Blues

Chapter Two

I have been here before. The ground feels familiar under my feet, and the bass from the stereo is at home in my chest. The lights burn my eyes and the gravity rattles my every last nerve, but the feeling is not foreign. It's just that I promised myself I'd never return. Now all I can do is walk the familiar path, smile the rehearsed smile. I can hear my pageant coach from childhood. It's as though she never left. I'm certain that now she is probably dead.

Heel, toe. Heel, toe. Bend the knees, arch the foot.

The announcer says my name, first and last. The smile spreads across my face, I begin to take my first steps out of the curtains' penumbra, and as the faces in the audience become more clear to my eyes, so does my intention to stay in the race. I have to win, is all I can think. I have to. Of course I do. All of a sudden, I don't know how I ever entertained the idea of throwing the pageant. I see all the people in suits in the audience, people with shining watches, people with cell phones. People that could buy Jack a lifetime of safety. They could feed him, so he never goes hungry again. They could clothe him, so he never worries about fitting in. They could house him, so he never has to worry about being bullied for living in a place like Hawthorne. We are a package deal, they promised, and if I win this, so does Jack. As much as it kills me to let my role as his protector slide away, I cannot be so selfish as to sabotage his chance at happiness. I throw my shoulders back so hard I could dislocate them. Chest out, chin up, find the light, engage the crowd.

Bend the knees, arch the foot.

One step at a time.

"Savannah Reed is seventeen-year-old Hereli native who has lived in Azaram with her younger brother since she was four years old."

My pageant coach used to tell me that if I got nervous, I could look over the heads of the individual people in the audience and it'd still look like I was looking right at them. Now, I've never had so much at stake, never such a reason to be nervous, but I can't take that advice. I stare at every individual person who is staring back at me. I can't help it. I can't help wondering which of these people, if any, is going to take me into their home. I can't help wondering if they're funny, if they're kind, if they're smart. I can't help wondering if one of these strange faces might be the one to save our lives.

I can't look away from a man in the front row who appears some kind of successful. It is not his nice suit that has my attention, though. It is the fact that he is on the phone, like he is conducting some kind of business. It seems like an odd time to be taking a phone call, but he looks serious, intense. This isn't what I should be focusing on, but I can't seem to focus on anything else.

"Savannah plays five musical instruments and is classically trained in ballroom dance and ballet. If she looks like a natural up on this stage, it's because Savannah is a thirty-two time pageant winner. She began competing professionally when she was less than a year old."

I make it to the end of my walk and stand up straight. It is unconventional, but the question and answer period is taking place during our first appearance. I meet the host at the end of the stage, and he wraps his arm around me like we are friends.

"Savannah, thank you for being here today."

What a joke, I think. As though I had a choice.

I nod with enthusiasm nonetheless. "Thank you. It's amazing to finally be back on the stage."

"I bet it is," he agrees. "Thirty-two pageant wins, huh? Sounds like you've got a real competitive edge."

"Well, I've certainly had some real competition," I give as the nice answer. Being asked to talk about your wins is a trap. Always, always deflect the compliment. "The best part about competing is the astounding talent I've been up against. Doing pageants has helped me to meet some of the most incredible young women I've ever known. It's always been an honor to walk alongside them."