Beauty Queens (40 page)

“I’m gonna stop worrying about that third nipple,” Brittani said.

“What if we don’t make it?” Miss Montana said.

Shanti shook her head. “Don’t talk like that.”

“But the deck is really stacked against us. You really think we can win against all of that?” Miss Montana swept her arm toward the juggernaut on the beach.

“I don’t know. But I’m so totally not gonna just roll over for them.”

“Me either,” Petra said.

“I don’t give a damn ’bout my bad reputation,”
Jennifer sang softly.

“What are you talking about?” Sosie asked. She looked to Jennifer, who softened.

“Kicking ass,” she spelled out.

Sosie nodded. “Go big or go home, bitches.”

“Go big or die,” Nicole said quietly.

There were shouts on the beach, last-minute preparations, the verbal-and-static gunfire of walkie-talkies. Farther out, waves broke on the rocks. The jungle insects tuned their constant hum to a high-pitched clamor.

Shanti closed the curtain. “Ready?”

Nicole put out her hand. Petra placed hers on top. The others followed till their hands seemed to form a giant fist.

“Miss Teen Dream,” Adina intoned.

“Miss Teen Dream,” the others echoed, and they brought their hands up and apart.

“I’m scared,” Miss New Mexico said.

The guard stuck his head behind the curtain. “Ten minutes, girls.”

In a few moments, the most important Miss Teen Dream Pageant ever will be broadcast live from a remote island. Backstage, the girls wait in their gowns. Oh, see how they shine in their sequins and glitter? But there is something more tonight, yes? A gleam in the eye. A determined set to those glossed lips. A refusal to play the part assigned. They are ready. Hidden in a stack of props is the jar of Lady ’Stache Off and the flare gun, their twin hopes for making it out alive.

In his white Elvis jumpsuit, MoMo B. ChaCha waits to be entertained before making his arms deal, and Agent Jones waits with him, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. In the shadows, the black shirts wait, unseen, costumes on, guns at the ready, while in a television studio for
Barry Rex Live,
Ladybird Hope sits in a chair as a makeup artist prepares her face. She glances at the notes she’s written in her palm, rehearses what she will say when the time comes, when she, the most famous Miss Teen Dream who ever lived, will announce live the murder of the beauty queens. It will be her face America sees reassuring the nation in time of crisis, promising vengeance on the shores of the ROC. It will be Ladybird Hope’s finest hour — until her election.

And across the great land, from the glistening malls on the prairies to the department stores in the teeming cities to those small, cracker-box houses that can barely contain the bottled-up dreams and discontent of those who must be more, the televisions flicker, bathing the watchers in its seductive blue-gray glow. Already, the
narratives are being written: Scrappy beauty queens survive in hostile jungle. How they lost weight! Learn their secret jungle beauty tips!

The world has tuned in. It is watching.

All of this is brought to you by The Corporation.

“Live in three … two … one … go!” The man behind the camera sliced the air with his arm. The curtains parted. Heart thumping, Adina walked out into the glare of the generator-run klieg lights and stepped to the microphone.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the Forty-first Annual Miss Teen Dream Pageant, live from a creepy island in the middle of nowhere. I’m Adina Greenberg, Miss New Hampshire, and I’ll be your host this evening. And now, let’s meet our contestants!”

The girls paraded in their evening gowns as if this night were like any other pageant they’d smiled through. Before them, the audience of Corporation employees clapped and cheered. Behind them, the jungle answered with its own cacophony. The girls disappeared behind the curtain and Adina called them one by one to answer questions about world peace and being role models. According to plan, they gave the standard answers, the ones everyone wanted to hear, until halfway through.

Adina tried not to seem nervous as she called Miss Ohio to the microphone. Miss Ohio sauntered onstage in her long, hot pink gown. In her hair, she wore a bright purple island flower. She did her flirty wave to the cameras, which made the audience chuckle.

“Miss Ohio, what would you say was the toughest part about life on the island?”

“Oh, wow. Eating grubs was pretty gross. We didn’t even get ketchup!” She beamed as the audience laughed. They were giving
good TV. “But you know, I’d have to say finding out there was a Corporation compound right here on the island the whole time and we never knew it. I felt like such a doofus!” She shook her head without losing her smile.

“Thank you, Miss Ohio,” Adina said, gently pushing the girl toward the curtain as Shanti made her way in.

“I am for Miss Ohio, General,” MoMo whispered loudly to General Good Times. “Her buttocks remind me of tiny cats.”

With a rigor mortis–style grin, Agent Jones put a finger to his lips to remind MoMo of the need for secrecy.

“Shanti Singh, Miss California, can you tell us about your platform?” Adina said.

“Absolutely.” Shanti faced the audience and smiled. She wore an emerald green gown with iridescent seashells sewn around the waist and hem. “My platform is called FemPower Me. It is about microloans for women in developing countries. What you may not know is that many big corporations exploit female workers.”

Adina pretended to be surprised. “Really! That’s so interesting. Tell us more.”

Shanti’s smile did not falter. She stood in a perfect three-quarter beauty queen stance. “Like, for instance, let’s just say that The Corporation had a secret outpost here on this island. First, they would clear the land of indigenous peoples and force them from their ancestral homes, killing them if they were, like, really difficult or whatever. You know how those indigenous people can be about their land and stuff, Adina.”

“Boy howdy, Shanti.” Adina beamed for the cameras.

“Anyhoo, they’d use sweatshop labor — often young girls — to make all those products that keep you and me looking good. Maybe they’d even do secret arms trading. Meanwhile, women and children lose access to their livelihood. They’d face famine, oppression, and possibly a life of slavery.”

“Yikes. Hey, don’t you have a cute story about how your immigrant parents put up a lawn Santa on the Fourth of July?”

“Sure do. Oh, my wacky dad!” Shanti crossed her hands at the wrist. “Culture clash. D’oh!”

MoMo slapped his knee. “Am loving it.”

“Thank you, Miss California. By the way, fun fact about Shanti: Her favorite lipstick color is Tickle Me Pink. Don’t you love lipstick, Shanti?”

“So much, Adina.”

Without missing a beat, Shanti raced offstage just as Petra made her entrance.

She’d chosen a strapless gold lamé jumpsuit with a seaweed belt and had blown her long hair straight like a 1970s chanteuse.

“Love the ensemble, Petra. Did you put that together yourself?”

“I did, Adina. My mom’s an artist and she gave me a real appreciation for the visual. I love to sew.”

“That is seriously amazing. Can you tell us what you did to help us survive on this island?”

“I sewed a banner to catch the attention of planes. You can’t see it now because they took it down.”

Adina turned to the cameras with an amused-but-confused expression. “Why?”

“It had the word
bitches
in it, which is perfectly fine to use if you’re a rapper or a director making a movie about career women, but not if you’re a teen girl talking about her homies.”

“Good point, Petra. We know that young ladies of the teen persuasion do not use these indelicate words. Nor do they have thoughts about sex, masturbation, violence, being competitive, or farting.”

“Exactly. Teen girls are made of moonbeams and princess sweat. Which would, of course, not be called
sweat
but
glow,
and would be taken care of with an aggressive antiperspirant like The Corporation’s new That’s the Pits! with aloe microbeads. Because when it comes to keeping you smelling lady-fresh, aggressive is A-okay.” Petra waved to the crowd and exited stage left.

Adina turned to the audience. “Oh, super fun fact about Petra?
She used to be J. T. Woodland from Boyz Will B Boyz! She’s a proud member of Trans Am Transgender Rights Campaign and is the first transgender Miss Teen Dream contestant ever! Let’s give a big hand to Petra!”

On the sidelines, Agent Jones cursed silently. Why hadn’t they gone with the five-second delay as he’d suggested?

Beside him, The Peacock clapped loudly “General Good Times loves Boyz Will B Boyz! It is his favorite band. Look, he smiles!”

Many miles of ocean away, the call-boards lit up at The Corporation Network. What was going on with these girls? Did they have some sort of tropical illness? Agent Jones glared in the direction of the stage. These girls were up to something, and it wasn’t smiling and waving. But his job depended upon staying hidden and keeping an eye on MoMo. He couldn’t rush the stage and risk exposure. He’d just have to ride it out and hope they cut the crap.

“Last but not least, let’s welcome Tiara Swan, Miss Mississippi. Fun fact about Tiara: She thought you could get pregnant from swimming with a guy.” Adina shook her head. “Oh my goodness! Don’t you just love abstinence programs? So not helpful. Tiara, what have you learned here on this island?”

“I’ve learned that it takes a village to build a catapult, which is not a city in Mexico, and that
uterus
is not a dirty word or the name of a planet. I’ve learned that if a guy pretending to be a pirate tells you he’s nothing but trouble, he’s probably right. So you should find somebody else, ’cause there are some really cool guys — and girls — out there. I’ve learned that you can use an old evening gown to catch rainwater and that grubs taste a lot like chicken. I’ve learned how to build a good, strong hut and accessorize it just right. I’ve learned that feminism is for everybody and there’s nothing wrong with taking up space in the world, even if you have to fight for it a little bit, and that if you don’t feel like smiling or waving, that’s okay. You don’t have to, and you don’t have to say sorry. Mostly, I’ve learned that I don’t really care if you like these answers or not, because
they’re the best, most honest ones I’ve got, and I just don’t feel like I can cheat myself enough to give you what you want me to say. No offense.”

Adina smiled. “Thank you, Miss Mississippi.”

“Am I done?” Tiara asked.

“Do you feel like you’re done?”

Tiara thought for a second. “Yeah. I do.”

They went to a commercial break. MoMo B. ChaCha, cradling General Good Times in his arms, conferred with Agent Jones. “The General must make the pee-pee. We will return, and when we do, it is time for the musical number. It is our favorite part.”

Agent Jones raced for the stage area. He stood outside the curtains and coughed, and Adina stuck her head out.

“Yes?”

“You’re going straight to the musical number.”

“What? But we haven’t done swimsuit or picked the Top Five yet!” Adina protested.

The agent rested his hand on the top of his gun. “We’re doing the abridged Miss Teen Dream tonight.”

Mary Lou and Tane bobbed beside the yacht. On board, one of the ROC soldiers kept watch. They’d have to take him out somehow. Mary Lou climbed on board, startling the sleepy guard, who leapt into action with his gun leveled right at her. “Hi!” she chirped. The guard didn’t move. Mary Lou’s knees shook. “Do you have a bathroom I could use?”

The guard aimed. From behind, Tane whacked him with a life preserver and the man fell, unconscious.

“Cutting it a little close there, babe,” Mary Lou said, exhaling.

“I couldn’t believe he wouldn’t let you use the bathroom. What a jerk.”

They crept along the wall and took the stairs to the upper deck to make sure it was clear.

Mary Lou whistled as she took in the boat’s majesty. “Holy cow. Grill. Juice bar. Enormo-screen TV. Pineapple. This thing has everything.” Mary Lou paused before a bowl of cookies. “Do you think they’d mind if we helped ourselves to a cookie?”

“We’re helping ourselves to their boat.”

“Good point.”

“Let’s hope it’s got plenty of fuel and can get us all out of here.”

They crept down a spiral staircase to the main deck and the bridge.

“Wow, it’s even got windshield wipers,” Tane said.

The fog was rolling in, but Mary Lou could still see that the black water seemed to stretch forever. She felt a swell of excitement
that had nothing to do with the urgency of their circumstances. “It’s so beautiful. And vast.”

“What’s that?” Tane asked. He was trying to figure out the control panel.

“The world.” She ran her fingers over the boat’s wheel. It felt good and right. “Bet you could see a lot of the world from one of these. Did you know that when the sun sets on this one particular part of the Indian countryside, it turns everything this amazing golden color?”

Tane gave her a quizzical look.

“I’d like to see it for myself. I want to go to the old churches in Prague. Stand on the edge of California under the shadow of the Golden Gate Bridge like the beat poets. Learn to drive a race car or swim with dolphins. Play the ukulele. I want to do all those things.”

“You should, then.”

“And if I wanted you to come with me? What would you say?”

“I’d say yes.”

Mary Lou grinned. “Really?”

“Really. Never seen the Golden Gate Bridge, and I like the ukulele,” Tane said. “But first, we’ve got to figure out how to work this thing. I know a little about boats, but nothing about yachts. See if you can find anything — a manual, an instructional video, computer tutorial, anything.”

“Got it!” Mary Lou said. “Hey, Tane?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”