The Girl in the Mirror(20)

Back at the beach, we pranced along the catwalk in our evening wear, supplied by the low-rent clothing chain that was sponsoring the event, with about thirty other hopefuls. I tried not to look at the crowd, which included a disconcerting number of lobster-red old men.

Then we changed into swimwear. Lining up to return to the stage, I surveyed our rivals. The scrawny no-hoper twelve-year-olds whose mums were using the pageant as day care. The girls who were pretty, but too shy and backward to carry it off. The ugly dreamers.

The one thing I was enjoying was Celia’s losing battle to eradicate sex from a beauty contest. She’d tried so hard, choosing a middle-aged woman, one of her friends, as a judge, and insisting on demure evening wear (below the knee) and swimwear. But it was no use. One girl was sent off the stage because her swimsuit was G-string style, but not before she attracted a round of wolf whistles. Celia made an announcement, reminding the crowd that we were “schoolgirls, not models.” It just made the show seem kinkier.

Ten finalists were announced: me, Summer, Letitia, and seven wannabes. Celia called us back onstage and we circled until our feet ached. Was the judge still choosing between us? Someone ought to have told her that if two girls shared first place, she didn’t have to choose a second place. She could place Letitia third and be done with it.

The stage was high, and I was hot and hungry and fearful that sweat patches were appearing at my armpits and crotch. And the longer we circled, the more another possibility entered my mind.

I couldn’t shake the idea. Why was the judge finding this so hard? The answer was obvious. She was trying to choose between me and Summer.

Of course we weren’t going to share the prize. There was one golden sash, one gold crown.

Summer didn’t care who won, and you could see it. Her movements were liquid, her heart-shaped face was innocent of makeup, her smile was wholesome.

Summer was going to win. It wasn’t the bigger bosom or the new, fertile curve to her hips and thighs. It was the thing Summer had that I would never have. Inner beauty. Like the bullshit they talk on the TV pageants. True beauty comes from within.

Somebody didn’t want little girls crying onstage, so we were set free to sit in the audience. They were going to announce the winners any minute.

Annabeth and Ben turned up as we were finding somewhere to sit. My mother wore her brittle public smile. And then Ben gave me a look, a brotherly look, a look of pity and friendship, and I saw something. Despite all the crap, I did care about the result. I didn’t want to smile and clap while Summer shone in her golden tiara. This was going to suck.

I formed a desperate plan. Up on the dunes were the old public changing rooms and toilet. Celia Buckingham was plowing her way onto the stage. Annabeth was deep in conversation with another mother.

“I’m busting,” I told Ben, and I made a dash for the loo.

From the changing rooms, I couldn’t hear the actual announcements, but I could hear the tone of Celia’s foghorn voice, punctuated by rounds of applause. This was fantastic. I was missing it. For the sake of realism, I sat in the stall with my white one-piece round my ankles, pretending to pee. Five more minutes and it would all be over. I could collect my loser’s sash later.

I heard the clatter of running feet, a hammering on the stall. “Darling!” Annabeth panted. “You’ve won! You’re the winner!” Despite her earlier confidence, she sounded surprised. Amazed.

I pulled my suit up and dashed out of the stall, forgetting to flush. I didn’t think anything except that I was sharing the prize with my sister. Annabeth had been right after all. Nice is dumb doesn’t always mean nice is wrong. That was fine. I was happy with first equal. I was walking on air. Running on air.

But as I approached the stage, I almost fell flat on my face. I saw that they’d announced the prize winners in reverse order, starting with third.

Summer was already up there wearing a sash, and it wasn’t gold.

It wasn’t silver.

Letitia was wearing the silver sash. She was smiling, her dark eyes agleam. Even in my transports of delight, I registered this, because I couldn’t help being the bitch, even in my moment of triumph. Letitia’s moist eyes told me she had thought she would win. Was she insane?

But even more insane was the fact that she had beaten Summer.

And so had I.

Summer’s sash was bronze.

Not only had the judge decided I was the more beautiful twin, she’d placed another girl between us. Like she wanted the whole beach to know that it wasn’t hard to choose.

Summer’s eyes were dry. She was watching me, smiling with genuine love, that sunny, straight gaze. Her poise was a strange kind of victory. I could never have done what she was doing right now.

I mounted the steps to the catwalk slowly. I pulled my shoulders back. I paused midway to my place to find Ben in the audience and give him a wave, but he and Annabeth both had their eyes fixed on Summer.

I took my place between the vanquished. The judge stepped forward with my gold sash and tiara. That glittering tiara. It was magnificent.

Celia was still narrating for the audience, like they needed subtitles. Words like “charming” and “delightful” swirled around me in a happy cloud. Beneath me were admiring faces, clapping hands.

I was Miss Wakefield Beach. I was a beauty queen.

As the crown was placed on my head, I swung my arm in a wide, graceful arc. The beauty pageant wave. What made them choose me? Was Summer actually fat? But everybody said they couldn’t tell us apart.