The Royal Treatment (9 page)

“I’m watching you,” I said.

“Um, okay.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I’m
watching
you.”

“Wait, you mean like you’re—”

“Shhh. I’m going to give you a tip.” I lowered my voice. “Don’t talk so much. McKenzie doesn’t want to be here.”

“I know, but I think it’s so exciting—”

“It’s not about what
you
think, it’s what McKenzie thinks.”

“Okay. Fine. But did you see that gorgeous tiara ice sculpture?”

“Stop.” I pointed at my eyes, then at hers. “Watching. You.”

McKenzie bit her lip and nodded. Celeste cleared her throat, and McKenzie and I sat back up.

“Welcome back,” said Celeste. “How did your under-the-table-bond session go?”

“Look, girls.” Mom passed Gracie over to me and nodded at the front podium. “That’s Angie Swiftly. We were in the pageant circuit together. Oh, she’s had some work done. Doesn’t she look fantastic?”

Angie Swiftly looked like someone had thrown her a surprise party and she’d never let go of the
whoa
! facial expression. The presentation was sixty minutes of positive thinking and encouragement and reach-for-the-stars barf-ness. Everyone smiled. The whole time. Without stopping. While they talked, while they listened. When they were chewing. Even their frowns were smiley. McKenzie smiled the biggest.

I watched her every move, hoping my first trial sub would swallow her giddiness and pass this pageant test.

W
atching is a passive word, but I was anything but passive during the next couple of hours. I alternated between seeing that Gracie was fed/changed/napped and keeping my eye on Fake McKenzie. I couldn’t sit through her actual interview—no one but the judges saw that—but I did catch her practicing in the halls.

Which Real McKenzie wouldn’t have done.

And I saw her during the dance rehearsal, beaming and boogying with delight.

Again, not Real McKenzie-like.

But the kicker happened less than an hour before the pageant began. Everyone was rushing around backstage, finishing up last-minute preparations. Mom kept hair-spraying Celeste’s spiral curls until, I swear, a tiara-sized hole opened in the ozone layer.

Gracie rubbed her tongue and made a face. “Bad.”

“Smart baby.”

“Honey, you really don’t have to be back here,” Mom said. “Again, I appreciate your support, but this is kind of do-or-die right now.”

“I have to agree, Mrs. Bascomb. I don’t know if she’s even
supposed
to be back here.”

“Fine. I’ll go save some seats. I want to sit right in the front so I can hold up my
CELESTE IS MY FAVORITE PERSON IN THE WORLD
sign.”

“Desi, don’t.” Mom stuck a bobby pin in Celeste’s hair. I looked around one more time for McKenzie. I hadn’t seen her since the dance rehearsal. It was prep time, so unless she’d gouged herself with a mascara wand, I figured things were good.

Things were not good. I spotted McKenzie bouncing as Mrs. Lighthouse smoothed down her hair. Her hair that was now devoid of highlights! Fake McKenzie had dyed her hair.
McKenzie’s
hair. And the moment Real McKenzie came back, so would her highlights, meaning she’d have to explain the sudden streak switch.

“I’m going to get Gracie a snack before things start.”

“Wait, I’m out of bobby pins.” Mom cursed under her breath. “Who took all my bobby pins?”

“Uh, I’ll see if McKenzie has some.” I dodged my way through the crowd until I reached McKenzie. She squealed when she saw me. “Aren’t you so excited?! I’m so excited! I love performing. And you should see my evening wear!”

“Seriously, what are you up to, McKenzie?” Mrs. Lighthouse wrinkled her forehead. “Please don’t embarrass me. I won’t make you do any more pageants, I promise.”

McKenzie pecked her mother’s cheek. “Don’t be silly! I am going to make you so proud!”

“Mrs. Lighthouse, mind if I steal McKenzie away for a second? I, uh, want to give her some smiling pointers.”

“You two aren’t plotting something, are you?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then, fine.” Mrs. Lighthouse waved her hand. “I’m going out front to watch. I’m getting too old for this. No tricks!”

I waited until Mrs. Lighthouse was gone, then I grabbed McKenzie’s arm. “What did you do to your hair?”

“Bad,” Gracie said.
Smart baby
.

“Your sister is so cute! You should put her in a junior pageant, but maybe after she gets more hair.”

“She has plenty of hair. And hers isn’t highlighted! McKenzie, what were you thinking?”

“Oh, McKenzie isn’t my real name. It’s—”

“DON’T TELL ME! Don’t you get it?” I let out an exasperated breath. One that, yikes, kind of sounded like Meredith. “We aren’t talking right now. I’m not helping you.”

“You’re right. You aren’t.” McKenzie patted her perfectly poofed hair. “I’m doing fine on my own, just trying to
help
this poor girl. Did you see how awful those highlights were?”

“That’s not your job.”

“I know. I’m supposed to pretend to be her. But it doesn’t hurt to try to help her, right? Haven’t you ever done that?”

I dug my fingernails into my palm. Busted. But when I tried to help my subs, I did what they wanted, even if they didn’t say it. McKenzie’s personality was apparent from the profile, and I was positive she wasn’t going to be happy about the dye job. There’s impacting, and then there’s sabotage.

“Fine. Just…tune down your excite-o-meter. Get through this trial job before you try to save the world.”

The lights flashed on and off. “Only contestants backstage now. All family and coaches, please be seated.”

“Don’t worry.” McKenzie flashed me a smile. “I’m going to wow them!”

“Them?”
I called as she hurried away. “You mean your potential employer, right?”

She didn’t answer.

The pageant opened with a completely dark stage. The music, slow and dramatic, crescendoed into a flash of pyrotechnics raining over the smiling contestants. The pageant theme song—“Poise, Power, and Positivity!”—cued the girls into their dance, proving how poised, powerful, and positive they were. McKenzie added an extra spin during the second twirl. What was this crazy girl like in her
real
life?

After three minutes, the music quieted and the MC, a local radio DJ named Danny Dakota, strode over to his podium. I hoped he was getting paid for this. Payment would make his tight tux and pink cummerbund less tragic. “Welcome to Miss Teen Dream Idaho! Introducing this year’s contestants.”

One by one, the girls sashayed up to the mike. “Hi! I’m Jennifer Frederick from Sun Valley! I love tennis and hope to go to veterinary school someday! Dream big!”

“Hey! I’m Celeste Juniper from Fredonia County. I love puppies and I’m starring in my school play.”

I could have pummeled her. Starring? She was a background fairy. Who’s trying to be who now?

The introductions hit a steady rhythm, girl after girl, until McKenzie got up.

I longed to use magic then. Or jump into her skin and do this part for her. Anything to give this nameless girl a chance to work at the most awesome job in the world. But I had a different job, as hard as it was. And my job was to watch.

Watch her walk up right to that stand, smile, and say. “Hello! I’m McKenzie Lighthouse from Sampson County. I work with children because I believe they are our future. Also, I love glitter!”

This was not the line she’d said during rehearsal. During rehearsal, she’d said the line McKenzie would have wanted. “I hate fake eyelashes and like free-range, organic chicken!” This children-are-the-future garbage was improvised. I glanced at the judges, seated at the long side table. They were all smiling.

Could I have stopped her? No. There was nothing I could have done. It was her trial—her choices. I had to watch her make them. Yuck. This was the least impactful job I’d ever had. There had to be a way to do
something.

The other girls finished their introductions, and Danny Dakota swept across the stage, explaining the criterion for the finalists. He paused dramatically before announcing, “And let’s see which eight of these forty-four young ladies we’ll be spending time with tonight!”

“First up…Celeste Juniper from Fredonia County!”

My mom let out a loud holler. So even though Celeste wasn’t my favorite person, I was glad to see that Mom’s hard work had paid off. I followed up with a whoop of my own.

The next six names were called—including one of the girls from the bathroom, Willow. And then Danny paused. “One name remains.”

The air in the room was sucked out as every girl onstage held her breath.

“The last finalist is…McKenzie Lighthouse, Miss Sampson County!”

Not good. So not good. Real McKenzie wouldn’t be excited about this! What if her mom expected this to happen again? I had to get backstage and make sure McKenzie didn’t win, even if it required something drastic, like evening gown mutilation. Losing this pageant would be an ultimate win for both McKenzies—and for me. If the first sub I watched was a reject, what would that mean for my Façade future? After my trip to the Court of Royal Appeals, I wanted to keep my record free of mistakes and filled with success.

“Mom. I have to go. Bathroom.”

I scurried down the aisle before my mom could object. The backstage area was almost flooded with the tears of the non-finalists. I dodged the river of mascara streaks, hoping to sneak into the finalists’ changing room, but the stage door was locked, with the sign finalists only. do not sabotage. above it.

It’s like they’d read my mind. Still, I faced my dilemma—should I sit back and let Fake McKenzie do her thing, or do I intercede? Was McKenzie’s becoming a finalist enough of an emergency to contact Meredith?

It couldn’t hurt to text her. Well, this is Meredith we’re talking about so it could hurt
a lot
, but it was worth the risk. It wasn’t like summoning Genevieve. Meredith could ignore me if she wanted to—she was a pro at that.

Desi:
Hey Mer, I have an impact wannabe over here.

My phone rang almost instantly.

“Never call me Mer again.”

“It sure got you on the phone quick.”

“I’m on the other line anyway.”

I bet she was on the line with her prince. I pictured him tapping his fingers as he waited on hold. I wondered what his fingers looked like. I wondered what
he
looked like. Meredith’s so petite, it’d be cute if he was short too. They could get a mini-pony together and live in a tiny cottage with animal-shaped shrubs out front.…

“Hey. Desi,” Meredith snapped into the receiver. “Today.”

“Sorry. Fake McKenzie’s a finalist—she’s in it to win it. And Real McKenzie wouldn’t want that.”

“Is she physically hurting anyone or blabbing about the agency?”

“They’re in a locked room right now, but I doubt it.”

“Make sure she doesn’t place in the top three. Those girls have to ride on floats and attend events, and our client would not be happy. Finalist isn’t the end of the world. Real McKenzie can’t complain when she’s getting a free trip out of the switch.”

“Got it.”

“And Desi?”

“Yeah.”

“We need to go over what the word
emergency
means.”

I found an empty backstage wing, where I had a clear view of the rest of the program. No one besides contestants were supposed to be back there at this point—even moms and coaches were in the audience—but I needed to be close to McKenzie in case she got too pageant peppy again.

Celeste did a monologue from
Our Town
and McKenzie sang “Over the Rainbow” for the talent routine. The sub had lucked out that McKenzie’s real talent wasn’t instrumental. I knew very well how disastrous that could be (although, actually, disastrous would have been a big help to me at that point). Then the girls did a quick costume change for the final segment—answering interview questions in evening gown.

I’ll give her this—Celeste looked amazing in her peach dress with cap sleeves and a flowy skirt. McKenzie looked pageanty. Her smile was frightening.

The judges’ table reminded me of the Court of Royal Appeals, except with more hair spray. A fishbowl filled with interview questions was perched on a column next to the finalists. Danny Dakota swaggered over to the podium, flashing his cheesy smile.

“The first contestant is Miss Georgia Marie Jones from Teton County. Georgia Marie, please pick your question.”

Georgia Marie slipped her hand into the fishbowl and handed the sheet of paper to Danny.

“Georgia Marie, If you could take anything with you to a deserted island, what would you take and why?”

Georgia made eye contact with each judge, one by one. “If I were stranded on a deserted island, I would take my country. America is the greatest country on earth, and I believe in life and liberty!”

Danny Dakota swallowed what I could only guess was a snarky remark to such a stupid answer.
My country. Enjoy eighth place, Miss Georgia Marie.

“Thank youuuuu, Georgia Marie. And God bless America.” Danny Dakota shuffled his cards. “Next, Celeste Juniper from Fredonia County.”

I knew my mom was proud of Celeste’s straight posture as she picked her question and smiled at the judges.

Danny read: “Celeste, do you think our country has a problem with gender bias?”

“Does our country have a problem with gender bias?”

Celeste spoke the words slowly, one of Mom’s time-buying tricks. “Well, that’s a question I could go on forever about.…”

And that’s when I saw it. The terror flicker across her face. She had nothing to say. Celeste was about to totally bomb, and I was a firsthand witness.

Three seconds ticked by. Celeste’s leg twitched under her skirt.

For how rude Celeste was to me, you’d think I would love her train wreck, but the moment was painful. And not delightfully painful, either, like when you get tickled or eat too much ice cream. This was gouge-your-eyes-out bad. Something welled inside of me, oozing into my heart and my mind and my tear ducts. I would do anything in the world to make the moment end for Celeste.

A smart answer, I thought, would start out:
Yes, our country does have a gender bias, and this pageant is a good example that some things are still viewed as female roles. But at the same time, this pageant includes girls who tomorrow…

My skin and stomach and head and fingers all buzzed. This was the right answer. I knew it. I just needed Celeste to know it.

She was the closest contestant to the curtain. I inched farther out of the wing, as much as I dared, and hissed her name.

She kept her face forward but flicked a quick glance at me. I gave her a thumbs-up sign, and mouthed the word “yes” to get her going. She dipped her chin in the slightest nod and started to speak. When she did, I shook with the intensity of my emotion. Of my…magic?

“Yes, our country does have a gender bias, and this pageant is a good example that some things are still viewed as female roles. But at the same time, this pageant includes girls who tomorrow will be our doctors and political leaders. That didn’t used to be an option for many women, so in a lot of ways, I feel we’ve come very far and can celebrate our femininity without forgetting our potential. Thank you.”

Celeste’s shoulders slumped a fraction as she returned to her stool.

Holy impact miracle! Did that just happen? She gave the exact answer that I was thinking. How did that work? It had to be magic this time, right? Celeste hardly reads books, let alone minds.

I was home, but I was also working for Façade. But I hadn’t felt that tingling for my sub; only Celeste. And I wasn’t wearing Royal Rouge. So…what were the rules here? Was this the “tapping into magical potential” Genevieve had talked to me about? I glanced around at the other finalists to see if they could feel any of the magic that was so obviously thick in the air, but they were busy smiling like coifed crazies. I swung my arms back and forth. I’d impacted in the biggest way yet. Too bad I’d wasted it on Celeste.