Beauty Queens (33 page)

The camera jumped ahead to darkness. A kerosene lamp.

“Is this okay?” Duff asked.

Adina heard her voice saying “Yeah,” and the room swam for her. She smashed the camera to the floor again and again until it was a pulp of metal.

Mary Lou appeared at the door. “Deen? What’s wrong?”

Adina’s words came out choked. “He … he …”

Mary Lou looked from Adina to the broken camera. “Oh my God. Adina …”

Sobbing, Adina pushed past Mary Lou, past the girls working on the ship, and far down the beach, searching for some place to run to until she realized there was nowhere to go.

“Adina!” Mary Lou shouted, running after her. “Deen. Hey, Deen.”

A sharp pain lodged beneath Adina’s ribs, making it hard to breathe. “I let him in,” she sobbed while Mary Lou held her.

“He’s an asshole. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“I’m just like my mother. I didn’t learn anything. I’m just going to make the same stupid mistakes she did!”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Mary Lou murmured to the top of Adina’s sweaty head. She tightened her hold.

“How could I have been so stupid?”

“Hey. Look at me.” Mary Lou turned Adina’s face to hers. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Adina’s crying activated something deep and primal within Mary Lou. She pictured her sister, Annie, standing at the kitchen window, the baby on her hip, the longing stealing over her face like a ghost hand, the muted cries later in the shower. Her mother had told her they were cursed women. But in this moment, it seemed to Mary Lou that the curse was in allowing yourself to be shamed. To let the world shape your desire and love into a cudgel with which to drive you back into a cave of fear. And Mary Lou had had enough.

When her friend had cried herself to sleep, Mary Lou covered her with a palm frond and marched toward the camp. Her strides took on purpose as if her feet were marking a path through the cornfields where wild girls ran unconstrained — and where they hid themselves when the world judged them for their agency. Her palms prickled. Her skin warmed. The wild girl was coming alive. The pack protecting its own.

Everyone was on the beach, having something to eat. Duff sat among them, laughing at the jokes Ahmed and Chu told. A small growl clawed its way up Mary Lou’s throat. When she came close, the guys reacted to her wolfish sexuality with an awed silence. She tapped Duff on the arm. He tipped his head back to look up at her. “Hello, Mary Lou.”

“Could you stand up, please?”

Duff gave the boys an I-wonder-what-this-is-about look. “Sure thing.” He stood and faced Mary Lou. “What’s up?”

“This.” Mary Lou’s fist connected with Duff’s face in an audible crunch. He tottered like a drunk. And if there had been a clock on
the island, it would have ticked off exactly three seconds before he lost consciousness and went down hard in the sand.

“Ow!” Mary Lou shook out her hand. Then she took her place at the fire and drank the rest of Duff’s coconut milk, drinking till she was sated.

“Your friend’s a real asshole,” Petra said to Sinjin when they were alone in her hut.

“A: Duff’s not my friend. He’s a bloke I’m in a show with. B: He is, in fact, an asshole. And C: Why do I feel like you’re pissed at me? I didn’t do anything.”

Petra took a good look at Sinjin. “Are you blogging about us?”

“No, luv, it’s
snogging.
That’s our word.” Sinjin went for a fake rim shot.

“I’m serious.”

“I would never,” Sinjin said, and Petra felt that this was true. He opened his arms and she went to him.

“Can you believe that Duff guy?” Jennifer said. She and Sosie had applied another coat of pitch to the ship. They stood in the surf trying to wash the sticky stuff from their hands before it set into hard, dark lines.

Sosie signed a word and Jennifer smirked. “Totally.” She stepped closer and kissed Sosie’s neck. “I would never do that to you.”

Sosie tensed and turned her head.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just don’t want this to stick.”

“Okay,” Jennifer said, trying to ignore the tiny warning alarms going off inside her. They washed in silence until Jennifer could no longer take it. “Are you sure everything’s okay?” she pressed. Her heart beat quickly.

Sosie glanced at Jennifer, and for a moment, she thought about
saying all was well. But it wasn’t. The uncertainty she’d felt last night had blossomed into a sure distance she couldn’t ignore. Jennifer was great — loyal, kind, good, nicer than Sosie by far. The truth was that she liked Jennifer … but not as much as Jennifer liked her. Sosie was no Duff, but she knew she’d end up breaking Jen’s heart all the same. It was better to end it now before things got too ugly.

“I’m just not sure I want a girlfriend right now,” Sosie said at last, feeling lame.

Jennifer went cold inside. “Are you breaking up with me?”

Sosie nodded slowly.

“But … why? What did I do?”

“Nothing,” Sosie said.

“What can I do?”

Sosie hesitated. “Nothing,” she signed.

The waves licked at Jennifer’s tanned knees. The sand tugged at her toes, making her sink in. She tried very hard not to cry, but two tears trickled down her cheeks anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Sosie said. “Can we still be friends?”

Friends. Funny how a word could be welcome in one way and horrible in another. Jennifer wanted more than that. The hurt was a pain in the center of her chest. It was hard to breathe. Friends? How could she see Sosie every day and pretend she didn’t want to kiss her? To hold her? To share everything?

Jennifer wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. “No. Sorry. The Flint Avenger travels solo.”

She yanked her toes free of the sand and fought the undertow back to the shore. Sosie watched her go, feeling a terrible mix of relief and regret. Looking down, she saw that her hands were splotched with tree sap. She’d waited too long to wash off the pitch, and it had set across her palms like a brand.

The following preview has been approved for all audiences by the Motion Picture Association of America, Inc.

All Charlie Tanner wanted was to live happily ever after.

OPEN ON:
Split screen from WEDDING DAY & WEDDING DAY 2, with an attractive young woman, CHARLIE TANNER, walking down the aisles in two very different wedding dresses. Her hair is perfectly highlighted.

But Charlie has been unlucky in love.

CUT TO:
Same split screen, but with images of Charlie catching husband #1 kissing another woman and watching husband #2 being led off to jail in chains for a massive embezzlement scheme.

CUT TO:
Montage of Charlie getting promoted at her PR firm, attending events, going to a concert, and eating dinner alone.

Now Charlie Tanner is through with living for someone else. She’s calling her own shots and making her own rules.

CUT TO:
Charlie playing poker with her best friends. Bottles of beer sit on table.

I kept thinking, what’s wrong with me? And then I had an epiphany: Maybe it’s not me who’s screwed up. Maybe it’s this
whole crazy notion that we’re supposed to do nothing but shop, have makeovers, and chase after some unattainable idea of romance or settle for some jackass rather than figuring ourselves out and living life to the fullest that’s wrong.

No. I’m sure it’s you.

Things are finally going right for Charlie … until she meets Mr. Wrong.

CUT TO:
Charlie entering her boss’s office. An attractive but boorish man sits sprawled on the sofa, his shirt untucked, a beer in his hand.

Charlie, meet your new client, Dick Connor, author of
He’s Never Going to Call You Unless You Follow These Rules.

You know, if you want to have sex with me, you’re going to have to step it up, sweetheart. (He swats her butt.) Where’s my beer?

CUT TO:
Charlie hanging out in a park with her best gay friend. They are having a picnic.

He’s crude. He’s sexist. He thinks Hooters is fine dining and women are only good for sex and getting his breakfast.

Oh my God. He sounds so hot.

I hate everything about Dick Connor. He makes me feel awful and inadequate.

That is actually a sign of true love.

I don’t think so… .

(giving her a pitying look over his glasses) Charlie, honey, you’re almost thirty. It doesn’t pay to have too much self-esteem. Come on. Let’s shop for heels and a push-up bra.

CUT TO:
Montage — Charlie getting primped and powdered and squeezed into a tight black dress. Charlie entering a ballroom and catching the eye of every man, including Dick. Charlie slow dancing with Dick. Charlie seeing Dick with another woman. Charlie crying. Eating ice cream. Watching Home Shopping Network. Staring wistfully at a store window filled with wedding dresses.

CUT TO:
Charlie sitting with her grandma in her cutesy retirement community.

(tearful)
What if Mr. Wrong is the best I’m going to get?

(patting her hand) Love means making sacrifices. I know these things. I’m old.

Grandma, you’re on Alzheimer’s meds and you think my shoe is the cat.

(glaring) That’s a bad kitty.

From the makers of
Wedding Day
and
Wedding Day 2
comes a story about third chances, awesome dresses, exciting makeovers, and giving up the life you’ve made for the romance you’re not complete without, for better or worse.

WEDDING DAY 3: THIRD TIME’S THE CHARM,
Starring Jessica Everett, Chase Random, Rupert Falderal, Bonnie Sagcard, and Ima Goldengirl as Grandma.

Written by: The Committee
Directed by: David L. Evithan
Produced by: The Corporation

This film is not yet rated.

It was a fine day of blue, cloudless skies and unhurried winds. The sort of day that inspires confidence in the state of the world. If Taylor had been back home, she would have considered it a perfect tanning day and gone for a fresh coat of color. But she had more important things to think about just now. She had work to do, and as she worked, she hummed an old show tune. It was a song she had used in a previous pageant, a song about how you couldn’t get a man with a gun, which was silly — of course you could get just about anything with a gun! But it calmed her to sing it now as she attached the red, blue, and white wires to the statue of Miss Miss.

Heavenly stars, but she’d had a busy few days! After attacking the guards, she’d relieved them of their weapons and buried them in a shallow storage pit beneath Our Lady. The trip wires had not been easy to rig. She’d had to go deeper into the jungle to find vines that were strong enough, and she’d had to make sure they were low enough to the ground so as not to be seen. One wrong step and that person would be hoisted high into the trees to dangle by a foot until they passed out or Taylor felt merciful, whichever came first. Probably the passing out. She’d dug two deep holes. These she covered with leaves and branches and marked with tiny crosses so that she would remember not to step there. But oh, there was so much to do still. It was just like getting ready for pageant time, and it filled Taylor with a happy sense of purpose. Ever since getting shot by those darts, Taylor had had a teensy bit of trouble organizing her thoughts. That’s what lists were for. When Taylor competed, she always made lists.
They were very helpful. She made one now in her head. It went like this:

1. Melt down jewelry for arrowheads
   
2. Dig pit
   
3. Surveillance
   
4. Construct bows
   
5. Practice!
   
6. Interview portion
   
7. Projectile launch/avocado mask
   
8. Reassemble AK-47
   
9. Construct bomb
   
10. Moisturize
    

Yes, lists were essential if you were going to be a serious competitor. And nobody was more serious about competing than Taylor Rene Krystal Hawkins.

“Miss Texas, who’s got her wires crossed,” Ladybird Hope cautioned. She’d changed into a sarong and put a flower in her hair, which was, of course, just perfect.

“Oh my stars!” Taylor rethreaded the wires. She shook her head at her clumsiness. “That’s almost like wearing red for evening gown. Everybody knows the judges like pastels.”

“Amen.” Ladybird Hope peeled a banana. She had a French manicure. “You’re gonna need a what next, Taylor?”

“An accelerant.”

“That’s my girl.”

Taylor opened the jar of Lady ’Stache Off cream and put it in position. Under the label, the jar had a small radioactive symbol. “There. This Miss is ready to greet her subjects.”

Ladybird Hope patted Taylor lightly on the back. “I’m so proud of you, Taylor. You really are a Miss Teen Dream.”

“Just hearing that from you, Ladybird, well, it’s like I’ve already won.” Taylor’s eyes misted with tears.

“None of that, now. Save the tears for your victory walk. Otherwise it looks premature and the judges will think you’re cocky. Or emotionally unstable. Or premenstrual. None of that will get you a crown.”

“You’re so right. Buck up, Miss Texas.” Taylor dabbed at her lashes with her knuckles. Then she tested the digital watch she’d taken off the guard’s wrist. It was a standard issue military timepiece and it counted down just fine.

“It’s a whole new world of pretty.
…” She sang the Miss Teen Dream theme song as she worked. She clicked the watch into place and closed Our Lady, smoothing out the wrinkles on her sash. With that, the sculpture was not only beautifully accessorized, she was fully armed.