“You look like you’re going to a funeral,” Chloe said, catching Lily’s eye in the mirror.
The evening gown competition was a parade of tiny satin and tulle. Lily walked with her eyes forward, chin high, the way her grandmother taught her. Chloe walked barefoot—she’d forgotten her heels at the motel—and still, somehow, she glided like she was walking through water. junior miss pageant contest 2001
Lily forced a smile. “It’s called focus.” “You look like you’re going to a funeral,”
Across the dressing station, Chloe DeLuca was pinning a fake orchid into her ponytail. Chloe was the new girl—moved from Phoenix two months ago, after her mom got a job at the textile plant. She had no pageant coach, no routine passed down through generations. Just a second-hand leotard, a jazz CD she’d burned from the library, and a laugh that sounded like wind chimes. Chloe walked barefoot—she’d forgotten her heels at the
Chloe walked over, tiara in hand. “Hey. You were really good.”