“Permission to speak?” Shanti raised her hand and glanced nervously at Petra. “I have something I need to tell everyone.”
“Shanti, don’t,” Nicole whispered.
“Miss Colorado? Were you speaking out of turn?”
“No. Just clearing my throat.”
“Then you have the runway, Miss California. Take your promenade.” Taylor passed her the baton.
“Well, we didn’t really get a chance to know one another before we left. And it’s just that some of us might not be who we pretend to be.”
Taylor gripped one end of the baton, sharing it with Shanti. “What are you saying, Miss California?”
“I’m saying —”
“That we should have a cutest hut contest!” Nicole interrupted.
“Miss Colorado, it was not your turn on the runway,” Taylor admonished. “Tomorrow, you will bring coconuts back from the jungle.”
“Sure,” Nicole continued. “It’s just that I’m sure what Shanti is trying to say is that it’s really hard when you’ve grown up feeling discriminated against, you know, because of your race or religion or because you just happened to be born a certain way… .”
“Like really pretty,” Miss Ohio said.
Miss New Mexico nodded. “Or naturally thin.”
“Or you have a third nipple,” Brittani said, shaking her head.
“Excuse me, I have the runway,” Shanti reminded everyone. “You need to know that Petra has been lying to us all this time. Nicole and Tiara can back me up.”
In her head, Nicole heard her mother’s voice, the million-and-one times she’d turned to Nicole with an “Isn’t that right, baby?” or “Nicole agrees with her mama, don’t you?” She heard her mother’s voice and she gave the response she’d always wanted to give. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Shanti turned to Tiara. “Tell everybody the truth.”
Tiara looked from Petra to Shanti to Nicole and back to Petra again.
“Miss Mississippi?” Taylor asked.
“Well … um … I … I …”
Petra stood. “Stop badgering her! Fine. You want to know the secret. I’ll tell you. Permission to speak.”
“Granted,” Taylor said.
Shanti raised the baton. “But I’m the only one who can grant permission.”
“Miss California. Don’t be such a douche nozzle. Miss Rhode Island?”
“I wasn’t … I haven’t always …” Petra took a deep breath. The baton trembled in her hands. She’d wanted her chance to compete like any other girl, to make a statement to the world that there was nothing wrong with her, that she was beautiful, through and through. But the hiding was too hard — harder than learning group dance steps or finding size-eleven heels that didn’t look like total ass. “I’m not technically a girl. Yet.”
Thirteen pairs of eyes stared back at Petra. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the whoosh of surf. Finally, Taylor raised her hand and Petra recognized her.
“Did you get hit on the head out there, Miss Rhode Island? Because I am a National Merit Scholar, and I know a girl when I see one.”
“Well, thanks for that.” Petra gave a wan smile. “I’m transitioning. Male to female. I was born a boy, but I always knew that on the inside, I am a girl. I’ve been taking the hormones — that’s what was in my overnight case and why I was so desperate to get it back.”
“She used to be J. T. Woodland from Boyz Will B Boyz,” Tiara said. “Sorry. Permission to speak before what I just said. No takebacks!”
Again, there was silence. Miss Ohio raised her hand and was granted permission. “Really? You used to be J. T. Woodland?”
Petra nodded.
“What is Billy Merrell really like? Does he like blondes? Do you think he’d like me?”
Taylor wrenched the baton away from her. “Miss Ohio! This is not about you sleeping your way up the pathetic ladder of D-list celebrity. We have a situation here.” She paced the narrow strip of sand. “The rules of Miss Teen Dream state, quite clearly, that it is a pageant open to girls between the ages of fourteen and eighteen. The rules also state that any Miss Teen Dream contestant caught with a boy who is not a blood relative in her room will be disqualified.”
“So we’re all disqualified?”
“You do not have the baton, Miss Ohio. Latrine duty tomorrow.”
