Claire (12 page)

“Jaws!”
Sari’s father tore through the mayhem and pulled the crustacean off Lida Rosen’s thigh. “Jaws, what are you doing here?” He hugged the crab, then his daughter, soothingly petting Jaws’s pincers. The sight of Joe made Jaws relax—and Sari cry.

“What were you thinking?” Joe set Jaws on his shoulder and fixed Sari with a stern glare.

She weep-rubbed her clawed back, her upper lip hidden by a wave of salty tears. “Pinching makes me answer quickly,” she hiccupped. “So I thought to myself, ‘How can I get pinched during the pageant,’ because that would have been super helpful. So then I thought about Jaws and decided to borrow him from the restaurant, thinking he would help me. . . .” She stopped and sobbed. “Oh, Daddy, I’ll never make it to the Dance round.” She buried herself in his white Hanes for Him T-shirt and bawled. Her father stroked her head with one hand and held Jaws at a safe distance with the other.

“Everyone please take your seats.” Lorna tapped loudly on the microphone. “The crustacean has been captured. Our Kisses will be back as soon as the blood dries and the scores are tallied.” She then marched over to Sari with a death-glare creased across her tan face. Claire’s stomach dropped at the same time the red velvet curtain did, shielding the contestants from the snickering audience and clicking cameras.

More than anything, Claire wanted to race backstage and check in with her friends. But she was forced to hang with the judges and discuss why a girl would
ever
think pinching herself in a Speed Question-and-Answer round was a rational idea.

Gulp.

TOHO SQUARE
HISTORIC DOWNTOWN KISSIMMEE

Saturday, August 15 1:02 P.M.

Twenty minutes later, Lorna retook the podium and addressed the wilting crowd. “The scores have been tabulated. The finalists chosen. And here are the five girls who were not injured
and
who scored a minimum of twenty-five out of thirty points in the first round!”

“Go Gracie!”

“Jillyyyyyy!”

“Kiss me, Caryn!”

The red velvet curtain lifted. Gracie, Sarah, Wendi, Amandy, Massie (and
Bean
!) stood in a semicircle, each wearing the costume suited to their world issue of choice.

They smiled graciously as the audience applauded their staying power.

Claire’s heart sank when she thought of Sari, who was probably backstage covered in Neosporin and claw marks, mourning her short-lived career on the beauty pageant circuit. But she took comfort in knowing that the eights she’d given SAM had advanced them to the next round. Her fairness plan was working beautifully.

When the clapping ceased, Lorna smiled, revealing a smear of Paradise Pink lipstick across her left eyetooth. “Gracie, please step up and share your issue with us.”

The graceful redhead, who was dressed in a nude-colored unitard, stepped forward. “My issue is obesity in America.” She lowered her head and waited for the music to cue.

Suddenly, the sound of crunching potato chips crackled from the speakers. Then came the slurping of soda. Soon, the slobbering, lip-smacking, finger-licking noises of someone gorging herself on greasy food fused into a rhythmic beat. Gracie pushed out her belly and puffed up her cheeks and proceeded to jazz-walk to stage left. During a particularly loud slurp, she stopped midstride in an exaggerated attempt to catch her breath.

Claire peered out at the audience—many of whom were clear junk-food eaters themselves—but most people were leaning forward and nodding thoughtfully, as if they, too, hated fast food with a fiery vengeance.

Onstage, Gracie busted out an energetic hip-hop sequence. After an ill-fated pop-lock, she stopped and held two fingers to her wrist to check her pulse. The eating sounds got louder and her bursts of energy got shorter, until finally she collapsed on the ground in a distended heap.

After three bows, several curtsies, and scattered applause, Gracie cleared the way for Sarah.

“My issue is the earthquake that scientists predict will hit California in the next thirty years.” She lifted two fistfuls of mud and smeared them all over her white Danskin tracksuit.

Well, shake it up baby now . . .

From the moment the Beatles’ “Twist and Shout” started playing, Sarah began thrashing. There was no slow build, like Claire had encouraged. No moment of tranquility
before
the disaster struck. She simply flailed from one side of the stage to the other like she had been pumped full of Red Bull and tossed into the nearest mosh pit to work off the excess energy.

Claire stress-bit her lower lip. How was she ever going to convince Mayor Reggie and Vonda that this performance was EW?

After several spastic rotations around the stage, Sarah fell to the ground and began convulsing.

The crowd gasped collectively and Claire struggled to contain the nerve-tremors in her stomach.

A familiar, concerned woman’s voice rose above the music. “I think she’s hurt!” Sarah’s mother stood up in the second row. “Medic!”

Seconds later, the same team that had rushed the stage to rescue the girls from Jaws arrived to rescue Sarah from herself.

“What are you doing?” she shouted just before they restrained her and stuck a stick in her mouth. “Uhm ine!” she tried, but they didn’t believe she was
fine
and hauled her off, kicking and screaming.

Lorna signaled to the soundman to cut the sound track, and “Twist and Shout” ended midlyric.

Claire shot Amandy a look of concern. But Amandy’s relieved smile suggested that she was anything but distraught over her competitor-slash-BFF’s sudden elimination.

Meanwhile, Mayor Reggie nodded at Wendi, urging her to take the stage and fill the awkward moment.

“My issue is terrorism.” Wendi stepped forward, dressed in a camouflage miniskirt, matching racerback tank, and three-inch platforms. Her long limbs had been slicked in bronzing oil, her eye makeup was smoky, and her hair had been teased to Pamela Anderson proportions.

“Does she want to fight terrorists or seduce them?” Vonda mumbled.

Claire and Reggie snickered.

With no music, just several grunts and hai-ahs, Wendi busted out a series of karate kicks that would only prove one thing to the enemy: that Wendi preferred thong underwear to full coverage.

Claire heard Todd whoop extra loudly before Judi covered his eyes and shushed him.

Amandy and her flattering new bangs were next. She managed to touch the crowd with her beautifully portrayed account of global warming. It was an EW performance—maybe even nineworthy.

Massie was the last to take center stage. Dressed in a formfitting white shift dress that had been patched together using several different PETA T-shirts, she stepped forward with grace and confidence. With the snap of a finger, Bean raced out from the wings and leapt into her arms. “My issue is makeup testing on animals,” Massie announced. Bean barked once.

“Awwwwwwww!”
The crowd aw-clapped their approval.

While Claire was just as charmed as the rest of the audience, a part of her was terrified, like she was careening down a hill on a bike with no brakes. The moment of choosing between her friends was rapidly approaching. Massie
had
to at least be on par with Amandy.

Massie snapped her fingers again, and Pink’s old hit, “Get the Party Started,” blared out of the loudspeakers.

Get this party started on a Saturday night

Everybody’s waiting for me to arrive

Massie “borrowed” a few modern dance moves from Alicia’s jazz routine (Gawd knew Alicia had performed it a billion times for the PC), pulling them off flawlessly while Bean scampered at her feet. After a minute, she stopped in front of an imaginary mirror and mimed putting on makeup.

As Massie applied invisible eye shadow, Bean suddenly froze and yelped in pain. When she brushed on blush, Bean collapsed. And with a final swipe of mascara, Bean rolled over and played dead.

“No!” the audience gasped.

A seven-year-old girl in a princess costume started sniffling, but Massie, still in character, acted totally oblivious to the animal carcass. She danced away from the crime scene like a giddy girl anxious to meet her friends for a night on the town.

The music stopped, and Bean lay on center stage, her legs stiff, poking straight up to the heavens. After a beat everyone applauded. A few wiped their eyes. Then they stood, giving the PETA performance the ovation it deserved.

Claire stood too, her teeth chattering with pride.

TOHO SQUARE
HISTORIC DOWNTOWN KISSIMMEE

Saturday, August 15 1:33 P.M.

After the judges’ scores from the issues segment had been tallied and the audience quieted once more, Lorna leaned into the microphone. “And now it’s time for Beauty, our third and final round. Our judges will be looking for the girls who best represent innocence, poise, and polish. Behold, the three remaining Kisses . . .”

As the curtain lifted, the audience let out an appreciative sigh. No one seemed surprised to see Amandy, Gracie, and Massie smiling graciously in their eveningwear—except for Claire, who nearly spit out her lemonade. For some reason, Amandy was wearing the tight black Geren Ford cocktail dress Massie had fallen in love with at Saks . . . and Massie was dressed in the dusty rose Theory three-tier gown Claire had picked out for her.

What was going on? Claire’s insides felt like a battlefield of emotions, each one fighting to be heard. Part of her was honored times ten that Massie had taken her advice. But the other part was horrified that Amandy had been manipulated into wearing an outfit that had Vonda and Reggie shifting uncomfortably in their seats. In Kissimmee, there was nothing EW about that dress.

Claire wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt. The best she could do was hope that Gracie would get tangled up in her Easter egg yellow tulle gown and crash into the string quartet. But no such luck. She walked the stage with giraffelike grace, her red curls bobbing like the steady beating heart of a pageant winner who knew she had a lifetime of sashes and tiaras ahead of her.

Stress seemed to add five degrees to the temperature. Claire hooked a Ked around the neck of the floor fan and scooted it closer, all the while taking soothing fire-breaths.

Amandy followed Gracie across the stage, walking to the beat of disapproving whispers. Her dark hair, long bangs, and black dress made her look like the kind of girl who kicked Miss Kiss winners around for cardio.

Claire toe-dragged the fan even closer, but suddenly it caught on the stage floor. The rotating head got knocked off its locked position and started shooting air directly at the stage . . . directly at Amandy. As she stopped on the edge for the required three seconds, a giant gust blew right into her face. In an instant, her bangs were lifted off her forehead, revealing giant scabs where her eyebrows used to be.

Gasp!

Amandy’s hands flew to her forehead.

“Alien!”

“Mommy, what’s wrong with her?!”

“Ehmagawsh!” Claire quickly leaned over and repositioned the fan. But it was too late. Several children screamed. Vonda choked on her lemonade, and Mayor Reggie turned away in horror.

“Thanks a lot!” Amandy shouted at Claire before speed-finishing her beauty walk. Claire’s intestines oscillated like the fan. Even though the disaster had been an accident, guilt had grabbed hold of her neck and started wringing.

While Massie dazzled the crowd with her relaxed confidence and pretty pink dress, Amandy tried to wipe away the black mascara that was dripping down her cheeks. The whole thing was totally EW.

And not in a good way.

TOHO SQUARE
HISTORIC DOWNTOWN KISSIMMEE

Saturday, August 15 2:37 P.M.

The audience milled around restlessly while the press interviewed the rejects. The only people still sitting were the three judges.

Lorna stood above their table, waving her red Lucite clipboard in front of her face to cool her slick forehead. “That was quite a round,” she whisper-snickered to the judges, then instantly regained her composure. “Now, if each of you would please write the name of the girl you feel best represents this year’s Miss Kiss, and drop it in here”—she shook an empty shoe box that had been covered in silver aluminum foil—“we can all get home to our air conditioners.”

“No more numbers?” Claire muttered.

“Nope. This is do or die,” Reggie explained, wringing out his head-tee.

Claire tapped a Sharpie against her front teeth and stared at the red velvet curtain. She’d only planned for EW. She had no strategy for “do or die.”

Massie was clearly better than Amandy. So was Gracie. But this had been Amandy’s dream since the day they met. Yet, if she voted for Amandy, Lorna would get suspicious. Between the dress, the scabs, and the sobs, it was impossible to justify her over the other two. . . .
Ugh!
How was she supposed to be
fair
about this?

With certainty, Mayor Reggie and Vonda dropped their crumpled pieces of paper in the silver shoe box. Then they slid it down the table to Claire.

“Tough call,” Claire tried. But they both looked at her like that was the furthest thing from the truth.

So in the heat of the moment, and in the name of fairness, Claire finally made her pick for Miss Kiss. She shut her eyes, gulped back some courage, then wrote GRACIE in thick black Sharpie letters and jammed it in the box.

Suddenly Claire’s phone vibrated.

Amandy: No you did nawt!

Claire whip-turned around and saw SAS hovering behind her, identical angry expressions on their sweaty faces. Her palms started to sweat. More than anything she wanted to explain how hard she had tried to help them. How badly she wanted them to win. How much she hated having to choose. But she was trapped at the judges’ table, under the scrutiny of Vonda, Reggie, and Lorna, forced to act like an impartial robot while her three FBFFs linked arms and Red Rovered off in anger.

“Thank you, judges. I will see you at the crowning!” Lorna smiled like she wasn’t crabby and damp and marched across the stage.

As Reggie and Vonda stood and said goodbye, a dry lump formed in the back of Claire’s throat that the lemonade couldn’t quench. With trembling hands and shortness of breath, Claire began texting.