“It’s true,” I say. “Millie invited you over here to her home and all you’ve done since I walked in is stick your face in your phone and brood.”
Hannah finally looks up. Her face is all amusement. “Oh, like you even give a shit about these two. You’re just here to feel better about yourself. This is some kind of sad circle jerk.”
I feel my nostrils flare.
“It’s true,” she adds. “That’s the only reason you’re sticking with this little freak show. You were an asshole to your best friend and now all you have is us.”
“Stop,” says Millie, cutting the cord of tension between us. “Let’s talk interview questions. I tracked down some from a few years ago for us to practice with.”
“Don’t talk to me like you know the whole story,” I tell Hannah. “Because you don’t.” I turn to Millie. “Is there somewhere I can change?”
Millie points me to the bathroom across the hallway. Every little mauve detail matches, including the house-shaped shelf that holds spare toilet paper. Like in Millie’s room, there are cheesy inspirational quotes in frames. My personal favorite: A smile is a curve that sets everything straight.
Still on her wicker throne, Millie says, “Okay, so like our packets say, there will be an interview session the Thursday before the pageant. The judges will grade us on that, and then combine it with our live interview during the pageant. I think that’s one or two questions.”
“And we don’t know the questions beforehand?” asks Amanda.
“No,” I say, letting sleeping memories of my childhood spent backstage resurface. “No, and this is where they like to stump you.”
“Interview is the component with the highest point value, so if we—”
Millie’s interrupted by a light knock. The door creaks open. Her mom, with hair tall enough to hold a few family secrets, stands with eyes brimming like she might cry or something. “We’re heading to bed.”
“Okay.” Millie bites in on her lips so that they disappear.
“I’ll have breakfast ready for you girls tomorrow morning. We’re so happy to see Millie have some girlfriends over.”
“We’re so happy to be here,” says Hannah, her voice flat.
Millie’s smile is tight. “Good night, Mom.”
“Night-night, sugar.”
After she shuts the door, we discuss the point value breakdown and how ridiculous it is that swimsuit accounts for more than talent. Once Millie is sure her parents are asleep, we head to the TV room and watch a few videos of former pageants that I stole from my mom’s stash.
The more contestants that grace the screen, the more obvious it is how much we do not fit. There’s the odd black sheep here and there, but never anything like the four of us. It makes me feel small, like a blip on the history of this little pageant. What about next year? Or the year after that? Soon, we’d be forgotten and what would be the point then?
Millie feverishly takes notes throughout the night, while Amanda asks questions like, “What if we get wedgies during the swimwear part?” or “Do you think there’s ever been any major wardrobe disasters, like, a nip slip? Will we get bathroom breaks?”
Hannah looks up from her phone to say, “This is kind of depressing. I mean, this is the actual highlight of these girls’ lives. The people on these tapes are moms or even grandmas now and this is probably the best thing they’ve ever done.”
“That’s not very fair.” Millie’s voice is quiet. “Just because maybe these women have stayed here in Clover City or have become stay-at-home moms or cashiers doesn’t mean you can deem their entire lives outside of the pageant a waste.”
Hannah says nothing, but her lips nearly tremble.
“Listen, Hannah,” she adds. “I know people have been cruel to you, but—”
“I’m going to bed.” She tucks her pillow beneath her arm and heads back to Millie’s room.