Authors: Katie Sise
LET AMERICA
’
S MOST BEAUTIFUL TEENS PRETTIFY YOUR CAR
!
ALL PROCEEDS BENEFIT PLASTIC SURGERY AID FOR UNDERPRIVILEGED AMERICANS
!
That’s what the letterboard sign read at the Sunoco gas station where Sabrina, Cindy, Amy, Charisse, Mura, and I had set up a car wash for “charity.”
I held my hose at an angle, my hands cramped from squeezing the metal handle. The spray had nearly cleared the dirt crusted on the banged-up bumper of a Ford pickup. A skinny guy with an Adam’s apple that made him look like he’d swallowed a Ping-Pong ball leered at me in the rearview mirror. “This is humiliating,” I whispered to Amy.
“Beyond,” she whispered back.
We were wearing the red-white-and-blue bikinis that
had arrived outside our bedroom door that morning in a gift-wrapped box with a note that read:
CHANGE INTO THESE. THE LIMO WILL PICK YOU UP AT NOON. BE PRETTY! (OUTFIT CHOICE NOT OPTIONAL.)
Glitter sparkled on our bikini bottoms, and stars paraded across our tops. Amy complained that the stars were purposely positioned to cover our nipples and make us look like porn stars. She and I had picked flip-flops, Charisse and Cindy wore kitten heels, and Sabrina and Mura wore stilettos. The whole thing was mortifying. Not like I have a problem wearing a bathing suit in public, but wearing a bathing suit while giving a car wash to any creep who saw us and pulled off the highway?
“Want to quit?” I asked Amy, only half-joking.
“Wish it were an option for me, Blake,” she said, scrubbing at a stubborn patch of mud on the license plate.
Hot sun beat down on us. We smelled like the coconut sunscreen the show had provided (and filmed us applying).
“Woo-hoo!” Sabrina shouted as she sponged up a Cadillac with tinted windows. Her butt stuck out straight, her body making a perfect 90 degree angle that I was pretty sure wasn’t necessary for car-washing. Cindy, not one to be outdone, said, “It’s so hot out!” as the camerawoman filmed her, and then sprayed water all over herself. Mura watched the two of them, and then rolled onto the hood of a Camry and scissor-kicked her legs in the air. She made a sexy face at the camera, almost as good as Jessica Simpson’s in
The
Dukes of Hazzard
car wash video. Her arm was
bandaged at the wrist from her stay at the hospital, but it clearly wasn’t bothering her. She shimmied up the hood of the car on her elbows, and then traced a soapy finger down the length of the windshield wiper.
“Hey! Why can’t you girls do somethin’ like that?” yelled the guy from the front seat of the pickup Amy and I were trying to clean.
Amy looked on the verge of tears. “I can
not
do that,” she said to me. “My parents are already going to have a heart attack. I promised them there was no swimwear competition.”
“Don’t worry about him,” I said, and then, when I was sure the cameras weren’t filming me, I sprayed the man in the face with my hose.
“What the—?!” he yelled, yanking his skinny head back into the car.
Amy burst into giggles. The man sped off, and the cameras turned to film us laughing. I was almost starting to enjoy myself when my phone rang from my bag. We weren’t technically supposed to carry our phones with us, and Rich Gibbons shot me a dirty look, but instead of turning it off, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. I curved around a Dumpster to the back of the gas station, where two teenage boys holding skateboards were arguing over gum. They took off when they saw me.
I yanked my phone from my bag and saw the call was from my dad. I was almost too nervous to answer—what if he’d heard about my email to Public?—but I did anyway.
“Did you know about this?” he asked, his voice hard
and cold. “Did you know about your sister?”
I racked my brain.
He couldn’t mean . . .
“Dammit, Blake! Did you know a video of your sister kissing a girl is all over her Public Party page?”
“
What?
” I asked. “No, no, no . . .”
“Yes, Blake. Yes.”
Blood rushed to my feet. Why would Public post the video? I hadn’t outed them—I hadn’t done
anything.
I tried to steady myself against the chipped, white wall of the gas station. Audrey had said Public was dangerous—that they could beat me—but I never,
ever
would’ve sent that email if I had known they’d do this to my sister. I sank onto the grass, flashing back to Leo at dinner that night in Chicago, asking me if I’d
really
want something like this. His words raced through my mind:
It’s not exactly flattering most of the time.
Had he been trying to warn me? Why didn’t I listen to him? How could I ever have thought this would be worth it?
The skater boys were back, riding over the pavement and laughing. The wheels on their skateboards made gravel-crunching noises so loud I couldn’t hear what my father was saying until they disappeared around the other side of the gas station.
“. . . with no regard for what this could do to us,” my father yelled on the other line. “Because that’s your sister. Selfish. Selfish to the bone.”
“That’s not true,” I said. “She didn’t want to disappoint
you, Dad. But this is who she is. Samantha is who she loves.”
My dad hung up before I’d finished my sentence.
I put my head into my hands. I heard more cars speed over the pavement, and then Danny Beaton’s voice saying, “Good morning, America!” even though it was the afternoon, and even though it wasn’t a funny joke. The last thing I needed right now was an encounter with Leo. I lifted my head, but I could only see Danny and Bradley’s bodyguards from my position behind the Dumpster. I heard Carolina say she should show us how swimsuits were
really
done, and then Shilpa shouted that all of this was derogatory toward women.
I couldn’t go back out there. I wanted to curl up into a hole and transport myself back to South Bend. I wanted to rewind time to before any of this had happened so I could make a different decision. If I’d known who Leo was, if I’d known all the ways he could hurt me, I could’ve been more careful. And if I had known what this contest could do to me, how it could make me feel like a fraud and hurt Nic, I never would’ve done it. It made me never want to feel like a fraud again. It made me want to fight against it with everything I had. When I thought back to how hard I had tried at Harrison to be the prettiest, the toughest, the queen bee . . . it all seemed so foolish. All I wanted now was to go home and be myself, or at least try to figure out who that person even was.
Regret pounded my body. I pulled my knees to my
chest and felt the gravel dig into my thighs, but I didn’t think I could stand up yet. I needed to warn Nic and tell her how sorry I was that I’d done this to her. I picked up my phone, but then I heard Leo’s voice:
“I can just go back here. I don’t need a velvet-covered toilet-throne like Beaton, for Christ’s sake.”
A hot gust of air carried the smell of garbage to where I sat, making me even more nauseous. Leo rounded the side of the gas station holding a key on a splintered piece of wood marked
MEN
’
S
. He stopped dead when he saw me, his red Converse scuffing against the gravel.
“Are you all right?” he asked, searching my face.
I scrambled to stand. I wiped my eyes, feeling more ridiculous than ever in my stupid bikini. My hands were sweating on my phone. “Did you do this?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
“Do what?” Leo asked, stepping closer. His light hair curled just above his ears. Freckles dotted the smooth, tan skin over his nose.
I backed up until I was pressed against the white paint, my bare back scratching against the wall. “Did you give Public that video of my sister kissing her girlfriend?”
“
What?
” Leo asked, his eyes widening. “
No
. Of course not.”
He moved even closer, but I threw my hands up and he stopped.
“Blake,” he said, “I would never do something like that to anyone, let alone to you or your sister.”
The air got hot between us, but there was no way I was
going to lose myself this time. “This is what I meant, Leo,” I said, my voice hard. “Don’t you get it? I can’t trust you. I
can’t.
” Even if Leo was telling me the truth about this, and about his feelings for me, I couldn’t trust someone who’d lied so cavalierly, and so many times. I was too scared of getting hurt again.
Right then one of the camera guys rounded the side of the gas station. He didn’t say anything; he just came way too close to our faces and filmed us. Leo took a few steps back. I adjusted the strap of my bathing suit from where it had slid over my shoulder, and wiped the tears from my face, but I knew it was too late, I knew exactly what this looked like. I tried to smile, but it felt fake and forced. I could see the cameraman grinning behind the camera, like he’d caught us.
Leo gave the camera a small salute. He jingled the key to the men’s room. “Just hitting the bathroom,” he said. “Not much to see here.”
“Just going to get some gum,” I murmured. I ducked my head and moved past the cameraman, worried that making excuses probably made us look even guiltier.
Rich Gibbons saw me and beckoned me over to the car wash. He seemed annoyed, but I still needed to call my sister. I swung right into the gas station’s mart. It smelled like peanuts and cherry Life Savers. I ducked into a row with cheese Combos and dialed Nic.
“Hey!” she said. “I’m watching the streaming footage of your car wash! How ridiculous is that backbend move Mura just did? Is she a gymnast or something?”
“Nic, listen, I need to tell you something,” I said, my breathing fast.
“Actually, I need to tell
you
something,” she said. She sounded wound up, like she was on a sugar rush. “Samantha and I stayed up all night last night talking. Sam said there’s no way we could let Public hold that video over your head. We went together to tell her parents about us this morning, and they were, like, shockingly supportive. I mean, mostly her dad just nodded and adjusted the volume on the TV over and over, but then he hugged us. And her mom asked if we eventually planned to get married and adopt a baby. Apparently she likes the name Hannah for a baby girl. Anyway. Surprised, but okay.” Nic took a breath, and I realized I’d been holding mine, too. “Sam and I posted the video online, Blake,” she said. “I mean, it’s so tame, anyway. It’s not like it’s a sex tape. And now that we’re out, what’s a little kiss going to do?”
Something flipped inside of me as I processed what she was saying. It hadn’t been Public. It hadn’t been Leo. It’d been my sister and Sam being brave.
“Dad’s friends at Public can’t hold anything against you now,” Nic said. “You can do whatever you need to do. Whatever you think is right.”
“Thank you,” I said as my mind raced with everything this meant. “I’m so happy for you and Sam. And I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I think I may try to work on a documentary next about all of this, about what it’s like to come out.” She let go of a breath. “Dad’s super pissed about
the video,” she said, but of course, I already knew that. “Mom won’t answer my phone calls. But Sam’s so happy, and the whole thing makes me so happy I haven’t been able to sit still all day. No more secrets,” she said. “No more lies.”
A bell jingled. I turned to see Rich Gibbons and the cameraman busting through the door of the mart. “Film her head-on,” Rich Gibbons said. The cameraman hurried to my aisle and filmed me standing there in my tacky bikini next to the Pringles and Combos. Rich looked on with a smug face. The girl behind the counter asked, “Can I help anyone?” and Rich shushed her with his thick, hairy index finger.
“I have to go,” I told Nic. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, Blake.”
I dropped the phone into my bag and smiled at the camera. I wasn’t about to give them anything else. “Better get back to the car wash!” I said cheerfully. I pushed past them, not bothering to check my compact mirror. I suddenly didn’t care as much about my smeared makeup and screwed-up hair. My sister was okay—
more
than okay.
No more secrets. No more lies
. That’s what she’d said, and I’d heard the relief in her voice. What if it could be true for me, too? What if there was a way to get Public to crown the
real
winner tonight—whoever that might be? What if there was a way to get them to vote me off and set me free?
I
’d never felt so nervous as I did that night sitting in the green room at the Westbrook Theater. Maroon 5 was performing onstage, the song filtering through two black speakers positioned next to our snack table. I couldn’t stop running through every possibility for tonight’s show. If they eliminated Amy, should I say something? And what exactly should I say? I could make a case that she deserved to win for being the most beautiful, kindest, funniest . . . but who would listen?
“Beauty queen of only eighteen
She had some trouble with herself . . .”
The speakers blared Adam Levine’s voice as I thought about Leo. No matter what he’d done, no matter what had happened between us, I needed to apologize for suspecting
him of leaking the video. Maybe Leo wasn’t perfect, but neither was I. Far from it. I had to get him alone before I left tonight for good and never saw him again.
Francisco handed me a lip gloss and I smoothed it on. “Smile, gorgeous,” he said. “You look great.”
Amy gave me a wink from across the room. She stood still as Marsha sewed a small tear in the strap of her dress.
Adam Levine finished singing, and sounds of the audience cheering blasted through the speakers.
“Girls, get ready,” Marsha said, her words warped from the pin she was holding between her teeth. “We’re heading to the stage in two minutes.”
Charisse stared straight ahead like a robot programmed to take over the contest. “This is it,” Sabrina said softly. It was the first time I’d seen her look scared since she’d gotten here.
“Good luck, ladies,” Mura said. Her arm was still bandaged at the wrist. She’d told me earlier that it didn’t hurt, but that her mom told her to keep the bandages on to win sympathy votes.
“Oh my God,” Cindy said suddenly. She was staring at her phone. And then she started laughing.
Sabrina looked over Cindy’s shoulder and suddenly didn’t seem scared anymore. She grinned and said, “Oh, wow, Blake, you
so
don’t want to see this.”
I snatched the phone from Cindy. A video flashed on her screen and I saw the unmistakable pink feather boa and Mardi Gras beads that I’d wrapped around my neck in the Martins’ basement. I was dancing sexily on top of the
costume chest as Justin Timberlake’s voice sang out:
“
Look at those hips (Go ’head be gone with it)
You make me smile (Go ’head be gone with it)”
My low-cut V-neck had fallen way lower than I’d meant it to, showing nearly all of my boobs as I bent forward and shimmied with the boa. Beneath the photo,
Anonymous Harrison Student
commented:
and she’s a slut, too!
which wasn’t even fair, because the only three people I’d made out with since the start of high school were Woody, Xander, and Leo.
Chills raced through me. I looked practically naked, and my father was going to end me if he saw it. I suddenly felt the thousands of eyes on me again, like I’d felt the first day I got here, but this time it didn’t feel good. The reality of all of those viewers seeing me like this made me want to throw up. My stomach twisted as I watched myself lean forward and blow the camera a kiss with my boobs practically falling out of my top. My legs felt like jelly and my head went funny, and I stumbled backward to sit on the chair. Francisco was talking to Mura’s handler, and Amy was busy getting her dress fixed by Marsha. I opened my mouth to call for one of them but nothing came out. The room whirled around me as I tried to calm down. I tried to tell myself that this post was just like all the others I’d read, and I’d survived those. But this felt different. It felt like every icky, vulnerable sensation I’d ever felt when someone stared at me. It felt like
it
: the final straw that could break me.
I flashed back to the night I spent with Audrey a week ago on Notre Dame’s campus. I remembered the fresh air in my lungs and the stars above our heads, and how I’d felt like I could be someone new there. And now everything circulating the internet declared me exactly what I didn’t want to be. I tried to breathe as Cindy took her phone back, but I felt ruined. “Blake,” Cindy said, quiet enough that Sabrina couldn’t hear her. “It’s just a stupid video.”
But it wasn’t. It was my reputation. It was everything I was trying to overcome pulling me
down down down
again.
“Sixty seconds, ladies,” Marsha said. She pricked Amy’s shoulder with a pin as she sewed and Amy flinched. Amy looked over at me and furrowed her brows. “You okay?” she mouthed.
I stood on shaky legs.
Get through tonight and then you can get home.
But
home
was supposed to be South Bend. And my new home was supposed to be Notre Dame, and now I worried it would be just like Harrison: kids would hate me. Panic filled my lungs. I thought I’d turned my phone off, but then it buzzed, and I was so out of it that I answered without checking the caller ID.
“I know about your email to Public,” my dad said on the other end of the line.
My entire body recoiled. “Dad, I really can’t talk. I—”
“And I saw that video of you.”
My heart stopped. I waited for him to yell at me, but he didn’t.
“I’m going to do everything I can to get it taken down,
Blake,” he said. He almost sounded like he was on my side, like he was going to right a wrong that had been done to me. “You’re going to win this contest,” he said, his voice steady, “because it’s the only way to redeem yourself and our reputation.” I heard him inhale. He sounded exhausted. “I’m sure you can see that now.”
I froze. To hear it said like that by my own father felt like a knife in my gut. He hung up, and I started shaking.
Francisco sauntered across the room and leaned in close. “Gorgeous, you okay? You need water or anything?”
“I—I’m okay,” I said. And then I did what I always did when I got hurt: I tried to steel myself. But it wasn’t working. Too much had happened to me over the past few weeks. I’d fallen for Leo, I’d been given the biggest chance of my life—even if it was fixed—and then I’d lost Leo and fallen from grace. My reputation was in tatters. The country hated me, which meant the kids at Notre Dame would probably hate me, too. Everything I dreamed this contest could be for me had blown up in my face.
My heart beat wildly as I thought about what my father said:
It’s the only way to redeem yourself.
Was he right?
No matter how warped his logic sounded, a part of me realized that what he was saying was mostly true. If I won this contest, if I secured the modeling contract and became the United Nations Citizen Ambassador, I’d be practically famous, and then people would tolerate my past bad behavior. I’d heard countless stories about how cruel and diva-ish starlets could be, and people still worshipped
them. Wouldn’t it be like that for me, too?
Marsha lined us up. Francisco fixed a bobby pin holding my chignon in place. Marsha started ordering us down the hall, but I couldn’t pay attention to anything she said as I fell in line behind Sabrina. My winning the contest was already preordained by Public and my father, and they were way more powerful than me. What if going along with their plan was the only way to save myself?
We reached the velvet curtains blocking the stage. Amy reached out and squeezed my hand.
You should be winning this
, I thought as I looked into her sweet, heart-shaped face.
I just don’t know how to prove it. And now I’m really scared that I shouldn’t.
Pia’s disembodied voice announced us, and then the curtain flung open and the six of us paraded onto the stage. My arm shot up into the Miss America wave that was becoming disconcertingly natural. I took my position at the end of the stage behind Sabrina. Celebratory jazz music played behind us and multiple spotlights flew over our bodies. This was it. The night for which we’d all been waiting. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Sabrina was crying. Not sobbing or anything, just tears that trickled over her face as she waved to the audience. I wondered if she always used her hard shell to cover up everything she really felt and wanted. It was what I’d always done, and it was way easier than actually admitting that you weren’t perfect, or that you felt things just like everyone else. It was exactly what
I wanted to do right now. I wanted to close myself to everything real. I wanted to take the easy way out.
I wanted to win.
“And now let’s welcome our judges!” Pia shouted. “Danny! Bradley! Leo! Carolina! Shilpa!”
Leo waved along with the rest of the judges, his free hand holding a jumbo-size Pepsi. He didn’t look at me, and I hated myself for wanting him to. I hated myself for wanting to fix the pain he’d caused me by stealing glory that wasn’t mine. I hated myself for wanting to ease the ache of all my past mistakes by hurting Amy. Wasn’t that what I’d always done? Kept other people down so that I could be on top?
Leo stared straight ahead at the camera. He wore a dark gray suit that made his eyes look like smoky quartz. His blond hair was neatly combed back and he’d shaved. I wanted to put my hand against his smooth cheek. I wanted to tell him how sorry I was for what I’d said. I wanted him to know I was ashamed of the thoughts swirling through my mind, for not being able to be the good person he once saw in me.
Leo never looked at me, and I finally made myself stop staring at him. I glanced around the packed theater. Thousands of bodies jumped up and down, cheering, filming with their phones, and screaming out the names of the judges and contestants they loved. There were a few calls of
Blake!,
but mostly
Amy! Bradley! Danny!
I wondered if Nina Carlyle was happy. She’d finally gotten to say her piece about me, and in a more public and damaging way than either of us probably ever could’ve imagined. Not that I blamed her. I deserved every word.
A few strains of the
Pretty App Live
theme song played,
and then a video montage came to life on the screen. Most clips showed our morning at the car wash and other drama that had happened at the house, like when Cindy threw a fork at Mura’s bad arm at lunch and yelled, “Catch!” When Mura caught it, Cindy said, “Your wrist isn’t broken, you faker.”
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Pia said, looking like an Oscar winner in her fire-engine-red floor-length gown. She held a cream-colored envelope tied with a satin ribbon. “You’ve seen the contestants in action and you’ve cast your votes for the young woman you’d like to win this contest and become a Citizen Ambassador for our great nation.” She whirled around to face us contestants. “Ladies, you’ve given this contest your very best. But only one of you can be voted Prettiest,” Pia said as she untied the envelope’s ribbon. She tore the envelope and stared at the thick paper inside. “I’m so very sad to see the first two contestants go.” She shrugged and perked up. “But America has the final say,” she said, the way you’d say
Oh well!
if you didn’t really give a crap. She looked up and her eyes scanned all six of us. Finally her gaze settled on Mura and Cindy, who stood together at the end of the line. “It’s time to say buh-bye to Murasaki O’Neil and Cindy Adams!”
Whoa.
The audience let out a gasp, and I turned to see Cindy staring blank-faced at Pia. Mura had gone bright red. If Mura had had another microphone, she definitely would’ve thrown it. Her eyebrows furrowed and her fists clenched like a child’s. I watched her count backward from ten, visibly trying not to lose it.
“Let’s watch Mura and Cindy’s journeys here on
The Pretty App Live!
” Pia said cheerfully, and then the overhead TV screen showed video of both contestants and their defining moments, which seemed slightly ridiculous seeing that we’d only been on this “journey” for three days.
Bodyguards escorted a crying Cindy and an enraged Mura from the stage. Charisse, Sabrina, Amy, and I stared at one another. My heart thumped against my chest. Mere minutes more and I’d know the final results. Being voted off was what I’d said I wanted—to Public, to Audrey, and to myself. So why did it suddenly sound so scary?
“Sabrina and Charisse, please stand on my right side,” Pia said, her tiny nose crinkling as she smiled. Sabrina and Charisse did as Pia told them, looking petrified. “Blake, Amy, please stand on my left.”
Amy reached for my hand as we took our places. “Good luck,” she said, smelling sweet and citrusy. I squeezed her palm in response. I was too nervous to say anything, too guilty to look her in the eye.
The lights dimmed. A single spotlight landed on Pia and she smiled like the attention was finally where it belonged. “I’d like to introduce your top two finalists on
The Pretty App Live!
” she said. “Please give a warm round of applause for Amy Samuels and Blake Dawkins!”
The audience screamed, and my legs went wobbly. It was happening.
“
Amy! Amy! Blake! Amy!
”
“Good-bye, Sabrina and Charisse!” Pia said over the screaming.
I watched Sabrina. Her arms went rigid at her sides, and her bottom lip quivered for just a moment and then stopped. A small half-smile froze on her face. Her chin went up, her shoulders pushed back. I recognized everything she was doing as though I were watching myself in a mirror, and it made me feel sick. I couldn’t go back to being that person, could I? Could I really close myself off like that after everything that had happened?
“Now, for the results you’ve all been waiting for!” Pia shouted as the screaming got louder. I could barely hear myself think over the noise. Sabrina and Charisse paraded off the stage, leaving Amy and me alone beneath the spotlight. I turned to look at Amy and saw tears slide over her cheeks. If they named me the winner, Amy would get nothing. There weren’t prizes for the runner-up. No ambassadorship, no modeling contract, no new home, no TV appearances.
Pia lifted the white microphone closer to her mouth and said, “To announce the winner of
The Pretty App Live
, I’d like to introduce Public CEO Alec Pierce!”
The crowd applauded as Alec Pierce emerged from the stage-right curtains carrying a beautiful, sparkling gold crown with tiny, multicolored stones embedded around the edges. I hadn’t seen Alec since I was younger, but I would’ve recognized him anywhere: My father’s friend . . . The man in charge of Public . . . The one who’d sent Leo to trick me . . . The one responsible for threatening to expose my sister . . . The one who conspired with my father to get me here in the first place.