Just Your Average Princess (17 page)

Mom smirks. So she's noticed it too.

“And running for Pumpkin Princess,” I add.

“You know, Jamie, you're a lucky girl. You have a family and loads of friends who adore you. And you have a good heart. I know how much you want Pumpkin Princess today, but even if you don't win it, you're always a winner, sweetie.”

“Can I get some nachos with that cheese?” I tease.

Mom laughs. “Okay, okay, so I'm cheesy. But parents are allowed. I think it's part of the aging process. You'll be cheesy one day too, dear.”

“I doubt it,” I reply.

“I love you, Jamie,” Mom says.

“I love you too,” I say.

Mom stands up and smooths out the mocha-colored silk shirt she's wearing. “Ready to get over to the contest?”

“Um, not yet. I have one more thing to do. You go ahead, and tell Sara to go ahead too. I'll be there in a few minutes.”

“Okay, sweetie, see you there,” Mom says, and leaves my room.

Just as I'm about to shut my bedroom door I hear Dad cough from the hallway. He's wearing a denim collared shirt and his only pair of dress slacks and he's staring down at the carpet with both of his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Dad?” I say.

He finally looks up, and lets out a low whistle. “Wow. Jamie, you look…” He pauses and smashes up his lips. I turn my gaze away, feeling awkward. “You look beautiful, honey.”

I look back at Dad, blinking. “Really?” Dad has never ever, ever told me I looked beautiful. Never.

He nods. “You're growing up.”

“Well, yeah,” I say. We stare at each other for a few uncomfortable moments.

“And that stuff your mom said about you,” he says, “goes for me too. You're a good kid.” With this he reaches out and pats me lightly on the shoulder.

Wow. This is probably the nicest exchange Dad and I have ever had. Before I can think about it too much I throw my arms around his waist and squeeze, and he hugs me back.

A few seconds later Dad stiffens up and pulls away. “Well, I'll let you finish getting ready then. See you out there.” He smiles at me and walks down the hallway, toward the front of the house.

I shut my bedroom door, grinning to myself. I walk over to my full-length mirror and look at myself one last time. It's amazing what Sara has done for me. I reach up and pull out the thingy holding my hair up in the fancy twist and watch my hair fall onto my shoulders.

 

23

I pick up a couple of hair bands and quickly tie my hair up into two pigtails. I slip out of my dress and carefully lay it across my bed. It's so pretty and I don't want it to wrinkle. I pull on my overalls and head out of my room, toward the front door. As I'm wrapping my hand around the doorknob I look up and see my reflection in the oval mirror on the wall. I forgot to wash off my makeup, but I like it so I'll leave it.

I jog to the far north side of the Patch where the giant stage is, and the mass of folding chairs filled with people from town waiting, eager to watch the contest. There is a big white banner stretched above with
PUMPKIN PRINCESS
painted in large bubble letters across it. Strands of green and orange twinkle lights wrap around the poles at each corner. The heavy burlap curtain is pulled shut across the stage and I imagine the contestants are in the closed tent off to the side, doing last-minute fixes to their hair and makeup. I wonder if anyone has even noticed that I'm not there. Sara is probably worried and searching everywhere for me. But she'll figure out soon enough that I've dropped out of the contest. And I know Mom will understand. They're both right, Mom and Sara. I don't need this contest. Nothing is ending for me today. I'm going to keep dreaming bigger dreams for myself. Maybe I would have won Pumpkin Princess and maybe I wouldn't have. All I know is that it doesn't really matter because I don't need to win it. Not like Milan does. And I'm here to support her.

I slip in and out among the people standing at the very back of the audience, chomping on their kettle corn and sipping their hot apple ciders. I find an empty seat in the last row, close to the exit, and sit down. I'm pretty far from the stage, but I'll still be able to see. About three rows up from me sit two young girls, maybe eight or nine years old, both wearing those plastic princess tiaras that you can get at the dollar store. They're giggling and straining their necks, trying to get a good look even though nothing is happening at the moment. They remind me of me at that age. I scan the backs of heads near the front until I spot Mom and Dad's. They're leaned in close like they're discussing something. I spot Sara standing off to the side, scanning the crowd. She looks at my mom and shakes her head and shrugs. She must have told my parents that I didn't show up. I shrink down into my metal folding chair, not wanting them to see me until the contest is over.

Mayor Hudson points at his wife from the bottom of the stairs and Laurel nods and hits the Play button on the giant boom box sitting on the edge of the stage. She holds a microphone up to the speaker and the music starts. Mayor Hudson takes center stage, a second microphone in hand. He loves emceeing the contest. Each girl—there are five in total—walks across the stage in her formal dress as he introduces her. Milan is the second one out and she looks fantastic. There is a huge smile across her face and the crowd has obviously moved past her sex tape scandal. I clap and cheer along with everyone else.

A few minutes later the mayor is talking to the first girl, Jayna Williams, while the other girls wait backstage. He asks her what Pumpkin Princess means to her and she snatches the microphone from his hand and launches into a monologue. About three minutes in, people start to shift uncomfortably and the mayor keeps throwing looks out into the audience, unsure of how to tie up Jayna's answer. He slowly starts to wrap his hand around Jayna's to pull the microphone away from her face.

“… and like the pumpkin,” she says, speaking quickly now, not willing to let go of the mike, “full of hundreds of unique pumpkin seeds, no two of which are alike, our town of Average is full of unique and talented individuals, and I would like to be your pumpkin.”

Mayor Hudson snatches the microphone from her and the audience is quiet. She wants to be our pumpkin? A few people in the crowd let out giggles.

Jayna leans back into the microphone in the mayor's hands. “Er, princess. Your Pumpkin Princess. Thank you.”

The crowd claps politely and Jayna disappears behind the curtain. Milan comes out for her turn to answer the same question and I whistle and clap for her.

“At first, I didn't really want to be Pumpkin Princess,” Milan begins, carefully choosing her words. “At first, I didn't even want to be here at all, to tell you the truth. I thought things were better back in L.A., where I'm from. Average is so,
so
different from back home. But I've come to find out that different can be good. Really good. Your town is so warm and inviting and accepting. You've made me feel like a real part of it and it would be an honor if I was able to represent your town as Pumpkin Princess.”

I put a hand on my chest and blink back tears. That was the most sincere I've ever heard Milan. The crowd claps and I eagerly join in.

“I'd bang that,” an old scruffy guy sitting in front of me says to his friend.

Huh?

“Um, what?” I ask loudly. I lean forward in my seat, sticking my head between the two men. “What did you just say?”

The men look at each other and then laugh.

Me? I'm seeing red. “I thought I heard you say you'd ‘bang' Milan Woods, and that is wrong on so many levels.” I rise to my feet. “For one, she's seventeen years old, you old perverts. Two, she's a real person with real feelings, not just some picture in a tabloid. And three”—I'm practically shouting now—“she's my cousin, you creeps! If there's going to be any banging around here it's going to be my hand up against the side of your face!” My heart is racing a mile a minute and my hands are clenched into fists. I feel like I could slug these two morons. And I haul pumpkins every day. It'd hurt.

“Settle down, doll,” the friend returns, and the guys continue laughing at me.

“Doll? Oh, you're really asking for it.” I push up my sleeves like I'm going to do something and then I feel a hand on my shoulder.

“Need some help, Jamie?” Danny says.

I look up at Danny. His eyes are fixed on the two men. He's angry. I've never gone for that whole fairy-tale prince rushing up to save the helpless princess thing but I have to admit, at this very moment, Danny is even hotter than usual.

“These jerks are saying disgusting things about my cousin,” I tell him.

“Well now, that's not very nice,” Danny replies. “Sounds like they need to cool off a bit.” He pops off the plastic lid of the Big Gulp Mountain Dew he's holding and pours the contents, ice and all, over the two men's heads. I cover my mouth and giggle. I know exactly what that feels like.

“Ah!” the men scream, dancing around and shaking off the soda. They yell out some curse words at Danny.

“This is a family place, gentlemen, and we don't allow that kind of talk. You can be on your way or I can escort you out,” Danny says.

Everyone around us is staring at these two losers, waiting to see what's going to happen. The men grumble some more, but they get up and quickly leave.

I turn to Danny, a smile creeping over my face. “That was awesome.”

Danny shrugs.

“I can't believe those jerks were talking about Milan like that,” I go on. Of course that's why Danny got so mad. He was probably defending Milan's honor.

“You're a good friend to your cousin,” Danny says. He's looking at me so hard I feel like my legs might give out.

I hold his gaze. His hazel eyes look an amazing shade of green right now. “Well, those guys were obnoxious. I wanted to shut them up.”

“I don't mean now, with those idiots,” Danny goes on. “I mean with the contest. You were running for Pumpkin Princess too, and you probably would have won it. But you dropped out to let Milan win, right?”

He thinks I would have won? That's so sweet! “Um … um,” I stammer. “Well, yeah, I wanted to support Milan. But I doubt I would have won anyway.”

“I would have voted for you,” he says.

I feel myself flush down to my toes.

“Milan is one of those girls who needs a lot of attention,” he continues. “And you're not. You're a great girl without needing the world to constantly tell you that you are.”

I'm in such total shock over the nice things Danny is saying to me that someone is going to have to come by and sweep me up off the floor with all the little stepped-on pieces of kettle corn.

“Wow. Thank you,” I reply softly.

Danny gives me a huge smile, our eyes still locked. “Hey,” he says, “after all this Pumpkin Princess hoo-ha is done, do you want to maybe, I dunno, go get one of those pumpkin latte things with me?”

What?
Is he asking me out? It sounds like he is. Oh my God!

What do I do? I've practiced this moment a thousand times in my head on the off chance that it might ever actually happen. And now here we are and he's asked me out and he's waiting for my answer. And
oh my god
, I'm making him wait for my answer! Say something! I don't trust myself to speak so I nod.

 

24

The contest continues. Each girl does a solo walk around the stage to show off her dress, recites a fall poem, and shares her best pumpkin recipe. Milan's is my mom's Pumpkin Surprise. After the last girl has gone, the audience votes on the slips of paper that were already on our chairs when we entered and passes them to the aisle for the committee to collect. I vote for Milan of course.

There's a fifteen-minute intermission while the votes are counted. I watch Danny walk toward the big brown barn where the tractors are kept. He's probably going to help Burt Schafer hook up his fancy-looking tractor to the big red hay wagon that pulls the Pumpkin Princess after she's crowned. My dad used to pull the Pumpkin Princess wagon, but a few years ago Mr. Schafer had a mild midlife crisis, I guess you'd call it, and did his own version of
Pimp My Tractor
. His John Deere has wheel spinners and undercarriage neon lighting. And I'll admit, the shooting orange flames on the red paint job are kinda cool. But I don't get the big red metal roll cage at all. I mean, he farms corn.

“Jamie! Jamie! There you are,” Milan says, moving toward me as fast as she can in her ultra-high heels.

“Huh?” I can feel the big stupid smile still lingering on my face as I turn to look at Milan, but I don't care. I still can't believe Danny asked me out.

“Where've you been? You missed the contest! The ballots have been turned in and the Pumpkin Princess committee is tabulating the votes right now. And where's your dress? And why is your hair back in those pigtails?” She scrunches up her nose and waves her index finger at my hair.

I take a deep breath, thinking about how to reply to the list of questions she rifled off. “Here. I know. That's okay. At home. And because this”—I point to my head—“is me.”

Milan blinks rapidly, totally confused. “Okay, hold up. Tell me why you missed the contest.”

I sigh. I have no idea what to say to this question, at least not to Milan.

Milan's eyes dart over my shoulder to the stage. The girls are walking back out to join the mayor, already waiting. “Forget it,” Milan says. “Let's go.”

Milan tugs my arm hard and the next thing I know I'm being dragged toward the stage.

“Milan!” I yell. “Milan, stop! I don't want to go up there.” But she isn't listening to me. She keeps tugging me forward. And she is a lot stronger than I thought too. Maybe she's started loading the pumpkin chucker herself recently and I haven't noticed.