I suck in a breath and exhale. “I need to quit.”
He presses his lips together as his thick brows furrow. I see the questions on his face, but all he says is, “Did something happen?”
I shake my head. “I’ll return my uniform after I wash it.”
He nods. “It’s no rush.”
And just like with Bo, I find myself wishing that he’d put up more of a fight.
Neither of us says anything.
“But thank you,” I add, breaking the silence. “For the opportunity.”
“Well, I’ll miss seeing your face around here,” he says.
I drive the whole way home in silence with the windows rolled down, my thoughts swallowed up by the wind.
NINETEEN
After school on Friday, I head over to El’s. We sit at the dining room table, sharing a bag of chips while her mom unpacks scrapbooking supplies. Sprawled out on the table in front of us are snapshots of Mrs. Dryver dressed as all different incarnations of Dolly Parton. After wiping my fingers on my jeans, I study one picture of her in a suede coat with fringe hanging from the sleeves and a long, fitted denim skirt. Her hair is smooth and round like Dolly in the early years.
“I like this one,” I tell her.
She rests her hand on my shoulder. “Oh, me too. I think that’s my favorite hair. A drag queen out in Odessa styled that wig for me. Took him a week to get it just right.”
El picks up a photo of her mom in a floor-length red sequin gown. “Nice perm, Mom. So chic.”
“Ellen Sadie Rose, you wouldn’t know chic if it bit you on the asset.” She tickles the back of El’s neck with her long nails.
Where Ellen is long and lean, her mom is compact and curvy. But you see their connection in the way they twirl their hair or chew on their bottom lips or how they whistle through their straws before each sip.
“Here,” says Mrs. D. “You take this one to keep.” She hands me a picture of her and Lucy from years ago. They stand in front of a neon sign that reads THE HIDEAWAY. Behind them is a large, smoke-filled crowd. Looks like some kind of bar or club, but whatever it is, it’s somewhere Lucy never would have gone on her own. Mrs. Dryver wears fitted overalls with a tight red shirt underneath while Lucy’s in one of her signature sack dresses, but with a touch of blue eye shadow. I’d never seen her wear makeup before. Mrs. D brought out the bravest parts of Lucy. I know Lucy was important to Mrs. D, but for Lucy, Mrs. D was a lifeline.
I slide the picture into the front pocket of my backpack. I love the photo so much, but it hurts, too. Mrs. Dryver is the perfect Dolly, and it was impossible for Lucy with her thick, pale legs and flat hair not to look sad in comparison. Her smear of blue eye shadow is an unheard call to the person she always wanted to be. No matter how high she held her chin, I can’t unsee what she isn’t. I feel like a traitor.
“Mom,” says El. “How come you never entered the pageant?”
It’s something I’ve always wondered, too. Mrs. D’s whole life is basically a pageant on steroids. She would have killed the competition.
She shrugs. “I thought about it. I think every girl in this town does. But I wasn’t the same person I am today. I didn’t have it in me back then to pretend I felt good enough about myself to enter a beauty pageant.”
Her words sink in. I wonder if that’s why the pageant has bothered me more this year than in the past. The girls who enter have got to be proud enough of themselves to say they deserve to compete. That kind of unflinching confidence makes me uneasy in a way it never has before.
Ellen shoves a handful of chips into her face. “Let’s go upstairs.”
I take the bowl of chips and follow her to her room. On her bed, we lie in opposite directions with her head at the foot of the bed and mine on her pile of pillows.
“So you quit Harpy’s? Out of nowhere?” she asks with her mouth full.
“The Chili Bowl was hiring.”
“The Chili Bowl is always hiring,” she retorts.