Between Now & Never (31 page)

W
e stand onstage, eight contestants in evening gowns and heels as we wait to hear the judges’ verdict. The competition was stiffer than I imagined, each girl putting on an impressive show of talent, fitness, poise, and intelligence. Well, almost everyone got the intelligence part across.

Candace’s answer to the on-stage questions left a bit to be desired. When asked why she would like to become the next Miss City of Maricopa, she hardly took a breath before rushing in with, “So that I can stand as an example of the type of girl who should wear the crown.”

Not bad, I guess. But the next question was how she thought the United States should aid refugees of war in other countries. This time she took a number of hesitant breaths before answering, “I think . . . they should be freed. Yes, they should definitely be freed. And given food.”

Sophie and I exchanged questioning looks backstage. Did Candace think they were asking about
prisoners
of war?

As I stand beside the seven other contestants, I run through the scoring breakdown, knowing Candace’s blunder won’t matter. The on-stage question is worth only 5 percent of the overall score, while the talent is worth 35, evening wear 20, swimsuit 15, and private interview 25.

Candace’s dance can’t be beat. She nailed the most important two minutes of the entire competition. Her evening gown was unlike any other, too, a white, tastefully beaded, off-the-shoulder dress that accented her fake tan, bleached teeth, and perfectly set updo. That, and she outdid us all in the swimsuit portion with her ruffled bikini.

Homecoming queen, Miss City of Maricopa . . . however cocky Candace’s first on-stage question was, she was right. Candace Langley is crown-bearing material.

Sophie and Denica, in my opinion, are the only ones who stand a chance against Candace. Sophie’s Rachmaninoff piece blew us all away. Her smile is contagious, her yellow evening gown matching her personality. And she answered her on-stage question like a champ. Then there’s Denica, who’s a repeat contestant, one of the attendants to last year’s Miss City of Maricopa, Lacy Baldwin.

“Thank you all for coming out tonight to support our amazing contestants,” Donna says into the microphone, addressing the darkened crowd beyond the stage. “We nearly doubled our ticket sales this year and we are so thrilled to have you all here to share in this moment when the new Miss City of Maricopa will be crowned.”

A prickly feeling begins in my toes and radiates upward. This is it. Now that I think about it, the winner could be any one of these girls standing beside me.

Denica had every right to be excited about the swimsuit portion. She certainly gave Candace a run for her money. Rebecca is kind, and she’s a talented Irish dancer. She would make a great Miss City of Maricopa. Laurel and Aubrey are beautiful and talented. Then again, maybe the judges were in the mood for a less conventional talent and were impressed with Jenny. Her ventriloquism act was definitely original.

The reigning Miss City of Maricopa, Lacy Baldwin, joins Donna onstage, wearing an evening gown, sash, and crown. Really, every girl standing at my side deserves a crown.

Donna asks the band for a drumroll. “Our second runner-up, and winner of a two-hundred-fifty-dollar scholarship, is . . . Sophie Spinetti!”

People clap and cheer as Sophie steps forward to accept a bouquet and a sash from Lacy.

“Our first runner-up, and winner of a five-hundred-dollar scholarship, is . . .”

Denica, I think. No, Laurel. Then again, I really like Rebecca and would love for her to win first runner-up to Candace.

“Candace Langley,” Donna announces.

I hesitate before clapping, surprised. Denica beat Candace? Or was it Laurel?

Candace walks toward Lacy Baldwin, hiding her disappointment as she takes her bouquet and sash.

“Now, one of these final six ladies will be our new Miss City of Maricopa,” Donna says. “She will not only win the title, she will also win a thousand dollars in scholarship money, as well as serve as a role model to others in her community. Our new Miss City of Maricopa is . . . Julianna Schultz.”

I clap twice before the name registers. My mind must be playing tricks on me, a conclusion quickly shot down by the fact that everyone is staring at me. Including a smiling Donna and an eager Lacy Baldwin, who holds a second crown in her hands.
My
crown?

Cameras flash. The cheering is overwhelming. I step forward, seeing the faces in the audience better now. Stasha, Sean, and other members of the art club are here. Even Mrs. Legend sits a few rows back with her husband. And Mindy . . . she came. Other people from school are here, too, whether for Laurel or Aubrey or Candace or me, I’m not sure. And Damian. He puts two fingers between his lips and whistles.

My cheeks burn in an obvious blush and I smile.

A crown is placed on my head. My brain staggers to catch up. Lacy situates the Miss City of Maricopa sash on my shoulder. I accept the huge bouquet she hands me—nothing quite as amazing as the ones I’ve seen Cody’s mom put together but beautiful.

Cody’s mom.

Cody.

Rachel. Mrs. Legend. The art club.

Equal parts gratitude and guilt wash in. Gratitude to these people, for this moment. Guilt as I think of how undeserving I am. Desire and ambition follow as I resolve to prove myself, to do my best, to be everything this position calls for. And then it settles in: I am Miss City of Maricopa.

I interviewed, performed onstage—actually went for something. And
succeeded
. And I won a
thousand dollars
in scholarship money. College. This taste of success is overwhelming.

And then I remember Mama.

She’s going to flip with excitement. Moisture gathers in my eyes as I imagine telling her. I have her to thank for this.

Donna thanks everyone for coming. Then news reporters are on-stage, asking me questions. The night hurtles past in a haze of smiling faces, flashing cameras, hugs, and glitter.

Mindy comes up onstage and gives me a big hug. “You looked beautiful, Julianna. And you won!”

We share a girly moment complete with giggles that could certainly be classified as
giddy
, one of my least favorite words. Right now I don’t care.

When I’m finally packing up my things, I realize how late it is. And that I don’t have a ride home. Dad never came.

I check my cell phone, finding three calls from him. And one from
Cody.
No voice mail.

I check my text messages, finding one from Dad.

I try to call, but it goes straight to his voice mail. Great.

I look around the empty dressing room, just me and pieces of sequins on the floor. Some residual makeup on the counter. Even Mindy is long gone by now. I call Vic, hoping he’s still at RigaTony’s with Heidi, less than a half hour away.

“Hello?”

“Vic,” I say, relieved. “Hey, listen, I know you’re—”

“Hello?”

“Vic? Can’t you hear me?”

“You didn’t honestly fall for that, did you?”
Beep.

I let out a grunt of frustration, forgetting how obnoxious Vic can be, even in his voice- mail greetings. “Vic, Rusty broke down. Dad couldn’t pick me up from the pageant tonight, so I’m stuck. I know you’re out with Heidi, but can you come get me?”

I gather my things as best I can and head out. Some guy from the tech crew congratulates me as we pass in the hallway. I thank him, wondering how I’m going to get home. I’m sure Donna is still around, but how embarrassing is that? Her new Miss City of Maricopa doesn’t even have a ride home from the pageant.

I reach a fork in the darkening hallway, feeling like a total loser as I accept the fact that I’m stranded.

“Incredible performance.”

I turn toward the voice, finding Damian and Fin.

“Thank you,” I say, equal parts relieved and surprised to see them still here.

Damian leans up against the wall beside me, his close presence over my shoulder reminding me of that day in the copy center when I first met him. We exchange small talk about the pageant and then they offer to walk me out to my car.

“Actually”—this is rich—“I don’t have a car. Or a ride home.”

“No problem,” Damian says. “We’ll give you a ride.”

“Yeah?” Such a relief.

They offer to help carry my stuff out. I gladly hand over my dress bags, the act of separating my things making me realize I forgot something.

“My pageant heels,” I say. “Hang on. Sorry. I think I left them in the dressing room.”

“We’ll buy you a new pair,” Damian says, which makes me laugh. Still, I note the impatient edge to his voice. He’s ready to get out of here. This night—this entire pageant—wouldn’t have turned out the way it did without Damian Acklen.

“Just a sec,” I say and open the door of the dressing room.

I call Vic one more time, not about to fall for his stupid voice-mail greeting this time. “Vic,” I say after the beep, bending down to look for my shoes under the counter. “Never mind. My sponsor, Damian Acklen, and his brother Fin are giving me a ride home. Thanks.”

Sparkly heels catch my eye. I snag them from beneath the counter.

“Julianna!” Donna catches me outside the dressing room, looking dead on her feet after such a long night and yet still keyed up from all the excitement.

Crew members are packing up props and cleaning. I glance over my shoulder toward Damian and Fin and try to break away, but Donna fires up talk about upcoming events. A fund-raiser next week for the Children’s Miracle Network, speaking at a school flag-raising ceremony, possibly even having me sing the National Anthem at sporting events. The list goes on, reminding me of how very real this is. So much responsibility and yet so much potential. I’m grateful. It’s like a whole world of possibility has been opened to me.

“Sorry it’s such a long drive,” I say to Damian and Fin as we finally make our way into the parking lot.

“Nah,” he says over his shoulder. “It’ll give us time to talk.”

About what, I’m not sure. It dawns on me how very little I know about Damian and his brother. Two strangers, really. And they’re giving me a ride home.

When I spot Damian’s black sports car—a
Jaguar
—I recall what he said about Cody going to Acklen Motors. Why? Damian told me Cody has a thing for Jaguars. And yet Cody didn’t want me anywhere near these two. So why would he go to Damian’s luxury car lot? Because he loves Jaguars or because he was suspicious? Just how much of his dad does he have in him?

“Something wrong?”

I look up, realizing I’ve stopped walking. I force a smile.

They’re trouble
, Cody told me. He thinks they were involved in the accident.

“No,” I say. “I’m fine.” But it’s a lie. Suspicion creeps in, constricting my throat.

Cody said he remembers a drug deal—with Vic—and he remembers running into that mall scared. I discounted it, told him he was foolish. Yet now I recall the way he was at the mall that night, his eyes darting around, his forehead perspiring. He wasn’t the cool, confident Cody I’ve come to know since.

Is it possible that Damian and Fin know Vic?

I didn’t trust Cody, just as he didn’t trust me. He believed Candace’s story.

Thoughts ricochet in my mind, driving me crazy. Fin asked me how Cody and I met. Did he already know? I shake the ludicrous thought away, but more thoughts flit to the surface in its place.

Damian had heard all about Cody’s injury—from a news article, he said. It made sense then, but now I can’t shake this unnerving feeling that something doesn’t add up. And it makes me wonder: Why exactly is Damian Acklen here?

I pin my gaze on him as he opens his trunk. To support me, yes, but why? Out of the goodness of his heart? To be a good sponsor, adding another charity to his list? Or does he like me?

This possibility is so farfetched it nearly makes me laugh. Rich, attractive, successful Damian Acklen certainly has a dozen beautiful women after him. What is his motive?

Denica’s warning shuffles back to memory, all about the worst part of winning being the creeps that follow you around afterward. But Damian is no creep. He’s the wealthy businessman, the owner of a luxury sports car lot who donates to animal and cancer charities.

All the more reason for me not to trust him
, Cody had said when I told him that very thing.
What’s he trying to cover up?

And here I am,
about to get in Damian’s car
. I tell myself off for being so distrustful. I’m beginning to remind myself of Cody.

“I’m going to call my brother real quick to make sure he isn’t on his way,” I say anyway.

“No need,” Fin says, extending a hand to take my things from me.

Suddenly, something about this situation has me wanting to back away. Find another ride home. Run.

Tires squeal. A flash of headlights blind me as a car whirls into the parking lot. A Corvette.

Cody
.

His Vette screeches to a stop and he jumps out, his jaw tight, his eyes narrowed in on Damian. The sight of him makes my heart stagger, skipping a beat in its already erratic tempo. He’s here. The relief pouring in makes me realize how nervous I am.

Damian and Fin have turned their attention, too. Cody takes three measured strides to Damian before punching him in the face.

I scream as fists start flying, and my heart catapults into my throat. Fin dashes around the car to get in on it. No words, just fists.