The threat of mutual destruction is a strong deterrent and may ensure a temporary peace between rival factions.
At 5:55 p.m., we were back in our dresses and waiting in the wings again. The translucent powder I wore was barely preventing my whole face from dripping with sweat. My clenched hands were cool and damp, like balled-up athletic socks.
The audience had gathered again, and this time there were more of them. At 5:59, you could feel every atom of our bodies backstage buzzing with anticipation. I squeezed Margo’s hand behind me.
FACT:
I had realized that, in spite of it all, I secretly hoped I might win — maybe not first place, but second. Third, even. Maybe, just maybe, the judges had found my answer to the interview question mind-blowing. I wanted Margo to do well too, but I’d realized it was easier to wish your best friend well when she wasn’t obviously about to trounce you in a contest.
Ms. Whitaker, covered in her geological layers of foundation, walked back onstage, greeted by loud applause.
“Good evening, everyone, and welcome back to the awards ceremony for this year’s Melva’s Miss Livermush! After much deliberation, the judges have reached their decision.”
The crowd clapped. Someone wolf-whistled.
“Now I’d like to ask all our finalists back onto the stage. As you know, this is more than a pageant; it is also a scholarship competition. We are proud of every one of these young ladies, but there may be only one Miss Livermush.”
A recorded drumroll blared over the crappy replacement sound system.
“This year, the judges would first like to award a prize for outstanding accomplishment in the academic portion of the competition. This year’s winner wrote what was deemed to be the best essay on the subject of livermush as well. The winner this year of the academic prize is … Janice Wills!”
Margo gasped and squeezed my hand, pushing me forward. A nerd prize, I couldn’t help thinking. The judges must have felt sorry for the interruption during my talent. I stood under the lights, stunned and uncertain as a newborn baby mole, blinking into the applauding audience as Ms. Whitaker handed me a sash and bouquet.
“This year’s second runner-up … we are proud to announce … is Jessica Robertson!”
As Jessica, a girl from the county high school, accepted her flowers, tears slid down her cheeks — tears that I suspected Jessica hoped looked like tears of happiness. My guess was that they were not, but that she would recover and be genuinely happy soon enough.
“Our first runner-up this year, the young lady who will fill in for Miss Livermush should it be required, is the lovely and talented … Theresa Rose Venable!”
Tabitha and Casey crowed happily above the applause. TR, blond hair shimmering, hugged Ms. Whitaker and took her bouquet. I focused on maintaining my own smile, focused on the pain this smile was now causing my facial muscles.
“Finally, after her dazzling talent performance, we are pleased to crown Margo Werther as MELVA’S MISS LIVERMUSH!”
Margo rushed forward, and the crowd rose to their feet clapping. “You Are So Beautiful” again blasted out from the speaker system. Ms. Whitaker hugged us each again, giving us air-kisses on each cheek. I felt a little light-headed.
After the applause had died down, Jessica, Margo, TR, and I were swept backstage on a tide of congratulations from the other girls. Still, I heard a few sniffles.
“Wonderful, wonderful!” Ms. Whitaker gushed, following us. “We’re proud of you all this year, and especially of our three scholarship recipients.”
I knew I should be pleased. I hadn’t gotten a scholarship, but I did receive a $500 check for the academic prize.
After the congratulations died down, all of us began gathering up our stuff. Girls chatted with one another quietly, everyone sounding more subdued than before the pageant had started. But when I heard Margo’s voice begin to rise, I turned around. Her voice had grown so loud that everyone was watching.
Margo and TR stood facing each other, both of them still in their formal dresses. Margo was shaking a brush right in TR’s face.
“ … but you are the most manipulative, evil, selfish … I CARE about him, and NOTHING bad was going on, and now YOU are going to get him in trouble!”
Margo’s face was sweaty. Wet threads of mascara ran down her face.
“Listen, Margo, Miss Livermush Princess Whatever,” TR said. “I don’t effing CARE about what you do with your SLUTTY self. But the Livermush judges just might! Remember ‘excellent moral character'? Remember that from the guidelines?”
Margo shook her head angrily. We were all staring unabashedly now, all of us other girls in our dresses forming an anticipatory circle of eyes. I could tell everyone’s breath was held, waiting for the real fight to break out.
ANTHROPOLOGIST’S NOTE:
According to my survey, it is the prevailing opinion among male adolescents in Melva that fights between females, or “girl fights,” are far more interesting and far meaner than the male equivalent. And everyone likes watching them. Primary source quotation: “Dude! And then Kiki, like, ripped this chunk of hair off Jessica’s head, and there was, like, still flesh attached! And all of us watching were like, ‘Dude, this girl fight is awesome!’”
I grabbed Margo’s shoulder, pulling her toward me. “What’s going on?” I hissed. “What’s this about?” TR, stalking toward us, heard me.
“Oh, you didn’t know either, did you, Janice? Margo’s kept us all in the dark, even her dear little best friend,” TR said. Her voice was sweet and toxic.
I looked at Margo, who didn’t meet my eyes.
“What’s she talking about?” I asked. “What?”
“Oh, just the fact that she’s been dating Colin. The FreshLife leader. Which is totally against every single rule,” TR said gleefully.
“Colin the FreshLife leader?” I whisper-hissed at Margo, feeling all the eyes in the room on us. “He’s Secret Boyfriend? Are you serious?”
Margo fiddled with a seam on her dress, still not meeting my eyes. My head pounded. I couldn’t tell if I was angrier at the thought of Margo paired with Colin or at the fact that Margo hadn’t told me this huge secret. And I, her best friend …
“Janice, he’s, like, two years older than we are,” Margo whispered. “And I didn’t mean for it to happen, but … I liked him. He liked me. And I couldn’t tell you even though I wanted to! He made me promise — and I didn’t want to get him in trouble!”
I sighed.
“I feel morally bound,” TR said loudly, “as someone of excellent moral character, to make this piece of information known to the Miss Livermush judges. It is explicitly against FreshLife rules, after all! This might make them rethink their decision.”
I looked at Margo. Her face was awash in streaky mascara, her mouth a rictus of panic. How could TR have possibly found out this piece of information before I had? It gnawed at my gut. But I looked at TR, her devilish Barbie face still gleeful, and I knew I had to act.
“Well, TR,” I said carefully and loud enough for the whole room to hear, “if we’re going to be complete about it, there are other things the judges might be interested in. Like, for instance, slirting. Like, for instance, drinking underage behind the Arts Council building in the middle of the Livermush Festival. Like, for instance, slapping some poor guy in the face.”
I thought of my anthropology notes at home — of all the times I’d observed TR and her group laughing viciously in the face of some dumpy guy who’d previously believed that he was successfully flirting. Actually I had plenty of notes involving TR laughing in the faces of many people, male and female, whether slirting or not.
TR blinked at me. “What? No. I mean …”
“Slirting. Consumption of alcohol underage during the pageant. Really, when it comes to lapses in moral character … You name it. In fact, I probably have more anthropological notes on these subjects at home. The judges might be very interested in learning more.”
Some of the girls in the room looked confused. I heard them whisper the word “slirting” with question marks in their voices. The murmuring grew behind me. I stared hard, unrelentingly, at TR.
I paused for a moment, then added, “If I’m wrong, I’m sure the Melva police department would be happy to let you prove your innocence with one of their Breathalyzers.”
She looked at me and shook her head. “Whatever, Janice. Forget it, okay? If you wanna be a brat about something — about NOTHING, really — then just for get it.” And with that, she stalked out of the room, trailed by Casey and Tabitha.
I felt Margo shudder with relief beside me.
“Janice,” she whispered, touching my arm. “Thank you.”
I took a breath, absorbing the fact that I’d actually stood down TR — and that I’d used my anthropological powers to do it.
“Of course,” I said, hugging her. “But you have a lot to catch me up on.”