be worse. I could be headed downstairs to sing the aria fromMadama Butterfly.
“Good luck.” Ginny sits up to issue more last-minute instructions. “Make sure you smile. And remember—you’re only allowed ninety seconds onstage, so don’t try to do too much. If you don’t wrap things up quickly enough, the emcee will cut you off mid-performance. You’ll definitely have points deducted from your score.”
I’m not worried about going over my allotted time. If anything, I’m concerned about how to stretch six or eight tricks into a full minute and a half. “Buttercup and I have been practicing all afternoon. You’ve been timing us. We’ll be fine.”
