They swapped in a replacement for me at the last minute. There’s enough guys working security for the hotel that they were able to get someone for me in no time.

He’s not Jason, and that’s a good thing.

From lining up for the opening of the pageant to parading across the stage in my gown to changing into my little cocktail dress, I go through the motions without feeling anything. I mean, I feel the hem of my dress riding up and I feel the pain in my feet in these heels, and I feel the heat of the lights overhead.

I even feel the booming of the slightly-too-loud music reverberating through my body.

But am I having fun up here? Do I care about winning?

Not even a little. No one would know it, though, because I’m smiling as big as I ever have. I’m smiling until my cheeks hurt and my heart feels damn-near silly for pretending to be happy. Pretending I want to be here.

Pretending I don’t hate the fact that I’m here.

Mrs. Pathmoore and Ms. Garnelle explained to the girls and released a statement that Jason and I had had an argument, and that we both decided that a cooling-off period would be best for both of us. It’s not a lie. For once in this whole damn ordeal, it’s not a lie.

Right now I’m standing on the side of the stage watching one of the girls perform her talent - creating a Bob Ross-style painting within the short time limit we’re given. There’s talk of happy little trees and under normal circumstances I’d think this was pretty cool, but right now I just can’t get excited.

As for me, I already performed my talent. I went out onto the boardwalk with a random audience member and showed her how to convince someone to try some of my special moisturizer. I had to stop myself from just running away in the middle of it, cameras on me and everything.

As the girl on stage finishes up her painting, the audience claps and there are a few cheers.

I clap politely, but my heart feels dull and heavy.

I just have to get through the rest of the night.

* * *

I’m on stage again. I’ve always felt good on stage, because I’m good at it. But now, it’s the last place I want to be.

I slid through to the finals, and now I’m standing on stage with four of the other girls for the question and answer part. This is the final portion of the competition, and we’re wearing ball gowns for it. That’s the tradition, so it’s what we do.

Swallowing hard, wishing this whole thing would just end, I watch as Ms. Garnelle takes center stage, her long black gown flowing behind her.

“I am so pleased to have these wonderful young women behind me tonight. These are the best and the brightest we have, and in addition to being beautiful and talented, we want them to display how they will be able to fulfill the duties of Miss Northeast should they win the competition.”

She pauses for a moment as the audience erupted into applause.

“Our girls have worked hard and they each deserve to be here. They are all deserving of the crown - I think we can all agree with that.”

If we all deserve it, then why choose a winner?

Ms. Garnelle leaves the stage with a graceful flourish and the lights in the theater dim around us.

I look out at the sea of faces, and I can’t make out any of the individual people. I look for my mom and dad and my brother, but I don’t know where they are. I haven’t even been able to speak with them today yet. I know they’re here for me, though.

The host of the contest comes up on stage and announces my name. I’m first, having been selected randomly.

“Cassandra Blake,” she says, “please come join me in the center of the stage.”

I walk over to her in my long gown. It’s pink - it’s the happiest, prettiest color I could find. It reminded me of my prom dress when I spotted it in a catalog some of the other girls and I like to order our dresses from. And it fits me perfectly, accentuating my curves.

But I feel silly right now, as I put that signature smile on my face and walk to meet the host in the middle of the stage.

My mind replays the past few days, pulling me out of the moment. I might as well be in the audience right now, because I feel as though I am watching myself through someone else’s eyes. All I can focus on right now is how Jason lied to me about Cynthia, how she was all over him.

And I don’t know why. I know I shouldn’t be doing it. Maybe I just like punishing myself.

“Our first question,” the host says, smiling at me and holding the microphone close to her face, “is a question from an audience member.”

We look out to the audience, draped in darkness, and find a pool of light where a spotlight is being held on one of the seats.

I squint and focus my eyes on the person sitting there in the second row, with a microphone held up in front of her, and I feel a cold sweat break out under my skin when I see who it is.

It’s Cynthia.

“Hi,” she says, pulling the microphone to closer to her mouth, “I’m a big fan of the pageant. Very happy to be here.”

This has to be some kind of cruel joke. This has to be a fucking prank.

“Hello,” I say, waving shakily at her, then directing my attention to the host, “as you all probably know, I have somewhat of an unusual relationship with the press, but Cynthia and I have a very good working relationship.”

My heart is in my throat, and I try to push it down with a light laugh and a smile. Because no matter what chaos is going on inside your head and your heart, you smile when you’re on stage. You don’t let them see the pain inside you.

I know the organizers of the pageant wouldn’t have approved her to be on camera unless they had pre-screened her question. I know she must have a very innocuous question prepared, something that was given the okay by Ms. Garnelle and everyone else involved. And even though I alerted Mrs. Pathmoore to the fact that a reporter found out the engagement was fake, they must not have put together that it was Cynthia.

Or maybe she thought I was bluffing that time, too. Or maybe, at this point, they just don’t give a shit about me because they know that only my and Jason’s names appear on that contract, and their name will remain untarnished no matter what.

“What is your question, Cynthia?” the host says, directing her attention to the audience.

“Cassandra Blake,” she starts with a smile on her face, “I have a question I think we are all dying to know the answer to.”

I can feel the energy in the room shift as she looks me up and down. I can almost see a glimmer of sympathy in her eye.

She may be sick, but she isn’t evil. She may want a good story, but she wouldn’t expose me now. Not now. She could have done it in this morning’s paper if she’d wanted to let this story get out.

Or maybe she isn’t evil at all, and she’s just trying to get a good story. After all, I am the one who lied. I am the one who faked this whole thing to stay in the competition.

I am a fraud, after all.

“Just get it over with,” I say, letting a small laugh come from my lips.

This isn’t funny at all, but I can’t help myself.

Cynthia shakes her head and smirks.

“Why did you fake an engagement to stay in the pageant?”

A hush washes over the theater and you could hear a pin drop. You could hear a seagull squawking somewhere over the boardwalk right now if you listen hard enough.

And then a hushed rumble of whispers breaks out in the theater.

The pageant host looks at me and shakes her head, casting her eyes down at our feet.

“Cassandra?” she says, bringing the microphone to her lips, “would you like to answer?”

I look out over the sea of faces in the crowd, and I spot my mom, dad and brother. The look of sheer mortification on their faces is actually comical, almost.

“Yes,” I say, “I’d like to answer that.”

But as I am about to answer, there is an outburst of commotion from the back of the theater. I watch as one of the doors at the back swings open, and Jason comes barreling inside.

“Wait,” Jason says as security guards give chase after him, “Cassandra Blake, you haven’t faked a damn thing.”

My heart flies into my belly when I see him coming down the aisle toward me - strong, confident, determined, and yeah, hot as all hell - and I suddenly feel as though my world is in color again. Heat blooms inside my chest and I feel the corners of my eyes prickle with hot tears, and I take in a deep, refreshing breath.

The security guards gain on him, grabbing him by the arms and shoulders, making him stop in his tracks.

“It’s okay,” I say, putting my hands out to try to stop them as I walk to the edge of the stage, “it’s okay.”

“It’s alright,” the host says. The guards take their hands off of Jason as he shrugs them away, adjusting his suit jacket and standing up a little bit straighter.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice trembling.

“I’m here for the pageant,” he says, “I came here to see you. I came here because we have unfinished business. And to your question,” he says, turning to Cynthia, “we never faked a damn thing. My feelings have always been one-hundred percent real.”

“Jason,” I say, “you didn’t have to do this. You didn’t have to come back. I can handle this on my own.”

“I know you can,” he says, coming closer to the stage, “and if I hadn’t come here this week, I know none of this shit would have happened. But Cassie, I couldn’t stand to be without you any longer. I couldn’t stand to hide the truth from you for another damn second.”

“So what’s the truth?” I say as he hoists himself onto the stage. He starts toward me, making my heart beat maddeningly.

“The truth is that I love you. I always have. And I came here to the pageant to tell you this truth, and to take you home with me.”

“So what happened last night?” I ask in a small voice.

He comes closer to me and takes me in his arms, looking deep into my eyes.

“She threw herself at me and asked me to spend the night with her in exchange for not printing the story. I said no, and she got really pissed off, but none of that matters anymore. I spent a lot of time away on the road, wishing I was with you. That’s all there is to it. I ran away from you because I thought I wasn’t worthy. But that time apart made me realize that you’re the one person I want. And I know you feel the same way, Cass.”

I can’t stop the tears from coming now.

I know, I know, there’s no crying in pageants unless you win.

“Jason,” I choke out, “I love you too. I’m sick of pretending I don’t love you. I’m sick of pushing those feelings away.”

He takes a big step toward me, takes my face in his hands, and plants his lips against mine.

There’s no crying in pageants unless you win. And right now, I have the only thing I’ve ever really wanted.

I know I’ll never compete again if I walk off this stage right now. So what do I decide to do?

“Take me home, Jason,” I whisper into his ear.

I don’t know what’s happening in the theater. I don’t know if Ms. Garnelle is somewhere with a walkie-talkie telling the guards at the back of the theater to catch me and Jason and bring us to the security office where they’ll lock us up forever for screwing up her pageant. I don’t know if the people in their seats are happy for me or if they pity me.

And I don’t care.

Jason takes me by the hand as we rush toward the edge of the stage, and he hops down, turning to take me by the hips to guide me down with him.

As I slip my hand into his, I know I’ve won. Because we finally said the words I’ve wanted us to say for years. He came back for me even though I pushed him away in a moment of doubt and weakness.

He came back and watched my chances of becoming queen tonight totally go up in flames.

And you know what? Screw it.

We crash out of the theater through the double doors and run through the hotel lobby together, where he grabs me by the hips and crushes his lips to mine. My body warms to him and I kiss him for what feels like the first time and the thousandth time.

“Where is home, Cass?” he asks, pulling away from me, his eyes looking at mine hungrily, in that familiar way he’s always looked at me.

“It’s right here with you,” I say, resting my head against his shoulder. “It always has been.”