I know I’ll need an extra-special outfit for my picture. I put on a pink dress with a huge pink fluffy skirt, my fairy wings from Halloween, a flower crown with long ribbons, and my white shiny shoes with tiny heels.
I look in Momma’s little hand mirror.
There is strawberry jelly on my face. “Oops!” I say. I spit on my finger and wipe it off.
Then I look myself up and down and say, “Perfect!”
Ugly Brother is sitting in the doorway. He says, “Ruff, ruff.”
Two barks is yes and one bark is no. That means I’m ready to go. “Momma,” I yell, “I’m goin’ to Pappy’s house.”
“All right,” she calls back. “Don’t get in the way, and come home for lunch.”
“Yes ma’am,” I holler.
Careful not to slam the door behind me, I run outside. I jump on my hot pink bike and pedal down the street.
Granny and Pappy live way down at the other end of Peachtree Lane. Their house is tall, old, and the color of the sky on a sunny day. That’s where my daddy grew up.
I ring the bell at the front door. When Pappy opens the door, he smiles at me and says, “It’s nice to see you, love bug. But Granny is at the garden club meeting. They’re having a speaker on herbs today.”
“I came to see you, Pappy,” I tell him. “Can you take a special picture of me in Granny’s rose garden?”
He smiles real big and pats me on my head. “Reckon I can,” he says. “Meet me ‘round back in the garden.”
Pappy takes my picture on the swing, under the arbor, and on the bench in front of the pink rose bushes. The pink roses are the same color as my pink dress.
I smile for every picture, and Pappy tells me, “You’re the prettiest girl I ever did see.”
“Thanks, Pappy,” I tell him.
When we’re done, Pappy says, “All right, little miss. Come back tomorrow, and we’ll see how they look.”
“Don’t tell a soul,” I whisper. “This is top-secret beauty queen work.”
He nods, waves, and goes inside the big blue house with his camera.
When I get home from Pappy’s, I ask Momma if my friends can come over. “I want to have a paintin’ party after lunch,” I explain.
I don’t tell her that I want to make posters for the Blueberry Queen Festival. Posters are the next thing on my list.
“That’s real nice, but don’t you make a big mess now, Kylie Jean,” Momma tells me.
“No ma’am,” I say. “I sure don’t want to make a big mess.” Then I run into the kitchen to call all of my friends.
While I eat my chicken salad sandwich and drink my cold milk, I make a plan.
As soon as my friends get here, we will make a line. Each girl will have a job. I need to make the first poster so that we can make lots of copies of it. I have to have lots of posters, so the judges will see them and choose me as Blueberry Queen.
As soon as Momma goes out to work in the yard, I make my poster. It’s pink, of course! That’s my color.
In the middle of the poster is a giant blue circle with a smiley face. The blueberry is wearing a gold glitter crown. Underneath the blueberry, I write, “Vote Kylie Jean for Blueberry Queen!” Except I spell blueberry wrong and have to X it out and write it again.
At the bottom of the poster, I draw a big green tractor. Next to the tractor, in smaller letters, I write, “Sponsored by Lickskillet Farm.” I had to ask Miss Clarabelle earlier how to spell sponsored.
Soon, the doorbell rings. Then I hear giggles and loud talking. I run downstairs to greet my friends.
Lucy comes in first. Then Kristy, Cara, Katie, and Daisy follow her.
Once they’re all in my house, I say, “Ladies, we’ve got work to do.” I take them up to my room and carefully shut the door behind them.
“You’re about to see something amazing,” I say. Then I show them the poster.
They love it!
Daisy says, “Kylie Jean, you know blue is my color. Please, please let me make the big blue circles.”
“Okay,” I say. “Who writes nice and pretty?” Kristy raises her hand real slow.
“This is goin’ better than I planned it,” I say. “Kristy, you do the writin’ on the top and bottom of the poster.”
Katie decides she’ll make the smiley faces on the blue circles. “Why’d you make your face blue?” she asks me. “Are you supposed to be from outer space or somethin’ like that?”
Cara laughs. “Silly! That there is a blueberry. Right, Kylie Jean?”
“You got it!” I say. “You’re smart.”
Cara says, “I’ll use the glitter pen to make the sparkly crown, because I’m so smart. I’m a superstar!”
We all laugh. “I’ll do the tractors,” I tell them. “Let’s get started.”
Daisy starts making a big blue circle on one poster. Then she passes it to Kristy, who will add the writing.
I’m at the end, so I have to wait for the first poster to go all the way through the line before it gets to me.
Then I notice something. Kristy spelled the word blueberry wrong (like blubery) and put a big X over it, just like I did.
“Stop!” I yell.
“What’s wrong?” Kristy asks. “I’m making it just like you did!”
I sigh. “I know,” I say. “But you don’t have to write it the wrong way. Spell blueberry right on all the posters. Okay?”
She nods her head yes and starts to write again.
After about an hour we have a whole pile of pink posters. Cara asks, “So, where are you gonna put all your pretty posters? If it was me, I would put one at the Piggly Wiggly grocery store.”
Daisy says, “How about the Drive-N-Go?”
Katie says, “How ‘bout taking them to church?”
Kristy says, “I think you should put one at the courthouse.”
Lucy says, “Take some posters downtown.”
We’re a great team. I love my friends!
Then Momma calls, “Y’all come down. I’ve got hot chocolate chip cookies and ice cold lemonade.”
Daisy shouts, “Yum-o!” We all run for the door.
I’m glad my posters are done. But there’s so much left on my list. I don’t have much time till the Blueberry Festival. I’ve been saving one of the hardest things for last.
I have to write an essay!
When I wake up the next day, I get going even before I have breakfast. The first thing I have to do today is see the pictures that Pappy took. I need to pick one to send in with my application for Blueberry Queen.
I stroll over to Pappy’s house. When I get there, I ring the doorbell that sounds like a church bell.
Granny comes to the door. She asks, “Are you here to see Pappy and get your pictures?”
“Yup!” I answer.
Pappy calls for me to come to the kitchen. My pictures are all on the table.
When I see them, I can’t help it: I shout with joy. Then I whisper, “Pappy, you made me look sweet as an angel!”
After looking at each picture, I choose the one with the best smile.
Pappy agrees. “That’s my favorite one too, little miss,” he says. Then he adds, “You know I like to take your picture, so you ask me anytime.”
I give my pappy some sugar and say thank you before I go.
I’m in a hurry to get home. Another project is waiting for me.
I need help on my essay. And to help me, I need someone who knows a lot of words. Maybe even a million words. Lucky for me, I know just the right person to help me.
As soon as I get home, I run upstairs to my room and find my pink notebook and my pink pen with the long feather on it.
“Momma!” I holler. “I’m goin’ to Miss Clarabelle’s house.”
“Don’t bug her,” Momma says.
“I won’t!” I call as I slam the front door.
I carefully run across the yard, because I do not want to step on any of the beautiful flowers. They look like a quilt tucking Miss Clarabelle’s h
ouse into the green grass.
When Miss Clarabelle opens the door, she smiles.
“I need help, ma’am,” I say.
She waves her hand and I follow her to the fancy living room. Miss Clarabelle calls it the parlor. Like I said, she knows a lot of words!
Miss Clarabelle sits down in a big, soft, purple chair. Then she pats the footstool in front of her. “Come and sit,” she says. After I make myself comfortable, she asks me, “How can I help you, Kylie Jean?”
I explain all of my writing troubles to her and I can tell she’s listening because she looks at my face when I’m talking and she nods her head at all the right times.
Then I say, “The worst part is, I need a commendation. I don’t even know what one is.”
She laughs. It sounds like a little tinkling bell. “Do you mean a recommendation?” she asks.
Miss Clarabelle explains that a recommendation is just a letter of kind words in support of someone. She tells me lots of folks need them to get a job. I wonder if Daddy needed one to get his job at the newspaper.
I think real hard, and my forehead gets wrinkly. I squeeze my eyes tight. Then an idea jumps right on me like a flea.
I take a deep breath. Then I say, “Miss Clarabelle, would you do me the honor of writing my recommendation to be Blueberry Queen?”
She smiles and says, “I would be delighted to write a letter supporting you as the next queen.”
“I got another problem I need your help with, ma’am,” I say quietly. “I have to write an essay. And it has to have three hundred words in it!”
“My goodness,” Miss Clarabelle says. “That is a long essay for someone your age. But I think you can do it.”
“How do I get started?” I ask.
“Well, the first thing you should do is make a list of all of the reasons you want to be Blueberry Queen,” Miss Clarabelle tells me.
“My reasons are I want to be a queen, I’m right pretty, and I like blueberries,” I tell her.
Miss Clarabelle laughs. “I think you may need a few more things than that,” she says. “Why don’t you think of about five more reasons you’ll be a great Blueberry Queen. Then you can start on your essay. I’ll get to work on your letter.”
She starts working on my recommendation. I can hear her fancy pen scratching across the paper. While she writes, I work on my list.
When I get bored of that, I draw blueberries on the paper.
After about a hundred minutes she puts down the pen. Then she hands me the letter.
To whom it may concern:
I am writing this letter to recommend Miss Kylie Jean Carter for Blueberry Queen. I have known this young lady from the day she was born. It is her life-long goal and dream to be a queen. I have watched her work in my garden and flowerbeds, so I know she likes growing things. I also know that she works hard and is willing to get dirty if the job calls for it. She is nice and kind. Kylie Jean has many supporters, and we would love to see her at the front of the Blueberry Festival parade.
I cannot think of a better young lady to be our next Blueberry Queen. Thank you!
Yours Sincerely,
Miss Clarabelle Lee
I can feel tears prickling in my eyes as I jump up and throw my arms around her neck. I squeeze her in a big hug.
“Miss Clarabelle,” I say, “you went and made me cry with your words. Your letter will make those judges choose me. I just know it for sure!”
Back at home, I sneak up to T.J.’s room. Ugly Brother follows me and sits down beside the desk. I push all the junk off of T.J.’s desk chair and sit down. The computer is already on, so I get right to work.
First things first, I think about my list. I write all my ideas on a blank piece of paper from the printer.
I begin. I delete. I begin again. I keep writing until my essay is done. Then I read it out loud to Ugly Brother.
Why I Want to be Blueberry Queen
By Kylie Jean Carter
Ever since I was a bitty baby I knew I wanted to be a beauty queen. It is my big dream in life. Being a queen is important work. I know because I’ve watched Miss America every year since I was two. I know the beauty queen wave too. Nice and slow, a side to side wave. You will not find a young lady for your queen who has more sparkle than me.
I have all the right stuff to be your new Blueberry Queen. My nanny and pa are my sponsors. They own world-famous Lickskillet Farm. My pink Kylie Jean for Blueberry Queen posters are all over town. I have included a picture my pappy took of me in the rose garden.
As you can see I am wearing my flower crown, but I am sure the picture would be even better if I had a real crown to wear, so just pretend I have one on. Okay?
A lot of pretty girls will enter your beauty queen contest, but I am so very pretty. My eyes are as blue as the summer sky and my hair is long, brown, and curly. Everyone knows a beautiful smile can make a queen. Don’t you worry! I always brush my teeth every day, so they are white as my momma’s pearl necklace.
Speaking of my momma, she likes to say, “Kylie Jean, pretty is as pretty does.” This makes me think that I have to be nice on my insides to be pretty on my outsides. I am smart and I work real hard. Plus, I try to be nice all the time.
Finally, the last thing I want to say is that I just love blueberries! I know these things will make you decide that I am the very best choice for your new queen.
When I get done reading, Ugly Brother says, “Ruff, ruff.” That means he thinks it is really good. I’m glad.
After I finish my essay, I look at the next thing on my list. I need to get some transportation. I’m thinking about using my pink bike, but it will be hard to hold the handlebars and wave real pretty to the crowd.
I can tell Ugly Brother thinks it is a bad idea too, so I ask him. I say, “Ugly Brother, do you think I should ride my bike in the parade?”
He says, “Ruff.” That means no.
All of a sudden an idea hits my brain like dew on grass.
“Ugly Brother,” I say, “I’m surely goin’ to need your help.”
He says, “Ruff, ruff.” That means yes!
Ugly Brother follows me to the garage. I pull out my old red wagon and a small stool. I put the stool inside the wagon. Then I climb inside the wagon and wave nice and slow, side to side.
This just might work!
Ugly Brother puts his face under his paw and whines. He seems nervous.
“Don’t worry, Ugly Brother,” I say. “I’m not done yet.”
Next I go inside. I get one of Momma’s old blue sheets, a pair of scissors, and a blue pillow off of T.J.’s bed. I cut the sheet so I can put it over the stool and wagon. Then I cut a big round hole in the center of the dark blue pillow.
I look at Ugly Brother and say, “When I get through with you, you’re gonna look just like a big ole blueberry.”
Ugly Brother puts his other paw over his face and whines louder. I sit down on the ground beside him.
“You’re not gonna like this,” I tell him, “but face it, you’re not so handsome, Ugly Brother. This is gonna make you look real nice.”
It takes me a long time, but I finally get the pillow pulled up around his middle. Ugly Brother stands real still. The blue pillow is like a giant blue inner tube around his middle.
He has white pillow stuffing stuck to his pink tongue, and one of his ears is bent back from me pushing him into the pillow.
I shake my head and put my hands on my hips. “It’s your own fault you got stuffin’ on your tongue,” I tell him. “You should have put it in your mouth.”
He tries to sit down, but the pillow gets in the way.
“No sitting down on the job, Ugly Brother,” I scold him. “You have to pull this wagon.” I tie him up to the handle of the wagon.
Then I shout, “Go to Granny and Pappy’s house, Ugly Brother!” He starts to pull me, real slow like. I smile and wave.
I think I have sunburn by the time we get to the end of the street. We’ve been moving slow as molass
es. Ugly Brother has had several resting times along the way. I don’t think he will make it down all the streets on the day of the parade.
Granny and Pappy are sitting on their porch. I wave when I get closer.
Pappy says, “Kylie Jean, just what are you doin’ to that poor dog? And what is he wearin’?”
“I need transportation,” I explain. “And my transportation is wearin’ a blueberry costume.”
Granny runs inside the house and then comes back with a bowl of cold water for Ugly Brother. She says, “He must be burnin’ up dressed up like that, poor boy.”
She starts to laugh again and has tears in her eyes. “Pappy, come help us get this pillow off of this dog!” she says.
After he gets Ugly Brother out of the pillow, Pappy looks me in the eye. “Listen, love bug,” he says. “If they pick you for Blueberry Queen, I have a fancy old car that will make it down the street better than Ugly Brother here.”
I can’t believe it! “Yippee!” I shout.
Then I look to make sure no one else but Granny and Pappy heard me shouting. I hug Pappy real hard.
He asks, “Is that the best bear hug you’ve got?”
“Yup!” I tell him, but I squeeze him even tighter.
On Wednesday morning, I wake up early. The house is full up with the smell of blueberry muffins. Momma must be trying another new recipe for the Blueberry Bake-Off. She only has a few days left before the festival.
Every year since I can remember, my momma has won a blue first-place ribbon for her cooking. She has the ribbons pinned all over the inside of our pantry door.
I stretch. I yawn. The sun is up, and today is going to be a great day.
My plan is to finish my beauty queen list.
Suddenly an idea hits my brain like chocolate syrup on ice cream. Maybe my list is all done!
Kylie Jean Blueberry Queen Page 2
