“What?”
“The full week.”
“Ahem.” I hear Mark clear his voice and know I’m going to get in trouble if Benny doesn’t leave soon.
“Okay, fine, fine,” I say as I usher him out. Maybe once he sees me in hair and makeup he’ll realize that nothing is going to change for me. And if it did, how completely shallow are the people at our school? I know looks matter — I’d be an idiot to think they don’t — but there are some people who are born beautiful, like Mackenzie, and others who are born to serve the Chosen Ones.
The next couple of hours drag on. The store’s dead. I’m now on the floor trying to make sense of the mess that used to be the boot-cut jean display. None of the sizes are together, so I spend the better part of my shift trying to put them in order. It’s busy work, but I enjoy it. I feel accomplished after getting everything in nice, orderly fashion … only for it to be destroy two seconds later.
“Excuse me, miss?” I recognize Taylor’s voice behind me.
I turn around and gesture to the store. “Well, hello, sir. Welcome to The Cellar. How may I help you today?”
“Wow, so professional.” He reaches out his hand to help me off the floor.
“Well, The Cellar is not your average clothing-store chain. We’re here to make dreams happen. Tell me — wait, don’t. I’m getting something.”
Taylor laughs as I walk around him, tapping my finger on my lips.
“Yes, I’m sensing a great academic journey coming up. May I suggest our tailored, straight-fit khaki?”
“Sign me up!”
I lead Taylor over to our men’s section, ask his size, and start piling different shirts and pants into his arms.
“I didn’t realize you were so bossy,” he says as I put another shirt in his stack.
“Not bossy, just really good at my job.” I lead him toward the dressing room. “I’ll be waiting here for the fashion show. Hurry it up.”
“Okay, man, you’re fast. I’m hoping we can be done with this by the time my mom comes. She spends forever looking at every single item of clothing. If shopping were an endurance sport, she’d be a world-record holder.”
I go into the empty dressing rooms and start cleaning up. Taylor comes out in a pair of khakis and a dark-blue-and-white-checkered shirt that’s buttoned up all the way to the top.
“What?” He can probably tell from my shaking head that he’s done something wrong.
“You’ve got to loosen up.” I unbutton the cuffs of the shirt and begin to fold them up three times. Then I unbutton two buttons at the front.
“Are you undressing me?” Taylor raises his eyebrow.
“In your dreams.” I stand back and gesture for him to turn around.
Taylor obliges and twirls around a few times. “I’m kinda feeling like a piece of meat here.”
“Shut it and pose for me, model boy.” I shake my head. “It’s not quite right. Button up your collar — I’ll be right back.” I run and grab a few ties. “Here.” I put the tie around him and start to tie it.
“You know how to tie a tie?” He seems impressed.
“Yep.” No thanks to my dad.
“There you are!” Taylor’s mom walks in, her hands full of shopping bags from all the pricey stores in the mall. “Oh, doesn’t that look nice?” Mrs. Riggins makes Taylor turn around for her. “Well done, Lexi.”
“Thanks. What I was thinking is that he could wear this during the campus tours and then …” I go into his dressing room and pull out a matching blazer. I hand it to Taylor to put on. “He can put this on for the interview. If it’s cooler out, he can wear a sweater vest over it.”
“I’m so not wearing a sweater vest,” Taylor objects.
Mrs. Riggins nods to herself. “Try one on anyway.”
Taylor sulks and goes into the dressing room to put on the vest I pulled for him.
“See, that’s not so bad,” Mrs. Riggins says when her not-amused son returns.
Taylor steps back and looks in the mirror. “Hey, this actually looks pretty cool. I look like I belong in, like, GQ or something.” He then poses like he’s looking at his watch, then puts his hand on his chin like he’s in deep thought.
“I put together a few other color combinations as well, sticking with the basic colors, figuring Taylor wouldn’t be caught dead in a peach.”
“Good call.”
Mrs. Riggins smiles warmly at me. “We’ll take it all. Thanks so much, Lexi.”
“Of course.”
She follows me to the cash register. I start ringing up what will most likely be my biggest sale of the week, if not the month. She hasn’t once looked at a price tag.
“How are things with your family?” she asks.
I do my best to smile. “Great.”
“And your sister? Are things going well on the pageant circuit for her?”
Since I spend so much time talking about pageants at home, I usually try to avoid the topic when I’m at work or school. But I give her a big wide smile. “Wonderful. She was crowned Princess last week, and we’ve got another pageant this weekend.”
“That’s wonderful.” She pulls out a platinum credit card. “She came by Taylor’s dad’s office a few weeks ago for some kind of fundraising.”
No. Please no.
I specifically asked Mom that anybody associated with me not be put in an awkward position of giving Team Mackenzie money.
“Stewart showed me the picture he got of your sister. She looked like a little cowgirl.”
Dear God, not western wear. Please don’t tell me that Mom took Mackenzie around town dressed up like a cowgirl to beg for money.
“I had no idea those pageants cost so much.”
Oh, they do. They cost so much money, time, effort, dignity….
I smile and nod as I tally up Taylor’s five shirts, three pants, two ties, two blazers, and one sweater vest. The cost doesn’t even match that of Mackenzie’s beauty gown, one that she’ll wear only a few times because she’ll either grow out of it or Mom will feel the need to compete with the girls with more money who wear new gowns every time.
I try to go through the paces and not die of humiliation right here and now.
I’m fine being part of Team Mackenzie on the weekends and during the week. But I wanted to have somewhere that was just for me, even if that place is work. Everybody deserves a respite from pageants.
But I guess I don’t get one.
There’s trouble afoot at Princess Central.
Mom’s rummaging through her “emergency supply” crate, which contains everything from spot remover, scissors, and bleach to sugar sticks, an energy drink that contains five times the caffeine of a regular soda, and, what Mom really needs right now, antacid. But that’s not what she’s looking for.
“There’s got to be something here to help.” She starts grabbing at her hair. Her cheeks flush more than usual.
She turns to Mackenzie, her eyes pleading. “Please, baby, try it one more time.”
Mom delicately hands Mac her flipper, a necessity in the glitz pageant world. Flippers are basically dentures for tots — fake teeth to cover up Mac’s missing teeth and gaps because she’s seven. She’s not supposed to have perfect pearly whites, but ’tis the law of glitz.
Mac puts the flipper in. She smiles and my little sister has these huge horselike teeth that look so unnatural.
Mom collapses on the hotel bed in relief.
Mac goes to say something, but the flipper falls out.
“NO!” Mom turns over on the bed.
There’s a knock on the door. Sensing that Mom’s not capable of having any kind of human interaction at this point, I get up and let in Lauren, Mac’s hair-and-makeup person.
“Hey, y’all!” Lauren gives me a little squeeze on the shoulder. I don’t understand how she does what she does every weekend. She travels to these pageants and spends all morning primping kids. Between the demanding mothers and fidgeting divas, I seriously can’t believe she ha
sn’t gone postal. She once explained to me that she makes more money in one day at a pageant than she does in an entire week at the salon she works for. She’s saving up for a house, and once that’s done she’s going to retire from pageants. While I’m happy for her, she’s really the only person in the entire pageant world that Mackenzie consistently behaves for. So once she’s gone, Hurricane Mac will be unstoppable.
“Hi, Miss Lauren!” Mac coos sweetly to her.
“Well, hello, Miss Mackenzie!” Lauren lifts her suitcase and begins to take out all her tools. “You seem to be in a good mood this early morning. What’s going on with your mama?” Lauren tilts her head toward Mom, who now has a pillow covering her head.
“My flipper isn’t staying in.” Mackenzie hands it over like Lauren won’t be disgusted by the fact that it was just in Mac’s mouth.
Lauren kneels down. “Well, let’s see what we can do, shall we?” She puts the flipper in Mac’s mouth. “Smile for me.”
Mac obliges.
“Well, isn’t that the most gorgeous set of teeth you’ve ever seen?”
Not really.
Mac beams at Miss Lauren. She then goes to laugh, but the flipper falls out. For a split second, she looks like an elderly person who’s lost her dentures.
“Oh, I see.” Miss Lauren puts the flipper back in. “Well, hon, I guess you’re just going to have to keep your teeth closed when you’re up on stage. You can do that, can’t you?”
Mac nods.
Crisis averted.
Mom finally gets up off the bed. “Thanks so much, Miss Lauren.”
It’s business as usual as Lauren starts rolling Mac’s hair in curlers. I get back to glitzing up Mac’s T-shirt for crowning. All the contestants received a “free” Miss Cutie Pie (or whatever today’s pageant is) T-shirt upon check-in. Of course we had to pay over three hundred dollars to enter, so not really sure what’s so free about it. It’s my job to glam it up, so I’m currently adding pink ribbon and rhinestones. It’s not the kind of fashion that I aspire to, but it keeps the peace.
Mom starts examining Lauren’s work curling Mac’s fall (her hair-piece), yet another requirement of glitz pageants: big hair. “Miss Lauren, have you seen what some of those moms have been saying online about the girls?”
Lauren stays focused. “No, ma’am, I haven’t. I think it’s best to stay away from those things.”
“Well, it’s awful.” Mom starts wiping her brow and I can tell she’s ready to go into a tirade. “Some of these mothers are disgusting. There’s a certain group of women, and I will not name names, but they have been ganging up on some of the girls, calling them names. They’re only kids. I went right on there, I did, and I said, ‘You watch what you’re sayin’ because you don’t know if the judges are on there, and you can call me what you want, but you don’t make fun of my child.’” Mom fervently nods in agreement with herself.
Mac yawns. “What did they say, Mama? Did they say something about me?”
I shoot Mom a warning glance. Mac has many years ahead of her where she’ll have to deal with bullies, on- and offline. I’m hoping Mom will let her be a kid, even if she’s currently getting fake hair pinned to her head.
“Nothing, sweetheart.” Mom hovers closely over Lauren. “I want to make sure her hair is big. I want big curls. Last pageant, Holli Cooper had this gorgeous fall. There’s no way her color is real, is it?”
Miss Lauren smiles politely. “Holli’s a beautiful girl, just like Mackenzie. Should be a good competition today.”
Mom starts pacing the room, unhappy not to get any intel on Mac’s biggest competition. Holli Cooper’s beaten Mackenzie, and pretty much their entire age group, at every competition for the last year. She has this fiery red hair that really makes her stand out. And Mom has been desperate to find out if her hair color’s real. It’s funny that she would think that would make a difference. Glitz essentially means go big or go home. The contestants have to do everything to stand out: spray tans, expensive dresses, professionally choreographed routines, you name it. It’s not like it would make any difference if Holli’s hair came in a bottle.
Mackenzie starts getting antsy, which is completely understandable since she’s been sitting in that chair for over an hour. That’s difficult at any age. And it probably doesn’t help that she had a Cherry Coke and a chocolate donut for breakfast.
“You want your special juice?” Mom asks Mac.
I literally bite my tongue as Mom gives Mac an energy drink. I once decided to taste it and it was disgusting. There’s no way something that people drink at raves is good for a seven-year-old. But they practically sell the stuff in bulk on days like today. I guess I should be grateful Mom hasn’t busted out the sugar sticks. It’s only a little after eight in the morning, after all. Straight sugar is usually given right before the talent competition.
Lauren applies the final touches on Mackenzie. I figure I can make my move while Mom is busying oohing and aahing over Mac.
I approach Lauren cautiously.
“Well, Miss Lexi, I have to say, I love your outfit.” Lauren looks down at my new cami and fitted jeans with knee-high boots. This is probably the first time she’s seen me in anything but a baggy Mackenzie T-shirt. I decided to take baby steps and wear something new and better fitting today. I even caught the bellhop checking me out, and it felt nice.
I need to stop fighting my desire to dress up in nice, cute clothing. I’d like to say I forgot why I stopped doing it in the first place, but I’m not that good of a liar, especially to myself.
“Thanks.” I lower my voice. “Um, could I talk to you later, when you have a free moment?”
I know Lauren’s schedule is packed, but Benny’s right. In order to avoid another Clown Face Incident, I need professional help. And while it’s seriously possible that I might need a therapist’s help after this is all over, right now I need a hair-and-makeup stylist.
“Of course. Come find me in the all-purpose room during talent. I should be mostly done by then.”
I thank Lauren, grateful that Mom and Mac have no idea what I’m up to. Although truthfully, I don’t think Mom could even see me any other way than she sees me as her dependable daughter. The workhorse. The student. The responsible one.
Mackenzie’s the pretty one.
I slip out to find Lauren once talent starts. I’ve seen Mac’s various dance routines so many times that I could perform them in my sleep. Today’s one of my favorites: Mac dresses up as a teacher and dances to the Jackson 5’s “ABC.” It’s pretty adorable, even if her pageant version of a teacher wears a spandex-and-rhinestone hot pants suit.
The conference room next to the pageant looks like it’s been destroyed. Chairs are overturned, empty garment bags and accessories litter the floor. I see Lauren talking with a few other stylists. A lot of the pageant girls use this room to get ready, but Mom usually insists on getting her own room, which adds another $200 to the bill for today. With everything for today’s pageant, I’m pretty sure Mom’s spent nearly $1,500 … and the top prize is only $200.
“Well, hello there, Miss Lexi.” Lauren gives me a hug. “Been a long day, huh?” I smile politely. “What can I do for you?”
“I know you must be exhausted and you’ve been working all day, but I was wondering if I could ask you some questions … about hair and makeup?”
Lauren’s face lights up. “Of course! You know, I’ve been dying to get my hands on your cheekbones.” She leads me to a chair.
“Oh, I don’t want you to feel like you need to give me a makeover or anything. It’s just, I tried to put makeup on the other day, and I’ve been watching people do it to Mackenzie for years, but when I did it, I looked like a —”
Lauren laughs. “Oh, honey, glitz makeup’s not meant to be worn out in public. Or I guess I should say it shouldn’t be worn out in public. Look at Alyssa. You’ve seen her at school. Does she look anything like the Alyssa you saw on stage today?”
True, Alyssa doesn’t
wear as much makeup as she does on stage, but she still looks gorgeous. Just ask Logan.
“Oh my goodness.” Lauren shakes her head. “I can only image what you would’ve looked like trying to use Mackenzie’s makeup. But do not worry your pretty little head, we can do something without making you look like a two-dollar streetwalker.”
“Yeah, I’d prefer to look like a ten-dollar one. I do have standards.”
Lauren’s laugh fills the room. “Oh, sweetie, you’re too much. Plus, you and Mackenzie have totally different coloring. She has an olive complexion and you’re paler with a reddish undertone that a little concealer can help even out.” She starts putting a cream on my face. “To be honest — and please do not take this the wrong way — I’ve been wanting to do your eyebrows for months.” She runs her fingers across my eyebrows. “They’re gorgeous, but need a little bit of taming. Do you mind?” She lifts up a pair of tweezers.
I nod my head and close my eyes. I try to go to a happy place as I feel the hairs being ripped out one by one. Whoever said “beauty is pain” is right. I need to give Mackenzie more credit. Yes, she’s only seven, but that doesn’t stop Mom from having her eyebrows waxed before a big pageant. I refuse to make any noise, but I feel tears start forming in my eyes.
Just when I’m about ready to scream “uncle,” Lauren puts a cooling liquid on my eyebrows. “See, all better. Your eyes pop more.”
It’s amazing what a little grooming can do. My face already looks a ton better … except for the red splotches from the plucking.
I start making a list of items to buy and take diligent notes on what Lauren’s doing with her makeup tools and curling iron.
She gives me a satisfied smile when she’s finished. She holds up a mirror for me to study the final look. It’s amazing. I look like me, just a better version. And she made it look more natural than I thought. You can’t really tell I have a bunch of makeup on, and that’s what I wanted. My hair is probably the biggest difference. She used a curling iron to give my normally limp hair some much needed body and wave.
A text from Benny appears on my phone:
Revenge of the Girl With the Great Personality Page 5
