Chris just txted me!!!! What do I get if I reply to him and ask him 2 do something?
I get so excited for Benny. I reply back:
A date?
Haha. I want leg.
???
I want you to show some leg on Mon. And not long dress, above the knee.
Perv.
U know me so well!
A makeover and a dress? There is a very good chance no one will even recognize me on Monday.
Including myself.
I try to sneak into the room during crowning. On my way in, two people wish me luck. I try not to laugh. I don’t look that good.
“Let me get this for you.” One of the pageant dads holds open the door and smiles at me. Nobody ever smiles at me, or even notices me, at these things. I know I should be flattered, but it sort of annoys me that some makeup and hairspray is all it takes for people to be polite.
Once I get to the room, I look up to the front where Mackenzie and Mom are. They don’t even seem to notice that I’ve been gone for nearly an hour and missed talent and most of the crowning. I see that Mackenzie already has her tiara.
“What’d I miss?” I whisper to Logan.
“Where were you? I’ve been —” Logan stops himself and squints his eyes at me. “I … Are you wearing makeup? Your hair’s different, too.”
Okay, so I guess when one has never really worn makeup before and one’s hair isn’t in its usual messy ponytail, it’s obvious that something’s different.
“It’s nothing. Miss Lauren and I were just goofing around.”
“Oh, well, you look nice.”
I face forward, certain that the foundation I have on will not disguise the heat that I feel rising in my face. I can see Logan stealing glances at me. I can’t tell if this is a good thing or a bad thing. Does he think I look good or is he embarrassed on my behalf for me trying to be someone I’m not?
Or does he want to run off into the sunset with me?
Well, it’s nice to know that some things never change.
I decide to go for further distraction and reach in my bag for a snack.
“Almonds?” I offer.
Logan takes a few. “You’re the only person I know at this place who has anything not completely laced with sugar. Even Alyssa, who won’t touch it during the week, consumes handfuls of the stuff here. It’s weird.”
“Yeah, well, have you seen my mother?” I nod my chin toward Mom, who takes up nearly two seats. “Genetics are not on my side.”
I feel a pang of guilt that I’ve said something about my mom’s weight. While I know genetics are partially responsible, I also know that she gained over a hundred pounds after Dad left. She stopped taking care of herself, and just kept eating. The only thing that would get her out of her rut was pageants.
I tried to talk to her about it, concerned for her health, but it only made her mad at me. I even went to the school nurse and got some brochures on nutrition that I left out on the kitchen table. I found them in the trash later that night.
I study her now as she walks over to us. I see the looks the other people give her when she passes by. It’s not only the children that are being judged today.
And while I admit that my mom’s weight sometimes embarrasses me, I’m more upset by a greater offense: her complete lack of concern over her health.
The way she appears to have given up.
I know how much it costs to be pageant pretty. But real-life pretty isn’t much better.
I stare down at the receipt from my shopping trip after work, grateful that I’m good about saving money. After all, I don’t really have much of a social life, so there’s no need to spend a lot of cash. Hanging out at Benny’s to watch movies on a Friday night is cheap. Plus, I’m saving for this summer in New York. I have a little satisfaction every time I go to the bank and see my growing balance. It makes me feel like I’m accomplishing something.
But while I’m scraping together every penny, Mom keeps spending.
After seeing Mom cry last week, there’s a part of me that wants to help her, help Mac. But I figure someone in this family needs to be the fiscally responsible one.
Hence, the current argument.
“Do you have any idea how long it takes me to save up five hundred dollars — and you want me to give it to you for fake teeth?” I shove the drug store receipt farther into my back pocket. If she knew that I just spent a bunch of money to try to make me look pretty, she’d lose it. A pang of guilt erupts inside me over the money that I spent, but I never spend money (that I earned) on myself.
Mom glares at me. “I’m well aware how long it takes to get that kind of money, but the old flippers don’t work anymore and we can’t do glitz pageants without them. It’s not like we won’t pay you back when she wins.”
Mackenzie finally perks up. “No! That’s my money.”
I don’t even see why we’re having this conversation since Mackenzie never earns back the money. I once did some estimating, and she’s earned about seven hundred dollars over the last five years. Which wouldn’t seem so bad if we haven’t spent tens of thousands of dollars on pageants.
“You’re right, honey — it’s your money.” Mom brushes Mackenzie’s hair out of her face. Then she turns back to me. “I promise I’ll pay you back when I get the money.” Mom holds her hand up like she’s swearing in at a trial.
“Just like you did with the money I lent you for Mac’s new photos?” I counter. Last year I lent them over two hundred fifty dollars to get new head shots. After three months I stopped asking for it back.
“You’re being incredibly selfish, Lexi.”
As if on cue, Mackenzie starts crying. A horrible, high-pitched sob, complete with a scrunched-up face. She stomps on the floor.
“Oh, honey.” Mom motions for Mac to come and give her a hug.
“NO!” Mac yells and runs to her room, slamming the door nice and loud.
I look at the closed door. “That went well….”
“Oh hush, Lexi. This isn’t funny, and you’re not helping any.”
I’m afraid to try to talk to her again about it, but I can tell from Mom’s haggard expression that things are pretty dire. “How bad is it?”
“Well, it’s not good.” She shakes her head. And for a brief moment, I think Mom’s finally going to admit that we’re in over our heads. “I think we have a real shot next weekend, but not if we don’t have a new flipper.”
How naïve of me to think that she’d ever admit there are any problems in the perfect Mackenzie world she’s created in her mind.
“And there’s something else.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a questionnaire. I see the Texas Beauty Tykes logo across the top.
“Please don’t tell me you want to be on that show?”
Texas Beauty Tykes is a “reality” television show that showcases one “junior” Texas beauty queen pageant contestant each week. Most of the time the kid and her family come across as completely insane. Usually people blame editing, but I’ve seen some of the families in real life, and I truly believe the editors were trying to make them look good.
“Can you imagine the exposure it would get Mac? It could really take her to the next level.”
I really want to ask who they’ve featured in the past that’s now a huge star, but I know there’s no chance of talking any sense into her.
Mom continues. “The producers are going to be at the Texas Royal Pageant in two weeks, and all we’re doing is trying to get an interview. So that’s why it’s so important for her to have new teeth … and a new dress.”
I look up at Mom. It’s never going to be enough for her. That’s how I know that if I give her that money, I’ll never get it back. There will always be another thing we need. There’ll always … Wait. Something registers in my head.
“Next weekend? That’s when we’re supposed to go see Dad.”
Two years after the divorce, Dad moved to a Houston suburb for a new position within his accountin
g firm. Mackenzie and I get to see him two weekends a month — or I should say we’re supposed to see him two weekends a month. Usually a pageant gets in the way. Even though a lot of the pageants are in the Houston area, we still don’t get to see him because we’re too busy with the pageants, and he doesn’t want to have anything to do with them.
With all the distractions, I haven’t been able to see my own father in nearly two months. And I guess what hurts the most is that he hasn’t fought it. Mom always talks about how these pageants are what “we” want to do, as if Mac and I don’t want to see our own father. I miss my father so much it aches inside. He gets me. He gets how ridiculous the whole pageant scene is.
I don’t care what Mom says, I’m still going.
Mom waves dismissively at me. “I know it’s your weekend with your father. I already took care of it.”
“What do you mean you took care of it?”
“I called him and told him we’d have to reschedule.”
“You did what?”
Mom rubs her temples. “You know, Lexi, I’ve had just about enough of you.”
I feel something in me snap. “You know what, Mom. I’ve had enough of you! How dare you cancel our weekend with Dad without consulting us first.”
Mom’s voice rises. “I don’t need to consult you. I’m your mother — don’t you forget that.”
I feel so much anger bubbling inside of me. I spend so much time doing what they want, what needs to be done for the pageant, what about what I want?
“Why can’t I go without Mackenzie?” I plead. “You don’t need me at the pageant. Plus, I can’t keep switching my work schedule around. Mark is already annoyed that I had to cancel another weekend, because it’s not like weekends are busy at the mall or anything. But I guess none of this matters. No, of course not, because the entire world revolves around your precious favorite daughter!”
I don’t even let her respond. I run to my room and slam the door shut, just like Mackenzie. Maybe if I start acting like her, I can start getting a vote around here.
While I wasn’t thrilled when my alarm woke me up two hours earlier than normal on a school day, things are going pretty well. I spent all day yesterday giving myself a manicure and pedicure. (All I have to say is that I’m very thankful for the invention of nail polish remover.) I also applied tanning lotion to my arms and legs, using the lightest color so it wouldn’t be so obvious. I have to admit, it really makes my skin tone look a little less Night of the Living Dead.
And, yes, I’m wearing a dress.
I put the last finishing touches on my outfit and examine myself in the mirror. This time I was able to actually make my hair have natural-looking waves, although there’s so much product in my hair, there ain’t nothing natural about it. I gave myself smoky eyes, used one of Lauren’s many tricks to make my eyelashes look about twenty times bigger than they actually are, and applied a little bit of shimmer to my exposed arms and legs to give me a little glow.
I’ll just go ahead and say it: I don’t look half bad. I didn’t do as nice of a job as Miss Lauren, but for a complete novice, I really can’t complain.
I know there’s no way that I’ll ever be able to top this, so I hope that Benny doesn’t figure out a way to get me to wear an actual pageant gown to school. Because if he wants that, he’s taking Chris to prom.
I wish I could go right to school to see Benny’s reaction, but first I have to face my harshest critics.
“Good morning,” I say as I reach in the refrigerator for some juice.
I turn around to see both Mom and Mackenzie staring at me with their mouths agape.
“Lexi? Is that a dress?” Mom looks me up and down as if she can’t recognize an item of clothing as familiar as a dress on her oldest child. She comes over to me and puts her hands on my face. “What in the world? What happened to you? You look like a lady.”
“Thanks, Mom. Do we have any oranges left?” I reach around the counter, pretending to be busy.
“Is there something special going on at school today?” Mom continues to stare.
“Nope. Just thought I’d try something new for a change.”
She smiles at me. “You really look lovely, dear.”
“Thanks.” We both give each other a little nod. It takes everything I have to not remind her that she didn’t think that this would ever be possible. But I don’t want to go there today. Today is going to be a happy day.
“Doesn’t your sister look beautiful, Mackenzie?” Mom has never used that word to describe me. And as soon as that word escapes her mouth, I realize how much I’ve been craving it.
“Why does she get a new outfit?”
And like that, the moment is ruined.
“Well, I hate to break up the lovefest, but I gotta go.” I grab an apple and head to my car. Pretty much the only benefit of being from a broken home is that I have my own car courtesy of Father Guilt.
I look at myself in the rearview mirror. I hardly recognize the person staring back at me, but I can’t help but like what I see.
I hate it when Benny’s right.
Benny and Cam are waiting for me in the parking lot. The two of them start banging at my car window the second I’m parked and taunt me like a bunch of construction workers to get out.
Once they see me, it takes a couple minutes for the shock to sink in.
“Come here and let me admire my handiwork!” Benny stands back and looks me up and down.
“Your handiwork?” I’m annoyed. “You didn’t have to get up two hours earlier to make this happen!”
He chuckles, but keeps staring at me. “I don’t mean to ogle you.” Benny’s eyes go up and down the new me. “But who knew you had such hot gams?”
“Gams?” I tease him. “I know your clothing choices are stuck in the eighties, but didn’t realize your vocabulary is from the thirties.”
“Hey!” Benny says as he flashes me his CHiPs T-shirt. “I’ll have you know that Chris finds my taste in clothing, and I quote, ‘a-freakin’-dorable.’”
“That’s great. So why do I have to do this again?” I ask. Part of me feels super shallow for liking this fancy version of myself.
“To prove a point,” Benny says with authority.
“What point? That you’re a top-notch negotiator?”
He sighs. “No, that you’re a total hottie.”
I look at Cam for some support, but she’s staring down at my high-heeled sandals.
“Don’t those hurt?” she asks.
“Beauty is pain.” This is today’s mantra.
“More like a pain in the butt.”
“Tell me about it.” A well-timed yawn spreads over me. I was hoping that maybe I could rely on adrenaline to get me through the day, but it looks like I’m not going to be that fortunate.
“Shall we?” Benny holds out his arm for me to take. “I can’t wait for all those stupid jocks to see the hottest girl in school on my arm.” He grabs Cam with his other arm. “Make that the two hottest girls.”
She nudges Benny playfully. “Nice save.”
The three of us walk into school and toward my locker. I didn’t really think past seeing Benny and getting through our bet. I’m not really sure what people will think, if they’ll even notice.
I’m overly self-conscious as we walk through the hallway. The only thing I can think of is to treat this like Mac handles a runway.
Then it hits me: High school is exactly like a beauty pageant.
Of course. Walking down a hallway is like being on stage, being judged by your appearance. Instead of a tiara (unless you’re Homecoming or Prom Queen), you’re anointed worthy of a spot at the Beautiful People table.
I’d laugh if it weren’t so sad. I think back to some of Mom’s many tips of navigating the pageant world. Like: When in doubt, smile. I decide against the toothy, fake pageant smile and go with a normal, sane-person smile. I notice a few people smile back at me, but without a sense of recognition. I don’t know what I was expe
cting, but I get a few double takes when I turn the corner.
As soon as we reach my locker, I think, Now what? Am I really going to have to spend the entire day, not to mention the week, like this? Won’t people assume I’ve lost my mind?
“I guess I should, um, get my things?” It’s as if the makeup has made me incapable of understanding how to behave in school.
“Yeah, I’ve got to head to class,” Cam says apologetically, probably sensing my total discomfort. “Good luck.”
She gives me a hug before heading off. Benny gives me a huge grin.
I shrug my shoulders at him. “Well, I guess —”
“Oh my God, Lexi?”
We turn around to see Alyssa staring at me, her eyes wide.
“Hey, Alyssa.” At first I’m confused about her shocked attitude, but then I remember that I look like … one of her kind.
She comes over and starts examining me up and down. “I almost didn’t recognize you. You look fantastic. What …”
“What happened?” I finish her thought. Benny has faded into the background; he wants to listen, not participate.
Alyssa’s cheeks flush. “I didn’t mean it that way. I guess I’m just not used to …” She bites her lip. Clearly she knows she’s on shaky ground. I’m probably going to get this a lot today: genuine compliments that are barely disguising sheer shock that I could make myself look nice.
I catch Logan out of the corner of my eye. He’s walking toward Alyssa, who’s busy circling me, complimenting me on everything from the color of my lip gloss to my sandals. I won’t pretend like I haven’t imagined this scenario a million times in my head: Logan spots me down the hallway and rushes toward me, unable to hide his feelings any longer.
But this is reality, and his eyes are currently fixated on Alyssa.
I realize that I’m literally holding my breath in anticipation.
What if he doesn’t notice? What if he doesn’t say anything?
Man, you can cover up a lot on a girl, but you can’t hide ugly desperation.
“Hey there …” Logan lights up as he comes over to give Alyssa a quick kiss. His eyes flicker to me, then back to Alyssa, then …
Revenge of the Girl With the Great Personality Page 6
