Taylor held the pale, wriggling grub up to Adina’s face. “So what’s it going to be, New Hampshire?”
“Adina … Adina … Adina …” the girls chanted.
Taylor dropped the larva into Adina’s open palm.
“Adina … Adina … Adina …”
Adina felt the slimy wetness of the bug in her hand. Her stomach lurched. The chants of her name grew louder. It was like falling, waiting for untested hands to catch her.
“Oh God …” Adina whimpered. In one quick gulp, she downed the white larva, then fell to her hands and knees, gagging like a cat with a hairball. The girls backed away, giving her space. Finally, Adina staggered to her feet and wiped her mouth. For a moment under the hot sun, she thought she might faint. Or hurl. Or both.
“Adina?” Mary Lou whispered. “You okay?”
Adina gave a thumbs-up, and the girls grabbed her in a group hug. They cheered. For me, Adina thought. They were cheering her, and she was hit with a sense of pride and camaraderie she would have found cheesy back home.
“You’re so brave,” Mary Lou said, hugging her.
“How was it?” Brittani asked.
“Not totally awful. It kind of reminded me of French kissing Jake Weinstein and his spelunker tongue.”
Taylor appraised Adina coolly. “Let’s all give some snaps to New Hampshire.” Taylor clicked her fingers like castanets and the others followed till it sounded like Cinco de Mayo night at the senior home. “All right, Teen Dreamers — start digging for worms. It’s what’s for lunch.”
Tiara heard singing, and for a moment she thought she was in her room back home listening to Boyz Will B Boyz and waiting for her mom to wake her for her daily weigh-in. Instinctively, she tried to shove her secret snack cake wrappers under the imaginary mattress, only to feel a caterpillar crawling across her hand, startling her awake. Nicole and Shanti were still passed out, and she definitely heard singing. She walked in the direction of the song, following it till she found a small, bucolic waterfall that fed into a turquoise pond. On the bank lay Petra’s mud-caked clothes.
Petra stood in the pond, her lithe back to Tiara. She was as skinny as a boy or a supermodel, or a boy supermodel, and Tiara felt a pang of envy that Petra would never have to endure daily weigh-ins or go on juice fasts. She felt bad for spying, though. It wasn’t very nice. Should she make a noise? What if she scared Petra? She was trying to decide the best way to announce herself when Petra, still oblivious to Tiara’s presence, turned and rose from the water, and Tiara made the only sound she could. She screamed.
“Oh. My. God,” Nicole said.
“You’re a … you’re not even …” Shanti stammered. “You’re really J. T. Woodland? From Boyz Will B Boyz?”
Nicole raised an eyebrow. “Not anymore.”
“I had your poster in my room when I was ten!” Tiara blubbered. “I wrote to your fan club. You sent me a bandanna with your autograph.”
“I hated those bandannas. They were so cheesy.” Petra pulled her knees close and rested her chin on them.
“I think you’re missing the salient point here,” Shanti said. “Miss Teen Dream is a girls’ pageant. You are not a girl. Ergo, you are disqualified.”
“Who says I’m not a girl?”
“You have a wang-dang-doodle!” Tiara squeaked.
“Is that all that makes a guy a guy? What makes a girl a girl?”
And the girls found they could not answer. For they’d never been asked that question in the pageant prep.
Tiara’s expression was pained. “I don’t mean to offend you, Petra or J. T. or whatever, but my mom says that’s against nature and God.”
“Maybe you should ask God and nature why they put a girl inside a boy’s body?” Petra shouted to the uncaring sky. “And while you’re at it, maybe you should ask your mom why she thinks it’s not against God and nature to dress her little girl up in garters, spackle her face with makeup, and let her pole dance.”
“It’s Christian pole dancing,” Tiara said softly.
“It’s abuse,” Petra said. “Making your third grader go for a spray tan instead of playing in the park just so Mom can outsource her failed dreams to her kid? So wrong.”
Tiara’s eyes filled with tears. “She only wants what’s best for me. She knows I love the pageants.”
“Do you, really?” Petra challenged, and Tiara was silent.
“Why did you enter Miss Teen Dream?” Nicole asked Petra. “I mean, that’s, like, suicidal.”
Petra let out a long exhale. “My parents always wanted me to be able to have the surgery. I got the therapist, had the electrolysis, went on the hormones and the androgen blockers. I did almost everything. But then my mom got cancer. The chemo was expensive and the insurance wouldn’t pay. Said it was a preexisting condition.”
“Breast cancer?”
“Breasts,” Petra said bitterly. “Long story short, we were massively in debt. So long, sex reassignment surgery.”
“What about all that money you made with Boyz Will B Boyz?” Nicole asked.
“Embezzled by our manager.”
“Harsh. Wow, I’m really sorry,” Nicole said. “So how’d you decide on Miss Teen Dream?”
Petra rocked back, still holding tightly to her knees. “It wasn’t my idea. Through my support group, I met these political activists from a transgender rights group called Trans Am.”
“Trans Am?” Shanti made a face. “Your transgender rights group named themselves after a cheesy 1980s car and you aligned yourself with them? That’s like picking a plastic surgeon out of the grocery circular.”
“Okay. The name’s stupid. But they wanted to make a statement. They got me my hormones and promised to pay for the surgery if I’d go through Miss Teen Dream, the ultimate female pageant, as a contestant. All I had to do was place and then reveal myself at a press conference afterward and people would have to question everything they think about transgender people and about gender itself.”
“So you’re making fun of us?” Tiara asked.
“No! Not at all,” Petra said.
“Why not do one of those drag pageants, win money that way?” Nicole asked.
Petra kicked the tree. “Because I’m not in drag! This is who I am. That’s why I want to make a statement, so people understand. It’s a stand against discrimination. Look, I don’t need to win. I just need to place and do the press conference, and then I’ll have enough for the operation. Can you just not say anything? Please?”
The girls exchanged glances. It was Shanti who spoke. “I’m sorry. You broke the rules. I have to turn you in.”
“He — she might not even place,” Nicole tried.
“And if he does, that’s taking away a spot that could go to you or me. It’s not like the pageant just loves women of color, you know.”
Tiara looked up. “I thought you said the pageant wasn’t racist.”
“Bitch, please,” Shanti and Nicole said in unison.
“Besides, the pageant’s already on shaky ground,” Shanti argued. “All we need is another scandal, and then it’s over and none of us gets scholarship money. I’m sorry. But I’m a rules girl. I have to turn you in, Petra. We should get moving while there’s daylight.”
Nicole was torn. She liked Petra and she understood what it was to be discriminated against. But this was different, wasn’t it? Petra had deceived them, and Nicole didn’t like being lied to. She honestly didn’t know what to do.
“Maybe there’s another way to get the money.” She patted Petra’s shoulder and fell in behind Shanti.
Petra turned to Tiara. “I guess you hate me, too.”
Tiara tried not to look at Petra. Her eyes kept slipping down to her non-girl region. “I’m so confused. I don’t know if you’re a girl or a boy.”
“I’m a girl who just happened to get the wrong body.”
“My mom says people like you are wrong.”
“I can’t speak for your mom.”
“I don’t know. I have to think about it,” Tiara said, and she hurried to join the other girls on the trail.
CHAPTER TEN
By day’s end, everyone had made it back to the camp on the beach. Jennifer introduced Sosie to the group and told everyone about their misadventure with (and eventual victory over) the giant snake, about the Lady ’Stache Off jars and the old ration kit. The girls took it as a sign that the island was known and there would be an eventual rescue, especially if Jennifer could get the radio up and running.
“I’ll give it a shot. I learned a lot when my mom used to work at the plant,” Jennifer said.
Taylor convened a meeting. The girls settled into their horseshoe formation. Taylor raised a baton whose ignitable ends had been reduced to stubs.
“Whoever needs to talk can ask for the baton. Parliamentary procedure will be followed.”
“Parliamentary procedure? Did you go to girls’ state? Because I did,” Adina interjected.
Taylor frowned and waggled the baton. “You’re out of order, Miss New Hampshire. I have the baton. As I was saying, if you need to say something, you raise your hand and ask for permission to speak. The speaker will recognize you and hand over the baton. If you speak out of turn, you’re gonna be hit with penalties. So,” Taylor said as she wiped a small spot of dirt off the baton’s glittery stick. “Now that we’re all back together, we need to talk about getting rescued and resuming our pageant practice.”
Adina’s hand went up like a missile. “Permission to speak!”
Taylor rolled her eyes. “Granted, Miss New Hampshire. Please try to keep it clean. Not all of us were raised in a traveling RV of foul-mouthed circus folk.”
She handed the baton to Adina, who started to say something in response, then thought better of it. “For as long as we’re here, we need to survive. You know, build some shelter, find reliable food and drinking water. We need to organize.”