Dumplin - Julie Murphy Page 0,49

place our orders, I say, “So, have y’all thought in terms of the talent show?”

“I kind of want to do something having to do with soccer,” says Amanda. “Like, some kind of trick.” She bounces her legs so hard that the whole table shakes. She’s one of those people that just can’t sit still.

“You play soccer?” I ask as Millie leans forward with both elbows on the table. I just never really thought someone with uneven legs would be as into sports as Amanda is.

“Well, I mean, I’m not on the team. But I kick the ball around with my brothers.”

Millie gives her an encouraging smile. “I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to do that. I remember a few years ago Lacey Sanders’s older sister did a first-aid demonstration.”

Hannah leans back with her arms crossed. Her bangs are overgrown and hang above her eyelashes so that she’s all hair and mouth. Like a talking wig. “Maybe I should dress up like a horse and trot around the stage for five minutes.”

Millie turns to me, discomfort in everything but her smile. “What about you, Will?”

“I don’t know.” I never stuck with dance classes or did violin or any kind of organized sport. My talents consist of watching television, being Ellen’s best friend, sighing, and knowing the lyrics to nearly every Dolly Parton song. “But we need to figure out things like dresses and pre-interview stuff, too.”

“I’m not spending any more money on this shit,” says Hannah. “I’ll wear jeans up there if I have to.”

“Maybe we could make you a dress?” asks Millie, her voice creeping so high it almost cracks.

Hannah doesn’t answer. It’s hard for me to look at her without wondering how much she really gathered from that day with Bo in the girls’ bathroom. We’ve said no more than a handful of words to each other and she knows a secret so big that I’ve not even told my best friend.

“So what do we need to know?” Amanda asks as she chews on a piece of hair. “Like, last time everyone was dressed up and we looked like friggin’ idiots. It was like amateur hour.”

“Well,” I say. “There’s the dress, the talent, and the interview. I mean, there’s not that much more to it. The whole point is to walk up there and not fall on your face and to try to make it look like your fake eyelashes aren’t stabbing your eyeballs. Oh, and swimsuits. We have to figure those out, too.”

Millie chews at the skin around her thumbnail.

Hannah crosses her arms and stretches her whole body out, eating up more and more of Amanda’s booth space. “We are so fucked. Your mom runs the thing and that’s all you’ve got?”

“It’s not like I’m some pageant groupie, okay? I never gave a whoop about the whole thing until last week. I’m sorry if this is something you feel like you can’t do, but too late now, sweetheart.”

Millie makes a long slurping noise as she finishes off her soda. “Well, um, Will, if you don’t mind, I have a few things to add.” She places her soda down and sits up straighter. “There’s more to pageants than dresses and talents. It’s about showmanship. Or showwomanship. And pride. So many pageant winners go on to do big things. Look at Miss Hazel”—our local talk show radio hostess—“and Dr. Santos. It’s about the full package.”

That’s when it hits me. Millie buys into this stuff. This isn’t a joke for her. This is the real deal.

“None of us are the perfect contestants,” she says. “I think we can all agree to that. The key is playing to our strengths. Not to toot my own horn, but I think I’ve got the interview in the bag. Amanda, when you wear your corrective cleats, your soccer tricks are awe-inspiring.”

I almost hold my breath, waiting for her to get to me so that she can somehow enlighten me.

“Hannah, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve seen you in a swimsuit, and well, you go, girl.” The edge of Hannah’s lip quivers, and I swear to Christ, if Millie can make her smile, it will be nothing short of an act of God. “So, like they said at orientation, it’s the eighty-first anniversary of Miss Teen—”

“Wait. What’s my strength?” I ask.

She smiles. “Your confidence, of course.”

I zone out completely. How can she see something I can’t feel? And what’s the point in acting confident if I’m not? I never thought I cared