Page 107 of Prime Time Romance

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I tell her back. I pick up a lock of her freshly dyed pink tips. “You look amazing. I have a feeling the crown is yours.”

She rolls her eyes. “I appreciate the optimism. I’m just glad I have a fair shot.” She nods at my hair, which is still up in curlers under a silk scarf. “You ready to take those out? We’re about to go on.”

My eyes scan backstage for Poppy. She’s on the opposite side of the stage, engrossed in a conversation with Sheldon. Both of their backs are to us.

I nod. “Let’s do it.”

Luce undoes my hair. As each dark-brown curled lock comes out of its roller, I feel more and more like me.

Luce places the final curler onto the dressing table, then leans forward, squeezing my shoulders and meeting my eyes in the mirror. “Much better,” she says with a smile.

She picks up a can of hairspray and gives me a final spritz as a booming voice echoes through the speaker system: “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.”

As the voice lays out the night’s events and snacking and flash photography rules, Luce and I take our places in a sea of excited contestants. My stomach begins to bubble with nerves, as if I’m only now realizing that I actually have to go out there and compete in a pageant.

The emcee’s voice echoes through the hall. “Please put your hands together and welcome this year’s Ms. Lobsterfest contestants to the stage.”

The cheesy elevator pop music pumps through the speakers. It’s the same tune we rehearsed to all week. I take one last deep breath, push all the remaining nerves as far down into my gut as they will go, and do exactly what I’ve been doing since I stepped into Sloan’s life—I force myself to smile.

When I step onto the stage, the lights are so blinding that the audience turns into one black blob with the occasional camera flash or eyeglass glimmer. Not being able to see anyone is kind of soothing.

Even though my brain is working on its lowest function, my feet go through the motions of the opening number completely of their own accord. I guess Poppy knew exactly what she was doing when she made us practice it over and over and over again.

The whole routine is a haze. I feel like I’m moving through Jell-O until Sloan’s name is called, and it snaps me back to reality so hard that it feels like I have whiplash.

The announcer turns to me and smiles. “Welcome, contestant number eight: Sloan Edwards. Sloan loves the beach, growing organic herbs, and designing fashionable and sustainable sundresses. Please give a round of applause for Sloan.”

I walk to the X, just like Poppy taught us. Shoulders back to show off my boobs. Jaw jutting forward to avoid the double chin. Mouth open slightly to make my face longer and leaner than it is.

This part is also well practiced.

Putting on my brave face.

My I’m totally fine look. The mask I’ve been wearing for the last four years. The one that hides the broken heart that, although mended, still sports ugly scars.

I’m met with roaring applause.

Cheers. Shouts. Whistles.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your Ms. Lobsterfest contestants. Let’s give them one last round of applause before they head off to change for the evening gown and interview rounds. Thank you, ladies.”

We exit the stage in a rush of half-naked bodies, shedding lobster-embellished T-shirts for silk and sequins.

Luce slides on the blue gown. It fits as if it were made for her.

“You look like a princess.”

She smooths the bodice with the palms of her hands. “Amend that to warrior princess, and I’ll take it.”

She eyes my red shorts and lobster shirt. “You’re absolutely sure you want to do this?”

I nod. “Never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Luce laughs, but her smile drops as her eyes shift to something over my shoulder.

“What the heck, Sloan?”

I turn to see Poppy glaring at Luce.