Warning: dramatic. Could be a trigger chapter for some people. Involves serious things such as rape and murder. Nobody we know is getting raped or murdered, but there is a very serious discussion. So if you don't think you can handle it, tell me and I'll tell you what happens.
Also, I have a feeling that all through my books, I've switched between Mrs. Gregory's (now Ms. Miller's) name as being Marsha or Martha. So it'll probably go back and forth, but I will try my hardest to stick with one. Sorry. :(
And IK I haven't updated in ages and I am SO SORRY. I promised myself I wouldn't be one of those authors and yet here I am, not having updating in a month. So I really will try to update at least one or two of my stories at least every other day.
Heart ya,
Joy
PARIS
BUTTES-CHAUMONT PARK
9:23 AM
JULY 5, 2013
Massie furtively looked around, then slipped through the unlocked back exit. From there, she could stroll casually around the edge of the park and join the Carson boy, Alex, by the playground benches. And if anyone asked just what the hell she thought she was doing, she could just say she didn't speak French. At least that was true.
"Massie?"
"Mom? What are you doing here?"
"Taking a walk," she explained. "It's so lovely here; the birds are chirping and the sun is shining and just look at all the beatiful flowers."
"It is nice," Massie allowed. "See you later, Mom."
"Where are you going?" Kendra asked.
Massie cocked her head. "Over there. There's a boy I talk to."
Kendra batted her eyes. "Is he nice?"
"He's a Carson." She knew that was all she had to say.
"Oh! I know his mother, Jeanette. Such a doll! Have fun, sweetie!"
"You too, Mom."
WESTCHESTER THEATER
BACKSTAGE
3:28 PM
JULY 5, 2013
"Okay, girls, this is it," Mrs. Farson announced. "Let's all put on our stage smiles. Ready? One, two, three."
Alicia grinned widely.
"No, Olivia, teeth don't touch. You too, Bianca. Get your eyes into it, Crystal. That looks so fake. Jes- May I help you?"
The class turned as one to see who she was talking to.
A man with blonde locks like straw and wide blue eyes blushed. "Emergency in the wings. One of your girls locked herself in the bathroom."
"Jesus Christ," Mrs. Farson muttered, looking wildly around. Alicia stood up straighter and threw her chest out. The instructor's eyes lit up, but not on the Beta. "Dylan. Could you please finish for me?"
"Sure." She tugged on her hair-bow. "Could you guys smile ah-gain for me?"
The girls nodded and beamed.
"Okay, she was right about you, Olivia. And you, Bianca. That's better, Crystal. Kiara, nice smile, but your ponytail is falling down. Leesh, can you put it back up, puh-lease?"
"Of course!" She skipped over to Kiara, and, with angry strokes, tore the bow out of the poor girl's hair.
Dylan sighed. "That's perfect, Meena. And you too, Kay. And you, Nanci. Samantha, your posture sucks."
A few girls giggled.
"Save it. Brianne, your back is curved over too. And Melina, who in the world told you to curl your hair?"
The honey-blonde tossed her corkscrew tresses over her shoulder. "It's natural," she breathed.
"Good Gawd," Dylan murmured. "Leesh, do you still carry that straightener in your bag?"
"Gawd, who made me hair-stylist? That's nawt my job."
"Fine. Chrissy, could you-"
"Fine. I'll do it," Alicia grumped.
Just then, Mrs. Farson marched back in, an embarassed Marie stomping after her. "What is going on, girls?" she asked, noticing the iron in Alicia's hand.
"Melina curled her hair," Dylan explained, rolling her eyes.
"It's natural," Melina repeated just as obnoxiously as the first time, batting her eyelids.
Dylan threw her hands up. "I don't know how you do this, Mrs. Farson."
"Right now, me neither."
ORLANDO
HILTON HOTEL
3:37 PM
JULY 5, 2013
"You have to come with us, Claire. No excuses," Judi snapped. "You were so excited to come to Florida. What happened?"
"Nothing," she mumbled.
"And you love the Kissimmee pageant!"
"Yeah, yeah, I'll be ready in a second." She grabbed a pair of Gap cutoffs that she'd stuffed at the bottom her bag. Then she pushed past her mother and slammed the bathroom door. She sat down on the closed cover of the toilet and sniffed loudly, trying to keep from crying. She couldn't believe that she'd throw away her lifelong friendship with Sari for the Pretty Committee. What was so special about those prissy Westchester girls anyway?
What she didn't realize was that she'd become just like them.
PINEWOOD APARTMENTS
KRISTEN'S ROOM
3:56 PM
JULY 5, 2013
"Who are you texting?" Marsha asked suspiciously, leaning over her daughter's shoulder to look at the screen of her phone.
Kristen snapped it closed. "Uh, Kuh-laire. I was just asking her how Florida was."
"Let me see." She held out her hand.
"No, Mom! You don't have to check up on everything I do! Go away!"
She raised her eyebrows and rested a hand on Kristen's shouder. "Honey, what's wrong?" She sat down cross-legged on the floor, next to her child, and looked her in the eye.
"Nuh-thing, okay? I'm just sick of you hovering over me all the time. And don't say you're worried cuz Dad left, cuz you've been like this since I was born. I'm not going to die or go down the wrong path or whatevs just because you leave me alone for ten minutes. My friends' parents don't do this."
Her mom drew Kristen into her arms. "Oh, sweetheart, I don't do it to be over-protective. I'm just worried about you. So many things can go wrong at this age."
"Gawd, Mom, I'm nawt in high school. I can't drink and drive, or party awl night, or smoke weed. Or anything. So why don't you just leave me be?"
She ran a hand through her blonde hair. "I'm nervous for you, sweetie." A chill went through Marsha's body, and she swallowed hard, fighting the tears that had welled up in her eyes.
"Why?" Kristen demanded, questioning the one thing that Mrs. Gregory, now Ms. Miller, had hoped she would never question. "Why are you so nervous?"
"Well, because-" Her chest siezed, and for a second she thought she would have a heart attack.
"Come on, Mom. What's the big deal? Can't think of an answer, is that it?" she taunted. "Is that it?"
"No, honey." And Marsha's voice, like a ton of bricks, tumbled down onto Kristen's head, made heavier by the load of uncontrolled sadness that fell with them. "I...there was...there was someone before you."
"Huh?" She didn't get it. "What do you mean, someone before me? I know all about evolution and stuff, Mom. Of course there was someone before me. You were before me. What are you talking about?" Kristen had a habit of rambling on when she was anxious.
"No, Kristen, there was a child," she said gently. "There was another child."
"Of course there wa-"
"You know what I'm saying, Kristen. Think. This is hard for me. I'm not going to spell it out for someone as bright as you."
Realization dawned as though a light bulb had switched itself on in her head. But she thought it was better to still play a little dumb. "You had another kid? How old were you?"
"Well, how old am I now?" Marsha joked weakly, pretending to count on her fingers. "I am...41. So I had you when I was...?"
"Don't you dare turn this into a math problem."
"Fine." She looked a little taken aback. "So when you were born, I was 30."
"Okay? How old was this other kid? Oh. I get it. You had an abortion."
Ms. Miller shook her head slowly, her chin dropping to her chest. "No." Her breath was coming in gasps. "No, Kristen." And then she was sobbing.
"When did she die?"
"Two days after her eleventh birthday."
"Ehmagawd. What happened?"
Her mother licked her lips.
Kristen nestled into her embrace, but it felt alien. "Mommy," Kristen whispered, looking up into Marsha's face, using a word she'd given up on as babyish when she was in the fourth grade, "tell me."
"Rape. And murder. My little girl. Someone..."
"Who was it?" Kristen knew the answer wasn't going to be a nameless stranger.
"Your father."
"What?" It came out as a strangled screech, and she covered her mouth and coughed hard. "Then why did you marry him? Why isn't he locked up in jail? Why..."
"There are things I can't explain, sweet-pea. I'm sorry. It's just...not your business. One day, maybe. But I just can't. It's too personal."
She bit her lip. "Okay. I'm sorry," she added. "Really."
"I know. And you're a good girl. And I love you. And it's good for both of us that Phillip left. Okay?"
"Okay," she agreed.
WESTCHESTER THEATER
STAGE
4:28 PM
JULY 5, 2013
"Two minutes!" a production assistant called from the wings. "I repeat, two minutes."
"Roger that, Matt. Thanks." With a smile, Mrs. Farson adjusted her glasses and stepped in front of the girls. "Okay, here's the time for any questions or concerns or problems or comments or anything."
"You did test the track out first, right?" ever-bossy Bianca asked.
"Of course," Mrs. Farson said. "Anyone else?"
"Omigod!" An exclamation rang out from the row behind Alicia.
"What?" The teacher ran over.
A crying Zara Warren showed her the torn strap on her dress.
Mrs. Farson got very red. "I told you not to play with those!" she shouted. "And now we have one minute. I'm going to have to tell you that you can't dance, sweetie."
"Hold on!" Dylan yelled. "I think I can do something!"
"One minute," the assistant called.
"Shit," the teacher hissed, smoothing her gray bun over and over again until the top stood up like she'd been shocked.
"Here!"
"What is that?" Olivia Ryan wondered, squinting at the object she held.
"A staple gun. It's better than nothing. Here." She held it out as she ran toward Zara.
"Thirty seconds!"
And although Dylan knew Massie was going to say that she should have paid Zara back, should have gotten revenge, should have let her leave with a broken strap, she did the nice thing. Very carefully, she held down the thin piece of fabric and stapled it.
"Five, four, three, two, one!"
Dylan raced back to her spot and fell to her knees. Her heart was pounding as the music started.
WESTCHESTER THEATER
BACKSTAGE
4:40 PM
JULY 5, 2013
"I have an announcement." Mrs. Farson beckoned the girls toward her, grasping a stack of papers. "You all know you did a fantastic job today. You all improved so much and I'm proud to call you students."
"Hear, hear!" shouted Meena and Nanci.
She grinned. "So I found out a little surprise just before you went on. The back half of our audience here is entirely made up of talent scouts. They all wrote down the dancers they were interested in holding a meeting with, and the times and dates. Most of them are today, although I think they want to see a few of you tomorrow. As I am looking out for your best interests, I have to instruct you, if you are serious about dancing, to cancel whatever you have planned and see these men and women. Your future careers, after all, depend on them. These are the papers where they wrote down who they wanted to meet with. Kiara, Crystal, Samantha, Zara, Marie, Meena, Bianca, Melina, Olivia, Chrissy, Brianne, Alicia, Jessica, and Dylan." As she read off their names, she handed them sheets of typed paper.
Quickly, Alicia counted how many meetings she had. 36! That had to be at least half of the critics. "Hey, Dyl!" She danced over. "How many?"
Dylan scanned her paper, then looked more carefully. "34."
"Yes!" She celebrated under her breath, but when she realized Dylan was still looking at her, she amended it to, "Cool. I got 36."
"Wait. Hold awn." The Gamma flipped hers over and continued. "Sorry. 40. Maybe you have some awn the back too."
Alicia held her breath. The back was blank.
Dylan pouted. "Sorry, girlie. But 36 is a lot. And, you know, maybe now you'll realize you're nawt actually better than everyone else."
"My dancers!" Mrs. Farson hollered to the girls milling around. "Your meetings are starting in five minutes, so I suggest you get where you need to be. Your parents will pick you up later."
Alicia didn't listen. Her face was burning rosy pink, which, with her tan skin, was like fiery red. "Just what the fuck do you mean I think I'm better than everyone else?"
Dylan shrugged. "I mean what I said. I'm sorry I couldn't pick you for alternate captain, but clearly it didn't end up mattering, so-"
"Guys! Omigod, Dylan, you were great!" Olivia threw her arms around the redhead's neck. "Oh, you were good too, Alicia. So how many meetings did you guys get?"
Alicia pushed away. "I have to go. I have someone named Mr. Meyers in three minutes."
"What's up with her?" Olivia grimaced.
"She's pissed." Dylan rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I got 40, and she got 36. What about you?"
"Only 29. But whatevs. It's better than nothing."
"Definitely," Dylan agreed graciously. "And you're a much better sport than Alicia about it anyway."
"Yeah. But I gotta go. I have a Miss Stacey-" she checked her watch "-now. Toodles!" And with a beauty queen wave, she danced away, her ballet flats clicking on the wooden floor.
KISSIMMEE PAGEANT
FRONT ROW
4:58 PM
JULY 5, 2013
"Ugh," Todd moaned, lolling his head back against his chair. "I can't believe I have to sit here for three hours and watch some stupid girls parade around a stupid stage."
"They're not stupid, Todd!" Judi scolded. "They empower lots of young ladies!"
"Well, I'm not a lady," he muttered. "Why couldn't I have gone with Dad?"
"You could have gone with Dad," Claire snapped. "In fact, you should have gone with Dad."
"Whatever," he groaned.
"Shh, kiddos." Judi tapped them both on their heads. "It's starting."
Sure enough, a balding man stepped up behind a podium, holding a microphone. Claire couldn't see his legs from her close-up vantage point, but on top he had on an angora sweater-vest over a long-sleeved white button-up that practically screamed gay. In a dry, monotonous voice, he smiled hugely (and fakely) and began. "All my dear friends who have to come to view our favorite ladies in this pageant, welcome to you. To the rest of you, welcome also. I extend my arms to all you, and I hope you will enjoy the 38th annual Kissimmee Women's Beauty Pageant!" The audience went wild with applause and cheers. "Now if I may, I'd like to introduce you to our judges." He waved an arm behind me, then slid to the right so the audience members could see the people seated behind a long mahogany table. "Kathy Elsen! Alyssa Benton! Hailee Cougress! Our male judge, Jackson Thorax! And our celebrity judge..." He cocked his head toward someone in the wings, and apparently received the go-ahead, because he roared, with the only real emotion he'd demonstrated the entire time, "Abigail Boyd!"
The brunette actress skipped onto the stage. She was wearing a dark denim Miu Miu miniskirt with a baby-blue lace tank and a gray knit pullover from Charlotte Russe. "Hey, I'm Abby Boyd!" she chirped, sounding like she was on Disney Channel. "It's an honor to be invited to judge the famed Kissimmee Pageant at such a young age! I feel like it was only yesterday that I was standing in diapers and pull-ups, annoucing to anyone and everyone that I was going to be an actress. Well, now I am, and now I can help another girl do exactly the same thing. I am extraordinarily pleased to tell you all that I am going to pick one lucky girl from each age group to learn from me, sort of like a tutor. And at the end, they will all be given a role in a movie!"
The spectators erupted into screams and clapping. Claire rolled her eyes. "Gawd, she is such a fake."
"Be nice. She seems like a very enterprising young lady."
Claire blinked at her mother in disbelief. "Mom, she's nawt an "enterprising young lady." That's Abby Boyd!"
"She can't be that famous. I've never heard of her. The only people I know are Selena and Demi. Oh, and that nice on, Miley, right? Or is her name Hannah?"
"Ehmagawd, Mom." Claire buried her face in her hands. "Stawp talking about them like you know them. It's wierd."
"You're wierd," Judi said playfully. "I wonder what category they'll do first."
Her inquiry was answered when the gay man shouted, "First up will be ages 10 to 12 swimsuits! Three girls will perform at a time."
"I love this part!" Judi bounced in her seat, slapping her heads together like a demented seal.
'Oh Gawd,' Claire thought as she saw the first girl parade out in an orange bandeau with a white clasp. The bottom was white with orange polka-dots. The outfit was complete with orange wedge flip-flops and a huge white Scrunchie. It set off her cinammon-colored skin and matching glittery eyes. It was Sari.
On the left of her was a girl with a dirty-blonde ponytail and strikingly blue eyes. Her skin was tan, as per her Orlandian backgound. She had on a turquoise one-piece and silver heels with black eyeliner and heavy blush. Too much. Just like Mandy always did.
On the right of Sari was a girl with short curls and trendy Dior glasses, the only part about her that was remotely cool. She had on a faded brown bikini that my or may not have been ripped intentionally. Her hair was piled on top of her head with extensions. Sarah.
All three of her prior best friends had their arms around each other. On their faces were blinding, genuine smiles, which told her more than words ever could.
Clearly, they didn't miss Claire. They hadn't needed her when she went to Westchester, and they didn't need her now. And she knew why. They never had.
"Do those girls seem familiar?" Mrs. Lyons cocked her head to the side and closed her eyes for a second before focusing on their made-up faces.
Claire thanked her lucky stars they were wearing pounds of makeup, especially Mandy, the most easily recognizable. "Nah, Mom. We might have just seen them around town."
"You're probably right," agreed Judi with a smile. "I'm glad you're enjoying this. But why didn't you bring your friends?"
"Because..."
Because they didn't need her now, and they never had. Obviously.
