The Pretty App (18 page)

“Our next contestant hails from South Bend, Indiana,” Pia said. “Blake Dawkins is the daughter of gubernatorial candidate Robert Dawkins.”

The way they announced my dad again made my blood boil. It was like I couldn’t do anything important—get into Notre Dame, make it into this contest—without his help.

Marsha’s hand felt freezing on my shoulder. “Do I go?” I asked her.

“Shhh!” she hissed in my face.

She listened to something on her headset and nodded, but I couldn’t tell if the nod was meant for me, so I just stood there until she screamed “Go!” so close to my ear it started ringing in protest.

Then she held open the curtain and I stepped into the spotlight.

T
he theater was packed with thousands of people cheering and shouting and holding up signs and cell phones. Hundreds of squares of bluish light floated in the dark auditorium. I concentrated on the red carpet beneath my feet and heard Marsha’s voice . . .
Not even an idiot could mess this up!

A memory came over me so quickly I could hardly keep my footing: I saw my father rip open my report card in ninth grade . . . I saw the way he looked at me like he was disgusted . . . and then I heard his cold voice say,
What kind of idiot gets a D in Earth Science?

My legs weakened as the memory grew stronger. They felt weighted down by a force, like the carpet was quicksand beneath me. I slowed my steps, terrified. I had to stop or I was going to fall. I could feel it: I was going to collapse in front of everyone.

I froze. A sea of faces stared at me. Thousands of them. I couldn’t make out details with the spotlight in my eyes—only the shapes of the bodies and faces and the stillness that came over them as they sensed my fear.

My breathing became fast and shallow. I was about to hunch over and put my head between my knees when I saw them: the cameras.

Big. Black. Insect-like.

Familiar.

I couldn’t explain it—I still can’t. Nothing about it made sense, but it was like I trusted them to show the person I wanted to be:
Confident. Smart. Maybe even kind
. It was like all I had to do was perform for them, no one else. It was like I was the most alive I’d ever been while in front of them.

It was like I was born to be on camera.

Blood filled my legs again. My breathing slowed. Even the stilettos felt sturdy.

I started moving. Cheers from the audience pushed me forward like a hand on my skin, a singular, beloved voice, beckoning.

I was back.

“Blake!”

“Blake Dawkins!”

“We love you!”

“You go, girl!”

The cheering got louder as I made my way down the red carpet past Pia and stood to the left of Delores. The cameras followed my every move, and I smiled into the one
angled up at me from the base of the stage in the orchestra pit. I put my right hand on my hip just like Delores had done. And Delores was still grinning like it was her turn, so I decided to do that, too.

Just stand still and smile, Blake.

Breathe.

Smile.

Breathe.

My legs still felt a little unsteady, but mostly okay. Delores and I stood a few inches apart, like Rockettes, and I felt the ridiculous urge to grab her waist and kick my leg.

Music played behind me. I turned to see my image projected high above the stage on a massive screen. Mascara streaked beneath my lashes. The video started playing, and tears welled in my eyes on the screen. It was the footage they’d taken of me in the woods when I’d bolted from the mansion. My voice echoed through the theater
: “I know this is a pageant to be a Citizen Ambassador and a spokesperson for my generation.
And I really want that. And maybe I don’t deserve it, because I haven’t always been a good person. But I’m trying harder now. And I thought that being an ambassador would be a chance to set a good example. So I guess when I was sitting in that room with all of those beautiful girls, I realized that I was the odd one out, and that meant winning this contest was further away than ever.”

The screen went dark. I snapped my head around to face the audience. I was a little embarrassed about how emotional I’d gotten, but that faded when the audience erupted with applause. Some of them actually stood up. I grinned
as I watched them, struck by the reality that I might not ever get to do anything like this again. There I was, standing on a breathtakingly beautiful stage, staring out over thousands of people and being broadcast to millions more. How had this happened?

My father.

The answer entered my mind like a slap. What if there was truth to what Audrey had said? Was there any way my dad had seen all of this in his mind and thought about how much I’d love it? He was the one who’d said being a TV person was insubstantial, but he was the one who’d made this happen. Was this all about him and our family’s image, or was part of this his way of giving me a chance at the one thing I might actually be good at doing?

I smiled at the audience and said a quiet thank-you, and then Pia’s voice interrupted the cheering. “Our next contestant is from Duluth, Minnesota. Mura O’Neil is a junior at Saint Agnes High School and an accomplished singer-songwriter. She enjoys long walks on the beach and helping other teens achieve their full potential.”

Mura emerged from the wings wearing a skintight white dress. She paraded down the carpet like this was what she did every Friday night. Mura’s video consisted of her bringing down the house with an improvised version of “You’re Gonna Love Me” on
American Idol
, and then being rejected and throwing her microphone into a plant.

After Mura came Sabrina, prancing as confidently as a Golden Globe winner en route to accept her award. Cindy appeared next, looking nervous as she stood next
to Sabrina. Maddie sauntered across the stage after Cindy, followed by Betsy, Casey, Delia, Jessica, and Charisse. Amy was announced last. She strode down the carpet looking a little scared, but mostly adorable, and it struck me that she was the most beautiful one of us all. I couldn’t really differentiate the most beautiful at first among the eleven of them, but the more I got to know Amy, I was sure it was her.

Pia strode to the center of the stage. She wore an emerald-green evening gown that draped over her slender frame in billowy waves. The red soles on her pyramid-studded shoes gave them away as Christian Louboutin, and her fifty-six-carat diamond necklace had been donated by Neil Lane (they’d shown footage of Pia visiting his store earlier and Neil picking it out especially for her; now a bodyguard stood in the wings of the stage to watch the necklace. Apparently the diamonds had to be in his sight the entire time, unless Pia was peeing).

“And now it’s time to reveal our esteemed panel of judges,” Pia said.

I squinted into the darkness. I hadn’t seen any judges. I wondered if they were going to walk down the carpet like we had.

“Our first judge needs no introduction,” Pia said into her white microphone. “His concerts sell out theaters across America, and he is beloved by millions of fans. Please welcome Danny Beaton!”

A spotlight beamed down from the ceiling and illuminated Danny Beaton sitting in a plush velvet chair at a
chrome table ten yards away from the stage. The glow from his spotlight made it clear that another judge sat next to him, but it was impossible to see who it was.

The crowd shrieked as Danny waved. He ran a hand through his fauxhawk and flashed a grin for the camera.

“And now, for the judges you
didn’t
know about,” Pia said, a sly smile creeping over her face. “Public Corporation and SBC Network decided that a teen contest must be presided over by teen judges. So they combed the nation for the best and brightest teenagers! We have talent: a pop singer and a Hollywood star. We have wealth: a teen entrepreneur estimated by Forbes to be worth eight hundred million dollars. We have smarts: a genius with the highest teen IQ ever recorded. And we have looks: an internationally recognized swimsuit model who’s graced the covers of major magazines. Without further ado, let’s meet our judges!”

The crowd went wild again. I couldn’t wait to see who the movie star was. If only Ryan Gosling were still a teenager . . .

“At the age of eighteen, our next judge is already a two-time Golden Globe nominee and the star of the upcoming film
Spiderman Takes Back the Night.
Please welcome Bradley Searing Jones!”

A spotlight shined down and I couldn’t help but scream along with the audience. Bradley Searing Jones was even hotter in person. (Shorter, too, but still hot.) Jolene was obsessed with him, and I smiled when I thought about her and Joanna clapping and cheering back home. I felt
homesick just thinking about it. Maybe I could get Bradley’s autograph for Jolene—she’d freak.

When the crowd quieted, Pia said, “Our next judge invented QuickieClips, the undergarment lifesaver that revolutionized how we all wear our bras. After being featured on ‘Oprah’s Favorite Things,’ she sold her company to Target for forty-seven million dollars.
Forbes
has named her the richest self-made teenager in the world. Please welcome Shilpa Singh.”

The spotlight illuminated a tiny girl with black, blunt-cut bangs and red-framed glasses. She wore an off-the-shoulder 1980s concert T-shirt. Billy Joel’s face stared at me from the shirt as he banged away at the piano. “Thanks, Pia! Thanks, America!” Shilpa shouted into the microphone. And then she waved frantically at the cameraman crouched in front of the table.

My gaze went back to Pia. I wanted to watch how she did this—how she sensed when the audience was ready for her to move on, when it was time to quiet everyone down so she could say her next line. The perma-smile on her face made me wonder if TV hosts needed to do special facial exercises.

Pia put a hand up and said, “Get ready for our next judge! At age sixteen, she became the youngest model to ever appear on the cover of
Glamour
. Two years later, she’s made a career modeling for magazines like
Sports Illustrated
and
Maxim
. Please welcome Carolina Samuels!”

The light fell on gorgeous, blond, six-foot-tall Carolina Samuels. She wore a sky-blue sequined top that plunged
between her boobs, which were entirely fake. Triangular gold earrings the size of Doritos dangled from her ears. She had a sideways, tricky smile, the kind that makes people think
be careful,
and then makes them forget they ever thought it.

“Hi, Pia!” Carolina said. She waved, and I saw her nails were painted red, white, and blue.

Pia smiled back like she was a grandmother and the judges were her brats at a playground. The audience went on clapping until Pia signaled she’d had enough. “And now, for our fifth and final judge, I’d like to introduce you to a bona fide boy genius with the highest IQ score ever achieved by a teenager. He was instrumental in the creation of the Public Party network after being recruited by Public Corporation at the age of fifteen for his unparalleled tech skills! Please give a warm welcome to Leo Bauer!”

No.

She couldn’t have just said—

No way.

The light landed on Leo and my stomach fell someplace far and deep. My mind tried to make sense of Pia’s words and Leo’s face but I couldn’t—it was like seeing him through a kaleidoscope, disjointed and blurred. Something had to be wrong with me. I was hallucinating. The pressure had cracked me.

He was looking at me. Leo was looking at me. His gorgeous face was tilted sideways and he was studying me, his eyes asking if I was okay.

I am not okay.

The muscles in my legs went soft. My body felt like a ball of yarn unraveling and I wondered if I was going to fall.

He’s real. This is happening.

Leo turned to Pia and smiled. Some people might have thought he looked nervous, but Leo wasn’t the type to get nervous, not even for something like this. Even after just one date I knew him well enough to know what I saw written on his face: guilt. It snapped me back into the moment. Leo was here. Leo was a judge. Leo worked for Public.

I couldn’t let myself pass out and I couldn’t run away again, no matter how much I wanted to. I couldn’t let Leo and his lies derail this night—there was too much at stake. I scanned for a camera and found one, focusing on the square lens and the red light on the black plastic. I smiled as Leo said something about it being an honor to be here.

Ignore him. Pretend he’s not even there.

I went on smiling into the camera like my lungs weren’t on fire with every breath, like my heart wasn’t being torn into pieces. How could he do this to me? How could he play me like this? Was that the whole point—was that why he was at Harrison? To get close to me? To somehow trick me into competing in this contest?
Why?
It didn’t make sense: I didn’t need any extra push to come here. I would’ve competed with or without Leo’s encouragement.

My mind raced. How could I have been fooled so easily? First by my father, now by Leo. How dumb could I be?

Stupid, stupid, stupid me.

The words echoed like a nursery rhyme. How was it that I could be so on edge, so fearful all the time, and yet miss the biggest betrayals?

What kind of idiot . . .

My father’s voice was back. I shook my head to try to clear it. Danny Beaton was saying something, but I couldn’t pay attention. And then Delores was talking to Danny Beaton and the judges. But the words sounded like they were coming from the far end of a hallway. I couldn’t focus. All I could hear were my dad’s words again . . .

“
Blake
?”

I heard my name, but blood was swirling so fast in my ears it was hard to tell if I heard my father’s voice or some other deep, cold, male voice.

“Blake Dawkins?”

Silence.

Pia cleared her throat.

“Do you need me to repeat the question?”

I turned. It was Danny Beaton talking to me.

“I think I get it,” someone else said.

I blinked. Leo’s voice this time.

“I understand what she’s demonstrating for us,” Leo said, nodding. “
Silence
. It’s the biggest threat to safety among teenagers. When a teen doesn’t speak up about a crime committed, how can the perpetrator be charged? That’s what you’re trying to say, isn’t it, Blake?”

Teens. Crimes. Silence. That’s what they were talking about?

“Yes,” I said, my voice shaky. “That’s what I’m trying to say. Thank you for understanding.”

“Well, he
is
a genius,” Danny Beaton joked, rolling his eyes and making the audience laugh.

Leo ignored Danny. “Go on, Blake,” he said. “Tell us more about your concerns about silence in the face of injustice.”