Claire

by Lisi Harrison

  When the clapping ceased, Lorna smiled, revealing a smear of Paradise Pink lipstick across her left eyetooth. “Gracie, please step up and share your issue with us.”

  The graceful redhead, who was dressed in a nude-colored unitard, stepped forward. “My issue is obesity in America.” She lowered her head and waited for the music to cue.

  Suddenly, the sound of crunching potato chips crackled from the speakers. Then came the slurping of soda. Soon, the slobbering, lip-smacking, finger-licking noises of someone gorging herself on greasy food fused into a rhythmic beat. Gracie pushed out her belly and puffed up her cheeks and proceeded to jazz-walk to stage left. During a particularly loud slurp, she stopped midstride in an exaggerated attempt to catch her breath.

  Claire peered out at the audience—many of whom were clear junk-food eaters themselves—but most people were leaning forward and nodding thoughtfully, as if they, too, hated fast food with a fiery vengeance.

  Onstage, Gracie busted out an energetic hip-hop sequence. After an ill-fated pop-lock, she stopped and held two fingers to her wrist to check her pulse. The eating sounds got louder and her bursts of energy got shorter, until finally she collapsed on the ground in a distended heap.

  After three bows, several curtsies, and scattered applause, Gracie cleared the way for Sarah.

  “My issue is the earthquake that scientists predict will hit California in the next thirty years.” She lifted two fistfuls of mud and smeared them all over her white Danskin tracksuit.

  Well, shake it up baby now . . .

  From the moment the Beatles’ “Twist and Shout” started playing, Sarah began thrashing. There was no slow build, like Claire had encouraged. No moment of tranquility before the disaster struck. She simply flailed from one side of the stage to the other like she had been pumped full of Red Bull and tossed into the nearest mosh pit to work off the excess energy.

  Claire stress-bit her lower lip. How was she ever going to convince Mayor Reggie and Vonda that this performance was EW?

  After several spastic rotations around the stage, Sarah fell to the ground and began convulsing.

  The crowd gasped collectively and Claire struggled to contain the nerve-tremors in her stomach.

  A familiar, concerned woman’s voice rose above the music. “I think she’s hurt!” Sarah’s mother stood up in the second row. “Medic!”

  Seconds later, the same team that had rushed the stage to rescue the girls from Jaws arrived to rescue Sarah from herself.

  “What are you doing?” she shouted just before they restrained her and stuck a stick in her mouth. “Uhm ine!” she tried, but they didn’t believe she was fine and hauled her off, kicking and screaming.

  Lorna signaled to the soundman to cut the sound track, and “Twist and Shout” ended midlyric.

  Claire shot Amandy a look of concern. But Amandy’s relieved smile suggested that she was anything but distraught over her competitor-slash-BFF’s sudden elimination.

  Meanwhile, Mayor Reggie nodded at Wendi, urging her to take the stage and fill the awkward moment.

  “My issue is terrorism.” Wendi stepped forward, dressed in a camouflage miniskirt, matching racerback tank, and three-inch platforms. Her long limbs had been slicked in bronzing oil, her eye makeup was smoky, and her hair had been teased to Pamela Anderson proportions.

  “Does she want to fight terrorists or seduce them?” Vonda mumbled.

  Claire and Reggie snickered.

  With no music, just several grunts and hai-ahs, Wendi busted out a series of karate kicks that would only prove one thing to the enemy: that Wendi preferred thong underwear to full coverage.

  Claire heard Todd whoop extra loudly before Judi covered his eyes and shushed him.

  Amandy and her flattering new bangs were next. She managed to touch the crowd with her beautifully portrayed account of global warming. It was an EW performance—maybe even nineworthy.

  Massie was the last to take center stage. Dressed in a formfitting white shift dress that had been patched together using several different PETA T-shirts, she stepped forward with grace and confidence. With the snap of a finger, Bean raced out from the wings and leapt into her arms. “My issue is makeup testing on animals,” Massie announced. Bean barked once.

  “Awwwwwwww!” The crowd aw-clapped their approval.

  While Claire was just as charmed as the rest of the audience, a part of her was terrified, like she was careening down a hill on a bike with no brakes. The moment of choosing between her friends was rapidly approaching. Massie had to at least be on par with Amandy.

  Massie snapped her fingers again, and Pink’s old hit, “Get the Party Started,” blared out of the loudspeakers.

  Get this party started on a Saturday night

  Everybody’s waiting for me to arrive

  Massie “borrowed” a few modern dance moves from Alicia’s jazz routine (Gawd knew Alicia had performed it a billion times for the PC), pulling them off flawlessly while Bean scampered at her feet. After a minute, she stopped in front of an imaginary mirror and mimed putting on makeup.

  As Massie applied invisible eye shadow, Bean suddenly froze and yelped in pain. When she brushed on blush, Bean collapsed. And with a final swipe of mascara, Bean rolled over and played dead.

  “No!” the audience gasped.

  A seven-year-old girl in a princess costume started sniffling, but Massie, still in character, acted totally oblivious to the animal carcass. She danced away from the crime scene like a giddy girl anxious to meet her friends for a night on the town.

  The music stopped, and Bean lay on center stage, her legs stiff, poking straight up to the heavens. After a beat everyone applauded. A few wiped their eyes. Then they stood, giving the PETA performance the ovation it deserved.

  Claire stood too, her teeth chattering with pride.

  TOHO SQUARE

  HISTORIC DOWNTOWN KISSIMMEE

  Saturday, August 15 1:33 P.M.

  After the judges’ scores from the issues segment had been tallied and the audience quieted once more, Lorna leaned into the microphone. “And now it’s time for Beauty, our third and final round. Our judges will be looking for the girls who best represent innocence, poise, and polish. Behold, the three remaining Kisses . . .”

  As the curtain lifted, the audience let out an appreciative sigh. No one seemed surprised to see Amandy, Gracie, and Massie smiling graciously in their eveningwear—except for Claire, who nearly spit out her lemonade. For some reason, Amandy was wearing the tight black Geren Ford cocktail dress Massie had fallen in love with at Saks . . . and Massie was dressed in the dusty rose Theory three-tier gown Claire had picked out for her.

  What was going on? Claire’s insides felt like a battlefield of emotions, each one fighting to be heard. Part of her was honored times ten that Massie had taken her advice. But the other part was horrified that Amandy had been manipulated into wearing an outfit that had Vonda and Reggie shifting uncomfortably in their seats. In Kissimmee, there was nothing EW about that dress.

  Claire wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt. The best she could do was hope that Gracie would get tangled up in her Easter egg yellow tulle gown and crash into the string quartet. But no such luck. She walked the stage with giraffelike grace, her red curls bobbing like the steady beating heart of a pageant winner who knew she had a lifetime of sashes and tiaras ahead of her.

  Stress seemed to add five degrees to the temperature. Claire hooked a Ked around the neck of the floor fan and scooted it closer, all the while taking soothing fire-breaths.

  Amandy followed Gracie across the stage, walking to the beat of disapproving whispers. Her dark hair, long bangs, and black dress made her look like the kind of girl who kicked Miss Kiss winners around for cardio.

  Claire toe-dragged the fan even closer, but suddenly it caught on the stage floor. The rotating head got knocked off its locked position and started shooting air directly at the stage . . . directly at Amandy. As she stopped on the edge for the required three seconds,
a giant gust blew right into her face. In an instant, her bangs were lifted off her forehead, revealing giant scabs where her eyebrows used to be.

  Gasp!

  Amandy’s hands flew to her forehead.

  “Alien!”

  “Mommy, what’s wrong with her?!”

  “Ehmagawsh!” Claire quickly leaned over and repositioned the fan. But it was too late. Several children screamed. Vonda choked on her lemonade, and Mayor Reggie turned away in horror.

  “Thanks a lot!” Amandy shouted at Claire before speed-finishing her beauty walk. Claire’s intestines oscillated like the fan. Even though the disaster had been an accident, guilt had grabbed hold of her neck and started wringing.

  While Massie dazzled the crowd with her relaxed confidence and pretty pink dress, Amandy tried to wipe away the black mascara that was dripping down her cheeks. The whole thing was totally EW.

  And not in a good way.

  TOHO SQUARE

  HISTORIC DOWNTOWN KISSIMMEE

  Saturday, August 15 2:37 P.M.

  The audience milled around restlessly while the press interviewed the rejects. The only people still sitting were the three judges.

  Lorna stood above their table, waving her red Lucite clipboard in front of her face to cool her slick forehead. “That was quite a round,” she whisper-snickered to the judges, then instantly regained her composure. “Now, if each of you would please write the name of the girl you feel best represents this year’s Miss Kiss, and drop it in here”—she shook an empty shoe box that had been covered in silver aluminum foil—“we can all get home to our air conditioners.”

  “No more numbers?” Claire muttered.

  “Nope. This is do or die,” Reggie explained, wringing out his head-tee.

  Claire tapped a Sharpie against her front teeth and stared at the red velvet curtain. She’d only planned for EW. She had no strategy for “do or die.”

  Massie was clearly better than Amandy. So was Gracie. But this had been Amandy’s dream since the day they met. Yet, if she voted for Amandy, Lorna would get suspicious. Between the dress, the scabs, and the sobs, it was impossible to justify her over the other two. . . . Ugh! How was she supposed to be fair about this?

  With certainty, Mayor Reggie and Vonda dropped their crumpled pieces of paper in the silver shoe box. Then they slid it down the table to Claire.

  “Tough call,” Claire tried. But they both looked at her like that was the furthest thing from the truth.

  So in the heat of the moment, and in the name of fairness, Claire finally made her pick for Miss Kiss. She shut her eyes, gulped back some courage, then wrote GRACIE in thick black Sharpie letters and jammed it in the box.

  Suddenly Claire’s phone vibrated.

  Amandy: No you did nawt!

  Claire whip-turned around and saw SAS hovering behind her, identical angry expressions on their sweaty faces. Her palms started to sweat. More than anything she wanted to explain how hard she had tried to help them. How badly she wanted them to win. How much she hated having to choose. But she was trapped at the judges’ table, under the scrutiny of Vonda, Reggie, and Lorna, forced to act like an impartial robot while her three FBFFs linked arms and Red Rovered off in anger.

  “Thank you, judges. I will see you at the crowning!” Lorna smiled like she wasn’t crabby and damp and marched across the stage.

  As Reggie and Vonda stood and said goodbye, a dry lump formed in the back of Claire’s throat that the lemonade couldn’t quench. With trembling hands and shortness of breath, Claire began texting.

  I tried to help you all equally, I swear . . . Eights all the way . . . Our lucky number! Voting for Gracie was the only fair thing I could do.

  While she waited anxiously for a response, Claire searched the crowd for Massie, wondering if SAS had told her the news, praying they hadn’t. Claire’s eyes finally locked on Massie, who was greeting her admirers. But if they had told her, the alpha seemed far from concerned as she and Bean posed for pictures for the press and a cluster of fans.

  Claire jumped when her phone vibrated loudly on the table.

  Amandy: Was it fair the way U “helped” Sari by telling her to pinch herself? Or told Sarah 2 dance like an earthquake? Or me 2 get my brows ripped out with burning hot wax? Admit it. U wanted us to lose so UR BFF Massie could win.

  Claire: I was trying to help!!!!!!

  Claire wiped the tears from her eyes, wishing SAS could see her. Maybe then they’d know how wrong they were.

  But it was too late.

  Amandy was in the distance, showing Lorna the text message she had just received.

  Instantly, Lorna fixed her eyes on Claire. She stuck out her neck, bent slightly, and, like a raging bull, charged straight for her.

  “Is this true?” She waved Amandy’s cell in front of Claire’s wet blue eyes.

  The press began to gather. Then other Kisses. And then Massie.

  “Did you fix the contest?” Her cheeks were flushed and her J-bob had flattened to an I.

  “Um, no?” Claire tried.

  “Then explain this.” Lorna began reading the text while the press scribbled her words on the backs of their programs.

  The crowd gasped, and Bean yipped loudly when Lorna read the part about Massie.

  “Your judge days are over, Miss Lyons.” Lorna tore up Claire’s stipend check for the cameras. “Just like your film career.”

  “But—” Claire tried, but a big saliva bubble came out of her mouth where all the right words should have been.

  Mayor Reggie, Vonda, and the rest of the crowd glared at Claire as if she’d just peed in the public pool. Tears began trickling down her face. Not only for the lost friends or the lost check. But for the lost hope. This was the last time she’d ever do anything for anyone again.

  The only person who seemed to appreciate her was Gracie, who failed to realize that removing Claire’s vote made it a tie. And a tie meant the audience at the Miss Kiss Coronation Ball tomorrow night would decide the winner. No, Gracie didn’t quite get that yet. Because she thank-hugged Claire so hard, the coarse tulle from her yellow dress scratched a big red mark right in the middle of her forehead, shaped like an L.

  THE LYONSES’ HOUSE

  KISSIMMEE, FL

  Saturday, August 15 5:07 P.M.

  No one said a word on the car ride home. Not even Todd. There were no lectures on fairness and honesty. No inquiries as to what Claire could have possibly been thinking. No suggestions on how she could mend her broken friendships. Everyone just focused on the Carrie Underwood CD Judi had gotten last Mother’s Day and let Claire cry in peace.

  When they got home, Massie’s limo was in the driveway. Jay mumbled something to his wife, then parked on the street.

  Knowing Massie was home filled Claire with the same kind of anxiety she got when someone told her they had a surprise for her. Like something dangerous might be lurking . . .

  “Dinner’s in an hour,” Judi announced when they entered the air-conditioned house. Everyone nodded, then went their separate ways.

  Claire stood alone in the foyer and sighed. Was it her imagination or did the white wicker hallway furniture seem disappointed in her too?

  Wearily and with grave heaviness, she climbed the peach-carpeted stairs as if underwater, desperate to collapse on the AeroBed and document her sadness with a series of self-portraits she’d call “Kiss This!”

  When she reached the second floor, the sight of her bedroom door made her tear up all over again. Covered in old Hello Kitty stickers, it reminded her of happier times. Easier times. Times filled with innocent laughter shared by four best friends with one brain.

  Bracing herself, Claire pressed her ear against Tropical Island Kitty but heard nothing. Maybe Massie wasn’t home. Or maybe she was lying in bed watching Gossip Girl on her iPod, waiting to laugh about the whole thing. After all, she hadn’t even heard of Miss Kiss until a week ago.

  Claire reached for her doorknob. It was now or—

  LOCK
ED!

  “Massie?” she jiggled the knob.

  “Go away!” Massie called.

  In an instant, Claire’s sadness switched to anger like she was changing tracks on a playlist. “This is my room!”

  “You take from me, I take from you.”

  “What did I take from you?” Claire yelled at Scuba Kitty.

  “I was the best,” Massie insisted through the door. “I should have won.”

  Claire kicked Disco Kitty with her Ked. “Let me in and I’ll explain!”

  “Explain what?” Massie asked, opening the door a crack. Claire’s room was covered in clothes. “Why you betrayed me?”

  The alpha was wearing a black satin robe, her face covered in a green mud mask. All she needed was a broomstick and—

  “Gawd, I have nuh-thing to wear to the ball tomorrow!” She kicked a red Valentino dress that accidentally landed on Bean’s bed. The dog woke with a start, looked around, then curled up and lowered her head in chiffon.

  “What do you mean? There are clothes everywhere,” Claire pointed out, happy to change the subject. She could hear her mom shuffling around in the kitchen downstairs.

  “These are for winners, Kuh-laire.” Massie picked up a purple Marni blouse and tossed it over her head. “Ugh!”

  “But you are a winner,” Claire said, stepping over a sea foam green Marc Jacobs tote to enter her room.

  Massie stopped and looked at Claire, her amber eyes smoldering. “What if I lose that audience vote? Then I’ll be a number two. And I have no idea how to dress like a number two.” She folded her arms across her chest and opened her mouth, which was starting to tighten from the mask. “Any advice?”

  “Massie, I’m sorry.” Claire looked at the white shag, willing the burning feeling behind her eyeballs to go away.

  “For what? Voting for a yellow-wearing stranger? Or telling me you were working all week while you were helping your real friends.”

  Claire’s stomach flipped. “How do you know about that?”

  Massie grabbed a fistful of hundred-dollar bills off her night table. “Benjamin here managed to get it out of your brother.”