“Are you kidding me?” I ask.
“Millicent,” says Mrs. Michalchuk. “You lied to us. To our faces.” Tears brim at the edges of her eyes, and it becomes very obvious that she is not wearing waterproof mascara. Millie’s dad settles behind his wife, his arms crossed. “You went behind our backs after we decided not to sign the release form. Why—why would you do that?”
“Is this true?” My mom stands onstage with a clipboard tucked beneath her arm.
With her fists curled at her sides, Millie turns to my mom and says, “I forged my mother’s signature.” Her face crumbles for a second like she might cry. She looks back to her parents. “But you were wrong.” Her voice softens. “I know you want to protect me. I know that. But—but sometimes I just need you to support me.”
My mom frowns. “Let’s take this out into the foyer.”
I watch as Millie makes the trek up the aisle with my mother close behind her. Standing up, I climb over El’s long legs.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
“I have to help her,” I say.
I jog up the aisle and push the door open wide enough for the entire auditorium to hear my mother say, “I’m sorry, but we cannot allow you to compete without parental consent.”
The door swings shut behind me. “Millie has to compete.” Millie’s parents turn. “She’s worked so hard,” I tell them. “And she’s not fragile. She isn’t. She’s got this thick skin you don’t even expect. Everyone in this room, even the girls with the long legs and the silky hair, knows what it is to be teased. Millie and I know. Amanda and Hannah. Ellen.” I motion to my mom. “Even my mom knows. But we can’t walk around scared all the time. That’s no way to do things.”
Millie reaches for my hand and squeezes tight. “I really want this,” she says. “I’ve dreamed of being in this pageant for as long as I can remember. There’s nothing in the rules that says fatties need not apply.” Her mother flinches at the word, and discreetly wipes away a tear. “The only thing keeping me from this, Mom, is you.”
Mrs. Michalchuk looks to the huge pageant banner hanging above the auditorium doors and then to my mom, who offers a faint grin. Her husband takes her hand. She turns to Millie and nods.
Side by side, we walk back into the auditorium where all the other girls have so obviously been eavesdropping. A few contestants turn to give Millie smiles of encouragement as we take our seats. Ellen takes my hand, and then Millie’s, who then laces her fingers with Amanda’s. I turn to my other side to face Hannah, palm up. She takes a deep breath before taking my hand.
A bond bigger than any crown pulses through the five of us, and, for the first time since the start of this pageant, I know it’s me who has the upper hand.
When we finally do rehearse, it’s a mess. None of us do our talents. There isn’t time. Callie slips on the ramp during the opening number. All our cues are off. There are spills. And tears. And even some blood. All in all, it is exactly what I expected.
At home, my mom is sunk deep into the couch with a bottle of cheap champagne just like she is every year. At this point, there’s nothing left to be done, and if there is anything, it’s too late to make the effort. All she can do is let the glitter fall where it may. (Her words, not mine.)