UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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I’d never felt so nervous as I did that night sitting in the green room at the Westbrook Theater. Maroon 5 was performing on stage, the lyrics filtering through two black speakers positioned next to our snack table. I couldn’t stop running through every possibility for tonight’s show. If they eliminated Amy, should I say something? And what exactly should I say? I could make a case that she deserved to win for being the most beautiful, kindest, funniest . . . but who would listen?
“Beauty queen of only eighteen
She had some trouble with herself . . .”
The speakers blared Adam Levine’s voice as I thought about Leo. No matter what he’d done, no matter what had happened between us, I needed to apologize for suspecting him of leaking the video. Maybe Leo wasn’t perfect, but neither was I. Far from it. I had to get him alone before I left tonight for good and never saw him again.
Francisco handed me a lip gloss and I smoothed it on. “Smile, gorgeous,” he said. “You look great.”
Amy gave me a wink from across the room. She stood still as Marsha sewed a small tear in the strap of her dress.
Adam finished singing, and sounds of the audience cheering blasted through the speakers.
“Girls, get ready,” Marsha said, her words warped from the pin she was holding between her teeth. “We’re heading to the stage in two minutes.”
Charisse stared straight ahead like a robot programmed to take over the contest. “This is it,” Sabrina said softly. It was the first time I’d seen her look scared since she’d gotten here.
“Good luck, ladies,” Mura said. Her arm was still bandaged at the wrist. She’d told me earlier that it didn’t hurt, but that her mom told her to keep the bandages on to win sympathy votes.
“Oh my God,” Cindy said suddenly. She was staring at her phone. And then she started laughing.
Sabrina looked over Cindy’s shoulder and suddenly didn’t seem scared anymore. She grinned and said, “Oh, wow, Blake, you so don’t want to see this.”
I snatched the phone from Cindy. A video flashed on her screen and I saw the unmistakable pink feather boa and Mardi Gras beads that I’d wrapped around my neck in the Martins’ basement. I was dancing sexily on top of the costume chest as Justin Timberlake’s voice sang out:
“Look at those hips (Go ’head be gone with it)
You make me smile (Go ’head be gone with it)”
My low-cut V-neck had fallen way lower than I’d meant it to, showing nearly all of my boobs as I bent forward and shimmied with the boa. Beneath the photo, Anonymous Harrison Student commented: and she’s a slut, too! which wasn’t even fair, because the only three people I’d made out with since the start of high school were Woody, Xander, and Leo.
Chills raced through me. I looked practically naked, and my father was going to murder me if he saw it. I suddenly felt the thousands of eyes on me again, like I’d felt the first day I got here, but this time it didn’t feel good. The reality of all of those viewers seeing me like this made me want to throw up. My stomach twisted as I watched myself lean forward and blow the camera a kiss with my boobs practically falling out of my top. My legs felt like jelly and my head went funny, and I stumbled backward to sit on the chair. Francisco was talking to Mura’s handler, and Amy was busy getting her dress fixed by Marsha. I opened my mouth to call for one of them but nothing came out. The room whirled around me as I tried to calm down. I tried to tell myself that this post was just like all the others I’d read, and I’d survived those. But this felt different. It felt like every icky, vulnerable sensation I’d ever felt when someone stared at me. It felt like it: the final straw that could break me.
I flashed back to the night I spent with Audrey a week ago on Notre Dame’s campus. I remembered the fresh air in my lungs and the stars above our heads, and how I’d felt like I could be someone new there. And now everything circulating the internet declared me exactly what I didn’t want to be. I tried to breathe as Cindy took her phone back, but I felt ruined. “Blake,” Cindy said, quiet enough that Sabrina couldn’t hear her. “It’s just a stupid video.”
But it wasn’t. It was my reputation. It was everything I was trying to overcome pulling me down down down again.
“Sixty seconds, ladies,” Marsha said. She pricked Amy’s shoulder with a pin as she sewed and Amy flinched. Amy looked over at me and furrowed her brows. “You okay?” she mouthed.
I stood on shaky legs. Get through tonight and then you can get home.
But home was supposed to be South Bend. And my new home was supposed to be Notre Dame, and now I worried it would be just like Harrison: kids would hate me. Panic filled my lungs. I thought I’d turned my phone off, but then it buzzed, and I was so out of it that I answered without checking the caller ID.
“I know about your email to Public,” my dad said on the other end of the line.
My entire body recoiled. “Dad, I really can’t talk. I—”
“And I saw that video of you.”
My heart stopped. I waited for him to yell at me, but he didn’t.
“I’m going to do everything I can to get it taken down, Blake,” he said. He almost sounded like he was on my side, like he was going to right a wrong that had been done to me. “You’re going to win this contest,” he said, his voice steady, “because it’s the only way to redeem yourself and our reputation.” I heard him inhale. He sounded exhausted. “I’m sure you can see that now.”
I froze. To hear it said like that by my own father felt like a knife in my gut. He hung up and I started shaking.
Francisco sauntered across the room and leaned in close. “Gorgeous, you okay? You need water or anything?”
“I—I’m okay,” I said. And then I did what I always did when I got hurt: I tried to steel myself. But it wasn’t working. Too much had happened to me over the past few weeks. I’d fallen for Leo, I’d been given the biggest chance of my life—even if it was fixed—and then I’d lost Leo and fallen from grace. My reputation was in tatters. The country hated me, which meant the kids at Notre Dame probably hated me, too. Everything I dreamed this contest could be for me had blown up in my face.
My heart beat wildly as I thought about what my father said: It’s the only way to redeem yourself.
Was he right?
No matter how warped his logic sounded, a part of me realized that what he was saying was mostly true. If I won this contest, if I secured the modeling contract and became the United Nations Citizen Ambassador, I’d be practically famous, and then people would tolerate my past bad behavior. I’d heard countless stories about how cruel and diva-ish starlets could be, and people still worshipped them. Wouldn’t it be like that for me, too?
Marsha lined us up. Francisco fixed a bobby pin holding my chignon in place. Marsha starting ordering us down the hall, but I couldn’t pay attention to anything she said as I fell in line behind Sabrina. My winning the contest was already preordained by Public and my father, and they were way more powerful than me. What if going along with their plan was the only way to save myself?
We reached the velvet curtains blocking the stage. Amy reached out and squeezed my hand. You should be winning this, I thought as I looked into her sweet, heart-shaped face. I just don’t know how to prove it. And now I’m really scared that I shouldn’t.
Pia’s disembodied voice announced us, and then the curtain flung open and the six of us paraded onto the stage. My arm shot up into the Miss America wave that was becoming disconcertingly natural. I took my position at the end of the stage behind Sabrina. Celebratory jazz music played behind us and multiple spotlights flew over our bodies. This was it. The night for which we’d all been waiting. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Sabrina was crying. Not sobbing or anything, just tears that trickled over her face as she waved to the audience. I wondered if she always used her hard shell to cover up everything she really felt and wanted. It was what I’d always done, and it was way easier than actually admitting that you weren’t perfect, or that you felt things just like everyone else. It was exactly what I wanted to do right now. I wanted to close myself to everything real. I wanted to take the easy way out.
I wanted to win.
“And now let’s welcome our judges!” Pia shouted. “Danny! Bradley! Leo! Carolina! Shilpa!”
Leo waved along with the rest of the judges, his free hand holding a jumbo-size Pepsi. He didn’t look at me, and I hated myself for wanting him to. I hated myself for wanting to fix the pain he’d caused me by stealing glory that wasn’t mine. I hated myself for wanting to ease the ache of all my past mistakes by hurting Amy. Wasn’t that what I’d always done? Kept other people down so that I could be on top?
Leo stared straight ahead at the camera. He wore a dark gray suit that made his eyes look like smoky topaz. His blond hair was neatly combed back and he’d shaved. I wanted to put my hand against his smooth cheek. I wanted to tell him how sorry I was for what I’d said. I wanted him to know I was ashamed of the thoughts swirling through my mind, for not being able to be the good person he once saw in me.
Leo never looked at me, and I finally made myself stop staring at him. I glanced around the packed theater. Thousands of bodies jumped up and down, cheering, filming with their phones, and screaming out the names of the judges and contestants they loved. There were a few calls of Blake!, but mostly Amy! Bradley! Danny!
I wondered if Nina Carlyle was happy. She’d finally gotten to say her piece about me, and in a more public and damaging way than either of us probably ever could’ve imagined. Not that I blamed her. I deserved every word.
A few strains of the The Pretty App Live theme song played, and then a video montage came to life on the screen. Most clips showed our morning at the car wash and other drama that had happened at the house, like when Cindy threw a fork at Mura’s bad arm at lunch and yelled, “Catch!” When Mura caught it, Cindy said, “Your wrist isn’t broken, you faker.”
“Ladies and Gentleman,” Pia said, looking like an Oscar winner in her fire-engine-red floor-length gown. She held a cream-colored envelope tied with a red satin ribbon. “You’ve seen the contestants in action and you’ve cast your votes for the young woman you’d like to win this contest and become a Citizen Ambassador for our great nation.” She whirled around to face us contestants. “Ladies, you’ve given this contest your very best. But only one of you can be voted Prettiest,” Pia said as she untied the envelope’s ribbon. She tore the envelope and stared at the thick paper inside. “I’m so very sad to see the first two contestants go.” She shrugged and perked up. “But America has the final say,” she said, the way you’d say Oh well! if you didn’t really give a crap. She looked up and her eyes scanned all six of us. Finally her gaze settled on Mura and Cindy, who stood together at the end of the line. “It’s time to say buh-bye to Murasaki O’Neil and Cindy Adams!”
Whoa. The audience let out a gasp and I turned to see Cindy staring blank-faced at Pia. Mura had gone bright red. If Mura had had another microphone, she definitely would’ve thrown it. Her eyebrows furrowed and her fists clenched like a child’s. I watched her count backward from ten, visibly trying not to lose it.
“Let’s watch Mura and Cindy’s journeys here on The Pretty App Live!” Pia said cheerfully, and then the overhead TV screen showed video of both contestants and their defining moments, which seemed slightly ridiculous seeing that we’d only been on this “journey” for three days.
Bodyguards escorted a crying Cindy and an enraged Mura from the stage. Charisse, Sabrina, Amy, and I stared at each other. My heart thumped against my chest. Mere minutes more and I’d know the final results. Being voted off was what I’d said I wanted—to Public, to Audrey, and to myself. So why did it suddenly sound so scary?
“Sabrina and Charisse, please stand on my right side,” Pia said, her tiny nose crinkling as she smiled. Sabrina and Charisse did as Pia told them, looking petrified. “Blake, Amy, please stand on my left.”
Amy reached for my hand as we took our places. “Good luck,” she said, smelling sweet and citrusy. I squeezed her palm in response. I was too nervous to say anything, too guilty to look her in the eye.
The lights dimmed. A single spotlight landed on Pia and she smiled like the attention was finally where it belonged. “I’d like to introduce your top two finalists on The Pretty App Live!” she said. “Please give a warm round of applause for Amy Samuels and Blake Dawkins!”
The audience screamed and my legs went wobbly. It was happening.
“Amy! Amy! Blake! Amy!”
“Good-bye, Sabrina and Charisse!” Pia said over the screaming.
I watched Sabrina. Her arms went rigid at her sides and her bottom lip quivered for just a moment, and then stopped. A small half-smile froze on her face. Her chin went up, her shoulders pushed back. I recognized everything she was doing as though I were watching myself in a mirror, and it made me feel sick. I couldn’t go back to being that person, could I? Could I really close myself off like that after everything that had happened?
“Now, for the results you’ve all been waiting for!” Pia shouted as the screaming got louder. I could barely hear myself think over the noise. Sabrina and Charisse paraded off the stage, leaving Amy and me alone beneath the spotlight. I turned to look at Amy and saw tears slide over her cheeks. If they named me the winner, Amy would get nothing. There weren’t prizes for the runner-up. No ambassadorship, no modeling contract, no new home, no TV appearances.
Pia lifted the white microphone closer to her mouth and said, “To announce the winner of The Pretty App Live, I’d like introduce Public CEO Alec Pierce!”
The crowd applauded as Alec Pierce emerged from the stage-right curtains carrying a beautiful, sparkling gold crown with tiny, multi-colored stones embedded around the edges. I hadn’t seen Alec since I was younger, but I would’ve recognized him anywhere: My father’s friend . . . .The man in charge of Public . . . The one who’d sent Leo to trick me . . . The one responsible for threatening to expose my sister . . . The one who conspired with my father to get me here in the first place.
Rage filled me as I watched Alec stride across the stage. His dark hair was shaved close to his head and a thick beard covered the bottom half of his face like charcoal. He was inches over six feet and carried himself like he was the president of Public, the United States, and possibly the Universe.
He took the microphone from Pia and said, “Good evening, America. On behalf of Public Corporation and SBC Network, I’m honored to announce the winner of the first annual The Pretty App Live competition.”
I’d never seen eyes as dark as Alec’s, and when he stared at Amy and me I shivered. I wanted to hurl accusations at him, to tell the world what he’d done to me, to Leo, to Amy, to everyone else in the contest who didn’t know how rigged the entire thing was. I wanted to do something—anything—that would wipe the smirk from his face. But instead I just stood there frozen like an ice queen ready to accept my fate.
“Amy Samuels and Blake Dawkins exemplify everything the youth of our fine country have to offer,” Alec said. “Beauty, poise, charm. That’s exactly what we created the Pretty App to discover.”
What happened to kindness, wisdom, and grace? Amy had those, at least.
“But only one can accept the title of Prettiest, a title that bestows upon her one year of ambassadorship on behalf of this nation’s youth.” Alec’s black eyes narrowed on me for just an instant before he said, “This title can change her life for the better, if she chooses to accept it.”
My heart beat faster. Desire sparked within me as he said the words. I wanted so badly to travel the world as an ambassador and do something different with my life, to have people see me as someone special. It was all so close . . . right within my reach . . .
Alec motioned to someone offstage, and a skinny Trog-looking guy with black-framed glasses emerged. He wheeled a large white computer with the orange Public logo across the stage to Alec. The screen lowered again, but this time there was no video montage or contestant testimonials. Two vertical bars shot up, one captioned BLAKE, the other AMY. Numbers scrolled, skyrocketing into the thousands above each bar.
Alec grinned like his digital chart was a masterpiece. “Surprise, Amy and Blake! The voting continues!” He turned to the audience. “The race between our top two contestants has been neck and neck, and Public technology enables us to see the final sixty seconds of votes pouring in.”
Amy looked like she was about to throw up, and I suddenly didn’t feel so good, either. I squinted at the two bars on the screen. They jumped up and down, with each bar take its turn at the highest spot. The audience murmured, and I could feel them eating out of Alec’s hand, like this little surprise was the most exciting thing to ever hit reality TV. I stared at the screen, and I couldn’t help it—I felt myself join in the anticipation, especially when my numbers started steadily climbing past Amy’s. I could feel it happening . . .
I was going to win.
Everything I thought I’d feel in that moment—the thrill, fear, excitement, pride, confusion, exhilaration—multiplied until I could barely stay standing. I wanted it so badly. I wanted to be Prettiest. I wanted to hold on to everything that being at the top had always meant to me. I wanted to fill the part of me that felt empty, the part that needed to feel special and loved and beautiful.
The theater erupted with sounds from cheers to boos to screams to laughter. Blood whirled in my ears. Alec Pierce was smiling and the judges were standing—all except Leo. He was staring down at his phone, typing furiously. What was going on?
The vertical AMY and BLAKE bars raced higher up the screen. The space between them lengthened as mine grew stronger, and no matter how conflicted I felt, the sparkling gold crown in Alec’s hands was like a magnet, pulling me closer and closer until I could barely stand still. It all suddenly felt like instinct, like the moment was made for me.
Alec was grinning at me like a piranha now, acting impressed and surprised even though he’d rigged the entire thing. I looked into the audience and saw Leo make a phone call. He was saying something that looked like: Do it now.
“Twenty seconds to go!” Pia cried out.
My bar stopped moving.
I stared at the screen, and then at Alec. The look on his face told me he had no idea what was happening.
“Ten, nine, eight!” Pia cheered, motioning for the audience to join her.
Alec recovered and started smiling again. He started typing on the keyboard and my bar crawled higher again. It crept toward Amy’s and a sick feeling came over me: Alec was cheating on live television in front of the entire country, smiling fakely while he tricked millions of people. It struck me right then that the term mean girl didn’t only apply to high school girls. Mean was a way of being and thinking and existing in the world. It was taking instead of giving. It was bringing others down instead of up.
Could I really be a part of that?
“Seven, six, five . . .” the audience chanted.
I turned to Amy, hoping the sight of her would steady me, save me from the anxiety of this moment. I thought back to what she’d said in our bedroom: How can everything this girl says about you be true when you’re the only person here who’s shown me kindness? Maybe that girl was writing about an old version of you, but the past is past.
And this was now.
I had to believe in now. If I was going to change, I had to have faith in the new me. And the new me started today.
I turned to Leo. I didn’t care that the cameras were on me. I didn’t care what they would see me say. I imagined America watching me, counting on me. I imagined Amy’s family at home, watching this all unfold. When Leo’s eyes caught mine, I said, “Stop him.”
Leo’s gaze dropped to his phone and confirmed exactly what I suspected: He already was.
The bar with BLAKE emblazoned on it stopped again.
“Three, two . . .”
Amy’s shot higher. Alec Pierce was typing wildly now, his thick fingers flying across the keys.
“One . . .”
But Leo was better—the best, maybe. Just like Audrey had told me that night in the Grotto.
“Zero!” Pia screamed.
My bar stayed frozen as Amy’s shot up off the screen. I bit my bottom lip as the audience climbed to their feet, most of them on their phones, presumably voting as they called out our names.
“Amy Samuels, congratulations!” Pia shouted over the fray. “You’re the winner of The Pretty App Live!”
My heart felt like it might burst. I felt everything rush through me all at once—everything I’d lost, everything I’d given up, everything that had happened to me over the past few weeks. I could barely breathe as I turned to Amy. My entire body shook with everything the moment meant.
Amy’s face went into her hands. Trumpets blared and confetti swam through the sky, landing on Amy’s shoulders and bare arms as the crowd went wild. Screams and cheers came from every corner until I was sure the theater would burst at its seams. They loved her.
Amy stood still in her floor-length magenta gown. She lifted her head slowly from her hands. She looked so beautiful standing there—truly beautiful, inside and out. Tears fell over her cheeks, and when she smiled at me, I realized I was crying, too. Amy turned to face the audience and wave, free and wild, like I’d never seen anyone wave before. The cameras swarmed us, and the judges moved up the side stairs of the stage to congratulate her.
I turned to see Alec Pierce, and when his eyes met mine, I didn’t blink.
“Are you okay, Blake?” I heard a woman’s voice say.
I turned to see the camerawoman. She filmed me head-on as I faced the millions of people who could see me—the real me—through their television screens. “I’m so happy for Amy,” I said into the camera, my voice shaking with emotion. “She deserves this title.” I took another breath, feeling myself come alive as I gave myself to them completely. “And I’m really proud of who I was in this contest.” My body relaxed, my lungs filled, and I realized in that split second how much more I had to give than my prettiness. I had vulnerability and openness. I had authenticity. I had the truth.
I shrugged a little, feeling sheepish, but strong, too. I caught Leo’s glance, and his gray eyes were bright.
“This is the new me,” I said, smiling.