“Pansexual!” we shout at the same time, Junior’s deeper voice carrying mine even farther, and we walk away laughing, but we still don’t drop our hands.
Normally, the final event of the Miss Meteor pageant is held in the school auditorium like the others, but with the massive influx of new tourists our little rock stunt pulled in, the planning committee worked fast to move it outside just to accommodate everyone.
It comes into view now, at the end of Main Street, a massive stage standing in the middle of town square, strings of lights connecting signposts to trees to the gazebo roof and back, crisscrossing like a web of smaller stars opening for the main event.
“There they are,” I say, pausing to take it in from a distance.
The giant, rocket-shaped clock on the front of city hall is about ready to chime seven. The evening gown competition will begin in just a few minutes.
And then I spot Lita, standing on the side of the stage, and I’m running.
She looks beautiful, her dress a soft blue that deepens as it moves down her body, dotted with golden sequins that look just like stars. Her curls perfectly frame her face, her lips shining rose-gold in the twinkle lights above.
She has one arm tucked behind her back, a beautiful white lace shawl across her shoulders, the stardust just peeking through for those of us who know. Lita—and Cole—decided to show this town exactly who Lita is tonight, and I’m so proud of her I think my heart just might bust right out of my chest.
She looks like an old-Hollywood movie star. She looks like a beauty queen.
She looks right at home.
“Lita!” I catch her right before they call the contestants onto the stage, and she smiles like she’s been waiting for me. “I’m sorry! The diner got slammed, and—”
“They told me!” she says. “It’s okay!”
As if to prove it, she pulls her arm around to the front. In her hand is a gold headband with antennae attached, springs with sparkly gold balls like the kind you’d find in the Halloween aisle at Meteor Mart.
She’s taking it back. The word Royce threw at her like a weapon. The word that man used to try to make her feel like she deserved this less. She’s folding it into her shimmering, shining self like a streak of stardust, and I was wrong before.
Now she looks right at home.
“I’m so . . .” But I don’t know what I am, except that I’m tearing up, because we’re here. And not just for some shallow revenge plan against our middle school bullies, but to show this town we belong. That we deserve to shine as much as anyone.
I try to tell her all this with my eyes, because my throat seems to have closed completely.
“Chicky?” Lita asks, as the girls all shuffle toward the stairs.
“Yeah?”
“You’re my best friend in the world. My favorite thing about this planet. Just don’t forget that, okay?”
“Lita . . . I . . .”
“We’ll talk after. At the party. Over cupcakes. I just wanted you to know.”
“It might not have gone like we planned,” I say, taking her lead. “But . . .”
“Nothing ever does?” she asks, and her voice is a little proud and a little sad and I wish we had the last five years back. I wish it so much I feel like it’s visible on my skin.
“Contestants to your places!”
“Chicky, I’m going to hug you now if that’s all right.”
“Yeah,” I say, laughing a little. “It’s all right.”
The hug is one of those little kid affairs, like when you don’t want to leave your best friend’s house but your parents say you have to, and the hours between now and the next time you’ll be able to count all the sticky pennies in your piggy bank, or eat old Halloween candy, or play marbles, just seem endless.
“Good luck,” I say into her hair, and then she’s marching up the stairs. Ready to shine.
Junior must have been close by, because he finds me as they begin judging the gowns, each contestant displaying her choice as the judges confer.
“Do you think she’ll win?” I ask Junior.
“In a way, maybe she already did,” he says in that son-of-a-psychologist way. But he squeezes my hand, so I can’t even tease him.
Though it probably feels like an eternity to Lita, it’s more like a second to me before Mr. Hamilton takes the mic.
“And now, with the results of our evening gown competition in, here’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for! The announcement of the winner of the Fiftieth-Annual Meteor Regional Pageant and Talent Competition Showcase!”
It’s hard to tell which I’m holding harder, my breath or Junior’s hand.
“Just to remind you what’s at stake here, folks: The winner tonight will spend the year as Miss Meteor, sit on the planning committee of next year’s pageant, and of course, in honor of Meteor’s fiftieth anniversary, walk away with ten thousand dollars in prize money.”
“GO, LITA!” I yell, before I can stop myself, and Junior laughs with me as scandalized eyes dart our way in the crowd.
“So, without further ado, the second runner-up in the Meteor Regional Pageant and Talent Competition Showcase, and the winner of the five-hundred-dollar cash prize is . . .”
With every breath trapped in my body, I silently plead for them to not call Lita’s name right now.
“Sara Rodriguez!”
I’m so relieved I almost pass out, but I’m even more surprised when this girl—who is absolutely gorgeous, her dark-brown skin setting off the magenta of her strapless gown flawlessly—runs straight up to Lita and hugs her.
“What?” I say, laughing. “Since when . . . ?”
“Think this has anything to do with the mysterious drunken covenant?” Junior asks, and I laugh again, so loud people around us turn to hush me.
When I settle down, I feel it in my somersaulting stomach that there are only two more spots to go. Runner-up, and the crown. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m pulling Junior through the crowd, realizing I’m too far away, that she won’t see me when they decide her fate up there.
Our fate.
People grumble and shout as Junior and I push through the crowd, two underdressed kids who are there and gone before they can lecture us about the sanctity of this moment. Like we don’t know better than any of them.
We burst into the open air, a darkened area to the side of the stage where no one is standing, and I can tell we’re both holding our breath now.
“The first runner-up, and the winner of the thousand-dollar cash prize is . . .”
Has an envelope ever taken so long to open?
“Estrellita Perez!”
Something like an implosion is happening in my chest. She lost. But there’s a beaming smile on her face, a kind of acceptance, and her eyes are wide open as she hugs Sara again, and waves from the stage as the town claps around us, and it looks like she’s trying to take in everything she’s seeing all at once. Like she’s holding on to it.
And I’m sad that we lost, but I’m so glad for everything we’ve gained, and Junior pulls me to his side as if he sees all that and wants to help me bear it until I can untangle it all, and I think:
I could get used to this. To not holding it up all alone.