19
I sit, numb, as the contestants take the stage. They parade down the catwalk in a long, radiant row. And unlike the many, many pageants that Ginny has strong-armed me into watching during my lifetime, the faces of the girls competing for the crown are familiar to me.
I know these women. They lifted me up and encouraged me when I didn’t think I’d be able to stand on my high heels without tumbling to the ground, much less strut down the runway with any level of confidence whatsoever. They squeezed my hands and wished me luck before I went onstage. They fed me cheeseburgers and celebrated my win in the talent competition with genuine hugs and well-wishes. Lisa Ng even tried to help me when it looked like Buttercup was having some kind of seizure.
I went into this charade assuming pageant girls were self-obsessed ditzes, but they’re not. I’d fallen victim to a stereotype. These are accomplished, inspiring women—women who cheered for me when it would have been so easy to cut me down so they could get ahead. But they didn’t. Instead, they supported me, made sure I had my moment.
How did I repay them?
By lying to them and cheating, that’s how.
God, I hate myself. Is there a single person in this room I haven’t betrayed or disappointed in some way over the course of the past twenty-four hours? I squeeze my eyes closed. I know the answer to this question, and it makes me want to disappear.
For real this time.
I force my eyes back open so I can see Ginny. She’s gorgeous, as always. Resplendent really, in that daring red dress. I can’t help but wonder what she and Gray said to each other earlier in the hallway. Bile rises to the back of my throat with every possibility that flits through my mind.
I swallow it down as best I can.
“Are you okay?” my dad asks.
I nod. “Just peachy. Why do you ask?”
“Because you’ve got a death grip on my arm, sweetheart.” He drops his gaze to my fingers, wrapped tightly around the tweed sleeve covering his bicep.
I hadn’t realized I’d been touching my dad, much less acting as a human tourniquet. I bury my hands in my lap. “Sorry. I guess I’m nervous.” I give him a shaky smile. “For Ginny, obviously.”
Yes, for Ginny.
But also for me.
Where do we go from here? Do my sister and I go back home to Texas and pretend none of this madness ever happened? Impossible. Things have changed between us in ways I still don’t understand. Ginny will always be in my life. Obviously. But as I sit here in the dark, I can’t imagine what our new relationship will look like. Or maybe I can, and I’m just not sure I like what I see.
Once the group of beauty queens has paraded up and down the stage, they disappear again behind the velvet curtain. The emcee calls each state winner to the stage, one at a time—in alphabetical order, as per usual—where the girls are presented with the box of questions. Miss Alabama, first out of the gate, draws a question about arming teachers as a response to the recent rise in school shootings.
If it were me up there, I’d know exactly what to say. As a school librarian, I have strong feelings about the subject. I can’t see how adding more guns to the mix could possibly help matters, and I’m prepared to defend my opinion in a calm, rational manner.
But I’m no longer part of this pageant, so my opinion doesn’t matter. Why do I keep forgetting that? And why, as we move through the alphabet onstage, do I keep answering the questions in my head as if I’m preparing for my turn?
This is Ginny’s dream. Not yours.
Right. And when the emcee announces Miss Texas, I’m reminded why she’s the family beauty queen and I’m the librarian.
My sister glows. There’s no other way to describe it. Her skin is luminous, and her hair shimmers so much beneath the massive stage lamps that it looks as if she’s been dipped in starlight. She’s even somehow repaired the sash I cut in two. As for the dress, it’s a knockout. It looks even better from a distance than it did up close. It’s dramatic and theatrical—just the sort of thing a newly crowned Miss American Treasure would wear on her victory walk.
As gorgeous as she looks, it’s not her appearance that makes her look so regal. It’s her confidence.
Ginny carries herself like a queen.
It’s the one thing we don’t have in common. We’ve got the same DNA, the same family, and most of the same formative life experiences. We grew up in the same home and went to the same schools. When we look in the mirror, we see the same, identical face. But I’ve never had even a fraction of Ginny’s belief in herself.
It’s something I’m going to work on from here on out. Because Adam never could have broken my heart if I hadn’t let him. If only I’d believed in myself a little more, his obsession with Ginny wouldn’t have crushed me the way it had. Of course I would have been devastated. But maybe I wouldn’t have held on to the pain for so long. Maybe I wouldn’t have blamed my sister.
If only.
“Miss Texas, please select your question.” The emcee waits as Ginny chooses a folded square of paper from the acrylic box in the reigning Miss American Treasure’s arms.
An eerie calm washes over me. It doesn’t matter what’s written on that slip of paper. Ginny lives for this kind of thing. She’ll answer her question with eloquence and grace. If she can defend Fifty Shades of Grey as a piece of high literature, she can do anything. And I know better than anyone just how adept she is at the art of persuasion. I still have the spray tan and blisters on my feet to prove it.
The emcee unfolds the piece of paper. “Are you ready, Miss Texas?”
Ginny flashes her best beauty queen smile. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Very good. Once I’ve read your question, you’ll have two minutes to answer.” The emcee clears her throat. “Here’s your question: What family member has had the biggest influence on your life and why?”
Perfect.
I know exactly what Ginny’s response will be. In fact, I’ve heard her practice answer for this very question, and it’s quite moving.
She’s going to talk about our mother. She’s going to mention our mother’s illness and the effect her death had on Ginny’s life when she was a little girl, and then she’ll conclude by saying her quest to become Miss American Treasure is her way of honoring our mom and keeping her memory alive. By the time her two minutes are up, there won’t be a dry eye in the house.
I sit back in my chair and wait for the waterworks.
But then something strange happens. Ginny doesn’t mention our mother. She doesn’t say anything at all. For several long seconds, she just stands there, wide-eyed, quietly staring out into the audience.
My dad, Susan, and I all exchange glances. What’s happening? We’ve never seen Ginny freeze like this. I have the sudden urge to leap out of my chair, dive onstage, and answer the question for her.
Wouldn’t that be a perfect spectacle?
Not necessary, though, because somewhere around the thirty second-mark, Ginny clears her throat and finally starts talking.
“Up until today, I thought I knew the answer to this question. I’ve always considered my mother, Miss American Treasure 1975, to be the most influential person in my life. But something happened this afternoon that made me realize that’s not true.” Ginny’s gaze sweeps the crowd, searching, until it lands on me.
She holds my gaze as she continues. “Most of the people in this room don’t know this, but I’m an identical twin. My sister, Charlotte, is only two minutes older than I am, but she’s been a role model for me since the day we were born.”
What is she doing?
All around me, heads are swiveling my direction. Somewhere near the front of the room, I hear a gasp.
No. I shake my head. Don’t do it, Ginny.
But she’s made her choice, and even when the timer dings, indicating her two minutes are up, she refuses to give up the microphone and keeps right on talking.
“My twin is smarter than I am. She’s kinder and more compassionate. She’s loves books and children and she’s been so sweet to my dog this week that Buttercup is going home with her instead of with me. Charlotte is exactly the kind of person I want to be when I grow up.”
A sob racks my body. I am shaking so violently that my teeth are chattering.
“I’ve done an appalling thing,” Ginny says, and her voice breaks. Something deep inside me breaks along with it. “All week, I’ve asked my twin to pretend to be me. I had an allergic reaction and couldn’t compete, so I asked Charlotte to take my place until I could get better. I dressed her up like me and taught her to walk, talk, and think like me. I asked her to cheat for me, and I had no idea what a terrible toll it would take on her.”
The room is buzzing now. It hums with the fury of a thousand bees. At the far end of the runway, the pageant director is climbing onto the stage.
“In conclusion, I just want to say I’m sorry.” Ginny takes a deep breath. “To all my fellow contestants, the Miss American Treasure organization, and to my parents. But most of all, to Charlotte. I should have been the one emulating you instead of the other way around. Please forgive me.”
My sister offers the microphone back to the emcee, who looks beyond shell-shocked, but then she snatches it back to add one more thing. “Oh, and I quit. I officially withdraw from the rest of this pageant.”
And just like that, Ginny’s dream dies a painful, public death.
The scene in the ballroom is chaotic.
The last six contestants don’t get a chance to answer their onstage questions, nor are the top twenty finalists announced. The pageant comes to a screeching halt as everyone tries to make sense of what’s just happened.
The pageant director looks as if she’s on the verge of a heart attack and I have to be honest, Dad looks pretty furious himself. I want to stay and apologize to him and Susan. Eventually, I will.
But first, I need to get to Ginny.
I can’t believe what she just did. She sacrificed herself for me. She didn’t have to do it. We could have worked things out. She could have waited until the pageant was over, and we could have talked it through.
She’ll never have a chance at the title again. After a lifetime of pursuing the crown, Ginny will never be Miss American Treasure.
This seems unfathomable to me, and yet, when I finally push past the agitated mob of people and reach my twin, she doesn’t look at all like a person whose dream has just withered and died. Her lips are curved into a serene smile, and she holds her head high. As always, she looks like royalty.
I throw my arms around her with such force that we both nearly topple to the ground.
“You’re crazy, you know that?” I whisper into her mass of hair extensions.
“It was all true,” she says. “Every word. I’m just sorry it took me so long to tell you how amazing you are. I guess I thought you knew.”
I sniff. Loudly. My God, I don’t remember the last time I cried this hard. “Nope.”
She pulls back to look me in the eyes. “Well, you are. Adam is a disgusting pig. And I haven’t exactly been the nicest person to be around lately either. I went a little crown crazy.”
“It’s okay.” I smile. “We’re even now.”
And for a wacky, wonderful moment, everything seems okay. All around us, people are yelling or crying or cursing, but in our little bubble, life is good. It’s just Ginny and me, and for the first time since childhood, we’re one. The broken cord that once held us together so tightly is intact again.
But then my gaze drifts over her shoulder and I see Gray.
Our eyes meet, and I want to go to him and apologize. I want to tell him that even though I’ve acted like a phony and a fake, my feelings for him are genuine. I’ve fallen for him, and that’s a fact.
But there’s too much fiction between us.
When I take a step toward him, his beautiful blue eyes go cold. And then he turns his back on me and leaves without saying a word as I choke on a sob.
“Charlotte, what’s wrong?” Ginny says. She follows my gaze until her attention lands squarely on Gray’s slumped shoulders.
After everything we’ve been through this week, I still haven’t opened up to her about Gray. I’m still holding on to to one last secret.
I take a deep, shuddering breath.
No more pretending.
No more lies.
“I have so much to tell you,” I say. Then I reach for my twin, and hand in hand, we walk out of the ballroom and leave the Miss American Treasure pageant behind.