“I’m going to go to law school and start changing some things,” Miss Ohio said. She dabbed at her eyes. “Crap. Is my mascara smeared?”
“You’re good,” Petra said, wiping a smudge from Miss Ohio’s cheek. “I’m going to hunt down Sinjin St. Sinjin and get my heels back. And then beat him with them.”
“I’m gonna stop worrying about that third nipple,” Brittani said.
“What if we don’t make it?” Miss Montana said.
Shanti shook her head. “Don’t talk like that.”
“But the deck is really stacked against us. You really think we can win against all of that?” Miss Montana swept her arm toward the juggernaut on the beach.
“I don’t know. But I’m so totally not gonna just roll over for them.”
“Me either,” Petra said.
“I don’t give a damn ’bout my bad reputation,” Jennifer sang softly.
“What are you talking about?” Sosie asked. She looked to Jennifer, who softened.
“Kicking ass,” she spelled out.
Sosie nodded. “Go big or go home, bitches.”
“Go big or die,” Nicole said quietly.
There were shouts on the beach, last-minute preparations, the verbal-and-static gunfire of walkie-talkies. Farther out, waves broke on the rocks. The jungle insects tuned their constant hum to a high-pitched clamor.
Shanti closed the curtain. “Ready?”
Nicole put out her hand. Petra placed hers on top. The others followed till their hands seemed to form a giant fist.
“Miss Teen Dream,” Adina intoned.
“Miss Teen Dream,” the others echoed, and they brought their hands up and apart.
“I’m scared,” Miss New Mexico said.
The guard stuck his head behind the curtain. “Ten minutes, girls.”
A WORD FROM YOUR SPONSOR
In a few moments, the most important Miss Teen Dream Pageant ever will be broadcast live from a remote island. Backstage, the girls wait in their gowns. Oh, see how they shine in their sequins and glitter? But there is something more tonight, yes? A gleam in the eye. A determined set to those glossed lips. A refusal to play the part assigned. They are ready. Hidden in a stack of props is the jar of Lady ’Stache Off and the flare gun, their twin hopes for making it out alive.
In his white Elvis jumpsuit, MoMo B. ChaCha waits to be entertained before making his arms deal, and Agent Jones waits with him, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. In the shadows, the black shirts wait, unseen, costumes on, guns at the ready, while in a television studio for Barry Rex Live, Ladybird Hope sits in a chair as a makeup artist prepares her face. She glances at the notes she’s written in her palm, rehearses what she will say when the time comes, when she, the most famous Miss Teen Dream who ever lived, will announce live the murder of the beauty queens. It will be her face America sees reassuring the nation in time of crisis, promising vengeance on the shores of the ROC. It will be Ladybird Hope’s finest hour — until her election.
And across the great land, from the glistening malls on the prairies to the department stores in the teeming cities to those small, cracker-box houses that can barely contain the bottled-up dreams and discontent of those who must be more, the televisions flicker, bathing the watchers in its seductive blue-gray glow. Already, the narratives are being written: Scrappy beauty queens survive in hostile jungle. How they lost weight! Learn their secret jungle beauty tips!
The world has tuned in. It is watching.
All of this is brought to you by The Corporation.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“Live in three … two … one … go!” The man behind the camera sliced the air with his arm. The curtains parted. Heart thumping, Adina walked out into the glare of the generator-run klieg lights and stepped to the microphone.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the Forty-first Annual Miss Teen Dream Pageant, live from a creepy island in the middle of nowhere. I’m Adina Greenberg, Miss New Hampshire, and I’ll be your host this evening. And now, let’s meet our contestants!”
The girls paraded in their evening gowns as if this night were like any other pageant they’d smiled through. Before them, the audience of Corporation employees clapped and cheered. Behind them, the jungle answered with its own cacophony. The girls disappeared behind the curtain and Adina called them one by one to answer questions about world peace and being role models. According to plan, they gave the standard answers, the ones everyone wanted to hear, until halfway through.
Adina tried not to seem nervous as she called Miss Ohio to the microphone. Miss Ohio sauntered onstage in her long, hot pink gown. In her hair, she wore a bright purple island flower. She did her flirty wave to the cameras, which made the audience chuckle.
“Miss Ohio, what would you say was the toughest part about life on the island?”
“Oh, wow. Eating grubs was pretty gross. We didn’t even get ketchup!” She beamed as the audience laughed. They were giving good TV. “But you know, I’d have to say finding out there was a Corporation compound right here on the island the whole time and we never knew it. I felt like such a doofus!” She shook her head without losing her smile.
“Thank you, Miss Ohio,” Adina said, gently pushing the girl toward the curtain as Shanti made her way in.
“I am for Miss Ohio, General,” MoMo whispered loudly to General Good Times. “Her buttocks remind me of tiny cats.”
With a rigor mortis–style grin, Agent Jones put a finger to his lips to remind MoMo of the need for secrecy.
“Shanti Singh, Miss California, can you tell us about your platform?” Adina said.
“Absolutely.” Shanti faced the audience and smiled. She wore an emerald green gown with iridescent seashells sewn around the waist and hem. “My platform is called FemPower Me. It is about microloans for women in developing countries. What you may not know is that many big corporations exploit female workers.”
Adina pretended to be surprised. “Really! That’s so interesting. Tell us more.”
Shanti’s smile did not falter. She stood in a perfect three-quarter beauty queen stance. “Like, for instance, let’s just say that The Corporation had a secret outpost here on this island. First, they would clear the land of indigenous peoples and force them from their ancestral homes, killing them if they were, like, really difficult or whatever. You know how those indigenous people can be about their land and stuff, Adina.”
“Boy howdy, Shanti.” Adina beamed for the cameras.
“Anyhoo, they’d use sweatshop labor — often young girls — to make all those products that keep you and me looking good. Maybe they’d even do secret arms trading. Meanwhile, women and children lose access to their livelihood. They’d face famine, oppression, and possibly a life of slavery.”
“Yikes. Hey, don’t you have a cute story about how your immigrant parents put up a lawn Santa on the Fourth of July?”
“Sure do. Oh, my wacky dad!” Shanti crossed her hands at the wrist. “Culture clash. D’oh!”
MoMo slapped his knee. “Am loving it.”
“Thank you, Miss California. By the way, fun fact about Shanti: Her favorite lipstick color is Tickle Me Pink. Don’t you love lipstick, Shanti?”
“So much, Adina.”
Without missing a beat, Shanti raced offstage just as Petra made her entrance.
She’d chosen a strapless gold lamé jumpsuit with a seaweed belt and had blown her long hair straight like a 1970s chanteuse.
“Love the ensemble, Petra. Did you put that together yourself?”
“I did, Adina. My mom’s an artist and she gave me a real appreciation for the visual. I love to sew.”
“That is seriously amazing. Can you tell us what you did to help us survive on this island?”
“I sewed a banner to catch the attention of planes. You can’t see it now because they took it down.”
Adina turned to the cameras with an amused-but-confused expression. “Why?”
“It had the word bitches in it, which is perfectly fine to use if you’re a rapper or a director making a movie about career women, but not if you’re a teen girl talking about her homies.”
“Good point, Petra. We know that young ladies of the teen persuasion do not use these indelicate words. Nor do they have thoughts about sex, mast**bation, violence, being competitive, or farting.”
“Exactly. Teen girls are made of moonbeams and princess sweat. Which would, of course, not be called sweat but glow, and would be taken care of with an aggressive antiperspirant like The Corporation’s new That’s the Pits! with aloe microbeads. Because when it comes to keeping you smelling lady-fresh, aggressive is A-okay.” Petra waved to the crowd and exited stage left.
Adina turned to the audience. “Oh, super fun fact about Petra? She used to be J. T. Woodland from Boyz Will B Boyz! She’s a proud member of Trans Am Transgender Rights Campaign and is the first transgender Miss Teen Dream contestant ever! Let’s give a big hand to Petra!”
On the sidelines, Agent Jones cursed silently. Why hadn’t they gone with the five-second delay as he’d suggested?
Beside him, The Peacock clapped loudly “General Good Times loves Boyz Will B Boyz! It is his favorite band. Look, he smiles!”
Many miles of ocean away, the call-boards lit up at The Corporation Network. What was going on with these girls? Did they have some sort of tropical illness? Agent Jones glared in the direction of the stage. These girls were up to something, and it wasn’t smiling and waving. But his job depended upon staying hidden and keeping an eye on MoMo. He couldn’t rush the stage and risk exposure. He’d just have to ride it out and hope they cut the crap.
“Last but not least, let’s welcome Tiara Swan, Miss Mississippi. Fun fact about Tiara: She thought you could get pregnant from swimming with a guy.” Adina shook her head. “Oh my goodness! Don’t you just love abstinence programs? So not helpful. Tiara, what have you learned here on this island?”