UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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That night, Marsha lined us contestants up in the wings of the stage. The cameras shot a few minutes of us waiting there, and then Marsha instructed them to take their positions in the auditorium. I tried to take a few deep breaths. It was one of the few times we’d been free of the cameras all day, and thank God, because I had a wedgie. As much as I loved the cameras, they made certain things really hard, like adjusting your underwear, yawning, getting something out of your teeth, or—God forbid—farting.
I stood behind Delores, who was still on some kind of paint high. “Did you see the footage of me painting James Hetfield online?” she asked me, flushed and grinning. “I’ve already gotten calls from two different art schools.”
The trash-talking online about me had only gotten worse, and I was feeling so awful that old instincts flared within me: instincts to bring someone else down instead of lift them up. Mean girl instincts.
I took a breath. No.
“That’s incredible,” I said, realizing it was true. “You’re an amazing artist.”
Pia’s voice broke through our conversation from beyond the velvet curtains: “Good evening, America!”
“Thanks, Blake,” Delores said over the audience’s applause, smiling sweetly. “And you’re awesome on TV. A natural, really.”
I wasn’t expecting her compliment, and it made me feel so good that my grin widened to match hers. Marsha cut between us and said, “Girls, shut up! Your mics are about to go live.” She shook her head like we were idiots, and Delores started laughing, and then so did I. I didn’t usually get along with other girls all that easily, but I’d done it in the last few days. First with Amy and a little with Maddie, too, and now Delores. And maybe I could still do it at Notre Dame if people could just see past everything they’d heard about me.
“Please welcome America’s most beautiful teens!” Pia shouted, and then the curtain flung open and Marsha screamed at us to start walking.
Delores paraded into the bright white lights and I followed. My heels trod the red carpet walkway and I contorted my arm into a Miss America wave just like Delores did. I heard Mura curse under her breath behind me. She hadn’t been quite right since the roadkill incident went viral. I took my place at the end of the stage and kept my eyes from straying in Leo’s direction. The warmth of the spotlight coursed over my body and cast an ivory glow onto my billowy white, Grecian-style dress.
“Who will survive tonight’s elimination round?” Pia asked as we all lined up. She smiled sweetly at the audience like she was selling Girl Scout cookies.
The massive screen lowered from the ceiling and played a montage of today’s events. Most shots focused on Delores’s painting and Mura’s roadkill declaration. I cringed when the audience started laughing. I could feel Mura shrinking beneath their ridicule, and then I did something without thinking, something I wouldn’t usually do. I reached for her hand and took it. Her palm was soaking wet. I didn’t dare turn to look at her.
“Roadkill Beauty Queen!” someone shouted from the front row. I squinted to look closer, and it was hard to be sure because of the lights, but I swore it was Sabrina’s mom.
Mura’s grip tightened on mine, and then completely relaxed. And then she dropped to the floor.
“Mura!” Sabrina cried from beside her. A gasp sounded across the auditorium.
I knelt to the ground where Mura’s olive skin was eerily white beneath the spotlight. I picked up her head and put it into my lap. Then I brushed away the pieces of black hair sticking to her forehead. Maddie elbowed past Sabrina and Cindy and arranged Mura’s flowing emerald-colored dress to cover her skinny legs.
“We need a doctor!” Pia screamed into her microphone, which turned out to be unnecessary, because two paramedics flew onto the stage carrying a stretcher, which struck me as a tad dramatic.
Mura’s eyes fluttered open, and she glanced worriedly at Maddie and me. “It’s okay, Mura,” I said.
“You just passed out a little bit,” Maddie said. “It will probably help your ratings.”
“Oh my God,” Mura moaned. I tried to tell the paramedics she seemed okay, but they were rolling her onto the stretcher.
“It’s procedure,” one of them said, brushing my hand away from Mura’s.
The paramedics hiked Mura into the air and started carrying her away, but Mura sat up straight and waved to the audience like she was Cleopatra and the stretcher was a chariot. The audience went wild.
“She’s okay!” Pia shouted. “Thank God. Mura’s okay!”
Mura waved with both hands now, and the audience screamed.
“We love you, Mura!” a voice shrieked as Mura was carted off the stage.
I moved closer to Sabrina to fill in the spot where Mura had stood. Sabrina was smiling out at the audience, but it didn’t really feel right to grin like that, so I just stood there.
Pia’s voice went quavery as she said, “I too suffer from vasovagal syncope.” The lights dimmed, and Pia’s eyes watered. “It’s a difficult diagnosis,” she said. “It basically means unexplained fainting.”
“That happens to me, too!” Carolina said from her perch behind the judges table. “Every time I do the cayenne pepper and lemon juice cleanse, I pass out at least once a day.”
Pia nodded sympathetically.
“Maybe you should try eating solid foods then, Carolina,” Leo said.
“That’s not the point of a colon cleanse, genius,” Carolina snapped.
Danny Beaton laughed and said, “Pia, I think we better get this show on the road. I’m ready to send some of these ladies packing.”
“How generous of you,” Leo said. He and Danny glared at each other.
“The show must go on,” Pia said cheerfully. “Even in the face of vasovagal syncope.” The lights around Pia brightened, and a small boy emerged from the side of the stage carrying a large gold envelope. Upon closer inspection, I realized he was the little boy from the school who’d wanted to draw butterflies.
“Please welcome Oliver Daniel with the results of our nation’s votes. Oliver is a student from Mrs. Cesarz’s third grade class at Clearview Elementary School”
Oliver’s big brown eyes widened as he crossed the stage toward Pia. He thrust the envelope into her hand and bolted back in the direction he’d come from.
“Are you all ready for tonight’s first elimination round?” Pia shouted.
I felt less nervous than I thought I would as the audience cheered. I knew I’d be voted off tonight, but at least I could go back home to my regular life, and even if it wasn’t perfect, it was still far away from the charade of pretending to belong in this contest, and far away from Leo and the feelings I was desperate to leave behind.
Pia tore open the envelope. Her eyes scanned the list, and she smiled to herself. I couldn’t decipher the satisfaction on her face. Was it what she’d wanted? What she’d expected?
“Murasaki O’Neil!” Pia shouted, staring directly into the camera. “If you’re watching right now from the ambulance or the ER, I want to personally tell you that you’re safe! You’ve made it through the first round of eliminations.”
The audience cheered for Mura and held up signs. Some of the signs depicted small animals. One read: ANIMAL MUR ADERER! and pictured a drawing of Mura chasing a small raccoon with a fork.
Pia’s hair was curled ’40s-style, like Veronica Lake’s. She used her pinky to adjust a wayward strand near her temple, and said, “And now for the contestants with the highest number of votes this week: Sabrina Ramirez, Charisse Thompson, and Blake Dawkins!”
What?
“Ladies,” Pia said, “please take your places on the white chairs. You’re safe tonight.”
I froze—momentarily stunned. How was that even possible? Tens of thousands of people were hating on me around the country. They’d declared their disgust on every social media outlet known to man. And Sabrina? Where was Amy on that list? I knew that Hollywood was an industry that often rewarded bad behavior, but America seemed to have fallen in love with Amy. I turned to see Amy’s face. She looked on the verge of tears. I quickly looked away, embarrassed to see her like that. My heart pounded as I tried to figure out what was going on. There were still two more spots—maybe Amy would stay.
I made my way numbly to the plush white chairs at the edge of the stage. I tried to look excited about being safe, but really my mind was churning. What if this was part of my dad’s plan with Public? What if it wasn’t just about me participating, but about me winning? Was it possible? Could they—would they—skew the votes?
They could. They would. I suddenly felt sure of it.
“Mura, Sabrina, Charisse, and Blake, you’ve made it through tonight’s elimination round,” Pia said. “Congratulations!” She turned to the remaining eight contestants. “There are two more spots left in the top six. Which of you have made America fall in love with you? And which of you have left them cold?”
My stomach turned. It was bad enough that my dad got me here. But for Public to rig the results so I’d win?
I tried to breathe as Pia prattled on. I needed to talk to my dad. I needed the truth, no matter how scared I was to hear it.
“Amy, Maddie, Delores, and Betsy, please come and stand on my left side,” Pia said. The four girls walked stiffly toward Pia. Amy and Maddie were looking down at their feet. Amy looked like she was going to be sick. Delores and Betsy held their heads up and smiled.
“Jessica, Casey, Delia, and Cindy, please stand on my right,” Pia said.
Pia looked at the group on her right, and then to the group on her left. “Only one of you on each side of me is safe,” she said. She turned to Jessica, Casey, Delia and Cindy. “Cindy, you’re safe!” The audience burst into applause. Pia clapped, too, and then she said, “Jessica, Casey, and Delia, pack your bags. You’re going home tonight.”
“No,” Casey said, and Jessica started crying. Delia looked pissed.
“We’re so sorry to see you go,” Pia said without seeming sorry at all. Her head snapped in the direction of the other group. “Delores, Betsy and Maddie are going home, too. Good-bye, Delores,” she said in a cold monotone. “Good-bye Betsy. Good-bye Maddie.”
Delores let out a small shriek. She shook her head and then immediately started sobbing. Betsy joined her and so did Maddie. Bodyguards emerged from the curtains. “Why?” Delores cried into her hands as the bodyguards escorted all six of them off stage.
Amy watched the whole thing, looking bewildered.
“That’s right, Amy,” Pia said smoothly, her smile back in place. “You’re safe. Congratulations!”
Relief washed over Amy’s face. She looked like her life had just been spared as she raced over to join our group, and after everything she’d told me last night I understood why. We all exchanged hugs and platitudes, letting out little shrieks of excitement. I squeezed Amy’s hand and whispered in her ear, “You did it!”
“Told you it’s not over till it’s over,” she said.
“America,” Pia said gravely. “These are the candidates you’ve voted as your top contenders. Consider them carefully. Only one will be Public’s Pretty App Prettiest Girl in America.”
As Amy hugged me tight, I caught Leo’s glance over her shoulder. After tonight’s results, I was surer than ever that Public was working behind the scenes to manipulate the show.
I know Public has rigged the contest, I thought. I know you helped them do it.