CHAPTER THREE

By the time the Lost Girls returned to the beach, the sky was the color of wet slate and an army of angry clouds massed along the horizon, awaiting further instruction.

Taylor convened the girls in the same spot as before. “All right, Miss Teen Dreamers. If y’all could settle into our horseshoe all nice and orderly, please? Miss Montana? Is that the way a Miss Teen Dream sits, all slutty like that with her hoo-hoo showing?”

Miss Montana knocked her knees together and yanked down the hem of her skirt.

“Thank you.” Taylor addressed the crowd. Her expression was calm. “I’ve got a little bit of bad news: Everybody else is dead.”

A great gasp went up. A few girls cried and some simply stared, unable to process the information.

Miss Ohio raised her hand. “What about the film crew?”

“Gone,” Petra confirmed. She’d added a rescued shawl to her ensemble, tying it in an elaborate bow beneath her chin. In times of stress, she relied on her skills at accessorizing to calm her.

“That’s terrible,” Brittani wailed. “They seemed so nice.”

“One of the camera guys told me I was just like Lorrie Connor on The Shills⁵,” Tiara said.

“OMG, I love that show!”

The girls fell into excited chatter. “Did you see the one where Lorrie and Chad broke up and she gave him back the Frou-Frou handbag he bought her after she agreed to fake marry him to promote his new beer line? I totally cried.”

“That was awesome TV. I heard she’s gonna hire a ghostwriter to write a book about that episode.”

Taylor’s sharp clap echoed on the beach. “Teen Dreamers! We need to focus like it’s the final interview round and the questions are all about anorexia and current events. Now, I know y’all are upset. This is just plain awful. But God doesn’t make mistakes. Is this is a setback, Teen Dreamers?”

“Totally,” wailed Miss Arkansas. Her left arm was broken. It had been bandaged into a ninety-degree angle as if she were perpetually waving to an unseen crowd.

“No, ma’am. No, it is not. I know what Ladybird Hope would say. She would say that this is an opportunity for growth and the establishment of your personal brand. Everybody loves a survivor. And everybody loves a Miss Teen Dream contestant. When you put those two together, you have a lot of hope. And big endorsement opportunities when we get back. Let’s get a woo-hoo goin’!”

A halfhearted chorus of “woo-hoo” rippled through the horseshoe-shaped cluster of exhausted, hungry girls.

Taylor shouted, “Now, I know y’all can be louder than that!”

“WOO-HOO!”

“That’s the Miss Teen Dream spirit. Sparkle Ponies, report: What did y’all salvage from the plane?”

The girls listed off their bounty: four hot roller sets, two straightening irons, a few teeth-bleaching trays, five seat cushions, three waterlogged beauty magazines, a notebook, laxatives, diet pills, a few suitcases filled with clothes, evening gowns, a collection of mismatched bathing suit tops and bottoms, various shoes, bags of pretzels, and bottles of water.

“Good work, Sparkle Ponies,” Taylor commended. “We are going to stay here and build a fire that any passing ships can see so we can be rescued. And I think for now we should keep our sashes on so we can identify one another easily, especially in the dark. And, of course, we need to keep up our pageant skills.”

“Pageant skills? You’re kidding, right?” Adina hadn’t meant to blurt it out.

Taylor narrowed her eyes. “I never kid about Miss Teen Dream.”

“Reality check: We’re stuck on a freaking island with only a few bags of pretzels to eat and God only knows what kinds of dangerous animals or mega-zombie-insects out there, and you want us to keep working on our pageant skills?”

Taylor glossed her lips again and smacked them together. “Correct.”

“Don’t be so negative,” Miss Ohio said. “I’ll bet the coast guard is on its way to rescue us right now.”

Adina shook her head. “What we need is a team leader.”

“I accept,” Taylor said.

“Um, not to be rude or anything, but usually you put it to a vote. It’s a democracy, right?” Adina laughed uncomfortably.

Taylor gave her a sharp look that was not softened in the least by a new smile. “Anybody else want to run for leader?”

No one spoke.

“Okay. Well, looks like —”

“I do,” Adina said quickly.

“What are your leadership qualifications?” Taylor asked.

“I won awards for my work on the school newspaper. And I’m a member of the National Honor Society.”

“No offense,” Taylor said, “but this is a little different from running the school newspaper.”

Adina had gone to state twice with the Quarry Quarrelers debate team. Her argument in favor of having a contraception fund-raiser for the junior prom had been rock solid — her debate captain, Mr. El-Shabaz, had said so — and it wasn’t her fault that the administration was so sexist and backward-thinking. At times, Adina’s whole life felt like one giant push against a paint-stuck door. But there was no way she was going down to this overgrown Babez Doll⁶ with misplaced priorities. These birdbrained beauty freaks needed her. Squaring her shoulders as she’d been taught to do on those afternoons in the portable building where the debate team practiced, she faced her audience.

“Hello. I am Adina Greenberg, Miss New Hampshire, and I would like to be your team leader. Point A: We need to think realistically. It could be weeks before we’re rescued. I submit that our goal should not be the continuation of the pageant, but survival. We need to find food and potable water. Also, out here in the open we’re totally defenseless. I think we should find some kind of shelter; a cave or something.”

“I don’t want to do that! What if there’s, like, a creature living in the cave?” Tiara said. “Seriously, I saw this show once where these people were stranded on an island and there were these other people who were sort of crazy-slash-bad and there was this polar bear creature running around.”

“What happened?” Miss Ohio asked.

“I don’t know. My parents got divorced in the middle of season two and we lost our TiVo.”

“In conclusion,” Adina shouted, “I am great at organizing a team and making things happen. I am willing to make tough decisions even if it means people won’t like me. In short, I would make an excellent team leader. Thank you.”

The girls glanced around awkwardly. Mary Lou clapped; it was followed by halfhearted applause by the others. Taylor moved forward. She tossed her already tousled hair and beamed. “Judges ready? Hi, y’all. I am Taylor Rene Krystal Hawkins, Miss Texas.”

“In the history of the pageant, there’s never not been a Miss Texas in the Top Ten,” Petra whispered.

Adina rolled her eyes. “So? You do need a few more qualifications than that to be a leader.”

“Like what?” Tiara asked.

Taylor stood in a perfect three-quarters stance, arms hanging easily at her sides. “I have been class president three years in a row, homecoming queen, a National Merit Scholar, and a member of the National Honor Society, and I am a proud, card-carrying member of FAF — Femmes and Firearms. I can shoot a thirty-aught-six as well as a nine-millimeter and a Pink Lady paint gun. Last year, I took down my first buck, which I cleaned, filleted, and vacuum sealed, and with my taxidermy skills, I stuffed the head and used the antlers as a supercute jewelry tree, which I plan to market for the Armchair Shopping Network in the spring. That is American ingenuity. It’s what makes this country great, and if elected, I would be proud to serve. Thank you.”

For a moment, the roar of applause drowned out the rough surf. Adina’s stomach clenched. It was just like fifth grade all over again, when she lost hall monitor to Ryan Berry, who couldn’t even spell hall monitor but who did a rap routine about lining up in an orderly fashion for his in-class presentation and totally killed.

Taylor flashed Adina a wolfish smile. “All righty, then. Let’s put it to a vote! All y’all who want to elect Adina team leader, raise your hands.”

Three hands were held up: Mary Lou, Jennifer, and Miss Arkansas, who couldn’t lower her hand due to the bandaging.

“All y’all who want to vote for me, Taylor Rene Krystal Hawkins of the Lone Star State, raise your hands.” A sea of fingers waved in the breeze. “Looks like I’m the winner. But you’re first runner-up, Adina. And you know what they say — if anything should happen, you’d assume the responsibility and the privilege. Now. When we get rescued and get to Paradise Cove, America’s gonna be wantin’ to see a pageant. And I do not intend to let them down. So. Starting tomorrow, we’ll be back to working on our dance numbers and our walking, talent, swimsuit, and evening gown presentations, just like nothing ever happened.”

“What about this?” Miss New Mexico pointed to the tray lodged in her forehead.

Taylor looked to Tiara and Brittani, who shrugged in unison.

“We can’t take it out. Not without surgery. I know my head wounds,” Nicole confirmed. She smiled and gave a small wave. “Hi. Nicole Ade. Miss Colorado, the Centennial State.”

Miss New Mexico broke into a full-blown wail. The girls tried to comfort her, to no avail.

“You know what would be cute on you?” Petra said with new authority. “Bangs. So 1960s chic. You’d hardly notice the, um, the … addition.”

“Love bangs!” Mary Lou said.

“Miss Florida was the only one who had bangs and she’s de — um, she’s no longer participating in the pageant system. So you’d really stand out.”

Miss New Mexico stared, dumbfounded. “Stand out? Stand out! I have a freaking tray stuck in my forehead!” She broke into fresh sobs.

Taylor clapped for attention. “Miss New Mexico, let’s not get all down in the bummer basement where the creepy things live. There are people in heathen China who don’t even have airline trays. We have a lot to be grateful for.”

“And a few things to worry about. Look at those clouds.” Nicole nodded toward the darkening sky. “Tropical climate. Trade winds. This place probably has a monsoon season. We should scout out some higher ground just in case of flash floods.”

Taylor beamed. “Excellent advice, Miss Colorado. Y’all hear that? That’s real Miss Teen Dream–thinking.”

“Meteorology was another one of my extracurriculars,” Nicole said.

“Awesome,” Shanti murmured.

“What were your well-roundeds?” Nicole asked, using the pageant terminology for the skills that gave a Miss Teen Dream an edge.

“Oh, nothing much,” Shanti said with practiced humility. “Opera. Botany. Chemistry. Fencing. Cello. Synchronized Tae Kwon Do. Indian dance. And, of course, I can make popadam as my mother and grandmother taught me. Family tradition is important, and my family is lucky enough to celebrate both our Indian heritage and the customs of this great country.”

She smiled right at Nicole, who immediately chewed on her pinkie nail.

“My family traditions are alcoholism and dysfunction,” Jennifer said. “Oh, and anything you can make from government cheese.”

Taylor clapped again for attention. “All right, ladies. This is your new team leader talking. Right now, we are not competitors. We are all one team. Let’s find a place to camp and look for firewood. Tonight, we’ll keep watch in shifts. When we’re rescued, The Corporation will be so proud of us, they’ll probably give us a summer variety show. ‘In the pageant of life, a girl picks up fallen sequins and turns them into a brand-new dress of awesome.’ Ladybird Hope’s How to Be Perfect in Every Way, page forty-two. Let’s build us a fire, Teen Dreamers!”