Susan Mallery Page 0,71

there was a break. Margot stood. “Let’s go backstage.” She narrowed her gaze. “On the condition you only say nice things.”

“It was one comment. You know I’m right about her.”

“Actually I don’t. I’ve seen average-looking girls blossom into great beauties and pretty girls who weren’t the least bit successful in pageants. My great-grandmother would know. She could look at a seven-year-old and tell you how she was going to grow up. It was a gift.”

They made their way down the aisle toward the stage.

“So why do they do this?” Bianca asked. “Why take the chance when you have no idea if you’re going to be pageant material?” She made air quotes around the last two words.

“Lots of reasons. At this age, some are doing it for Mom, as we discussed. But for others, it’s fun to play with clothes and makeup. You meet people and learn skills. If you want to go into journalism or anything to do with the media, you’ll learn how to speak to a group, have poise in nearly any situation. At the upper levels, the scholarship money can make the difference between the school of your dreams and community college. If you win at the state level, you’ll have opportunities most people can’t even dream of.”

Bianca stared at her in surprise. “You believe in all this.”

“I’ve seen what the pageants can do. It’s a lot more than a show on cable TV.” Margot walked around the stage and opened the door leading to the dressing rooms. “Having said that, there are girls who are here because they have to be and not because they want to be. A lot is on the line. Emotions run high and there is plenty of drama.”

She showed her backstage pass to a security guard, then opened another door that led behind the stage. The volume went from quiet to battleworthy shrieks and squeals. Girls ran everywhere, laughing, crying, twirling and texting. Family members—mostly moms but some grandparents and the occasional dad—did their best to corral their girls. A few of them looked at Bianca and did a double take, as if they weren’t sure if they recognized her or not, something Margot had worried about. She pulled Bianca to the side.

“We’re here to observe,” she said, speaking into Bianca’s ear. “Just watch them. You’ll see the ones who are excited and the ones who hate their moms. The purpose of this is for you to experience a visceral reaction to the dynamics, then think about what you could do to defuse that situation if you were involved. What would you say? Where would you go to take a second to breathe? I’m hoping you’ll ride the roller coaster of emotions but also stay above them.”

“What are you feeling?” Bianca asked.

Margot looked around at the girls in curlers, the mothers applying mascara and thought of the pressure to be all her great-grandmother wanted her to be.

“It can be tough and I could never have done this.”

“But you tried.”

“Over and over again.”

Bianca nodded, then turned back to the girls.

“What do you think you’re doing?” one mother yelled, grabbing her daughter by the arm. “You were eating candy. You’re already so fat, you barely fit in your dress. Do you know how much this is costing us? I had to take time off work to come here with you and you’re eating candy?”

“I’m hungry.”

“I don’t care if you’re starving to death. Fat girls don’t win.”

Margot fought down anger. She desperately wanted to march up to that woman and tell her to just stop it. Bianca put out a restraining arm.

“Breathe,” she said quietly.

“I always hated that part of things.”

“Who wouldn’t? We just have to trust in karma.”

“Or maybe call Social Services,” Margot grumbled.

There were other girls who were excited about the competition. Girls who were laughing and hugging their moms.

“There’s the pageant coordinator,” Margot said. “I’m going to say hello to her and thank her for letting us come observe. Want to meet her?”

“No thanks. I’ll walk around instead. Come find me when you’re done.”

Margot wondered if that was the best plan, then figured Bianca wasn’t going to get into any trouble in a place like this. Or so she hoped.

She wove her way through the contestants and found Paula Turner.

“Margot! How lovely to see you.” Paula, a beautiful woman in her forties, hugged her. “You’re stunning as always.”

Margot smiled. “As are you. I see tablets have replaced clipboards.”

“Time marches on. Are you enjoying our future queens?”

“I am. There’s a lot of