Revenge of the Girl with the Great Personality

Chapter 4: An Ego Grows in Texas

Mackenzie is crowned a Princess in her age division. She receives a small crown and a white sash with Princess printed in pale pink cursive. Mac’s beaming like she’s won the whole pageant, but pretty much every girl who doesn’t win a category like talent or beauty, or get an overall title (where you receive money), gets the Princess title. There are four other Princesses in her age group, but neither Mom nor Mac seems to notice or care. We’ve got yet another crown to add to her overflowing mantel.

Even though she didn’t place or earn any of our entry money back, a crown’s enough for her and Mom. Her name got called and she got to go on stage and get her picture taken with Alyssa, the Ultimate Grand Supreme winner. This small victory will give Mac and Mom the motivation to get ready for the next pageant. And from our little Dallas suburb, there’s one that’s within driving distance practically every weekend.

The whole pageant thing started innocently enough. I guess most addictions do. Shortly after Dad left, we were at the mall and there was a modeling contest for ages sixteen and younger. I refused to take part, since I was in my rebellious-child-of-divorce stage at the time, which isn’t something I’ve entirely grown out of. So Mom decided to sign Mac up, and she won her age group. Never mind that she was the only kid under the age of two to enter. Mom loved the attention, the validation she got that her child was the best at something. Another one of the mothers suggested pageants to her, and Team Mackenzie has been doing them ever since.

At first I happily went along, to cheer on my baby sis. But soon I started to feel like the third wheel. The older I got, the more I realized how much these pageants objectify young girls, and how much the price of the pageant was more than we could handle financially and emotionally. But there was no way to protest. Nothing else made my mother happy. We’re a pageant family.

Sometimes I do get sad, though. Not because Mac doesn’t win, but that we spend all this time and money (that we do not have) to come home with nothing more than a cheap plastic crown. The one she got today is already broken.

“Mama!” Mac screams from the backseat of the car. “Fix it!”

“Honey, I can’t, I’m driving.” Mom glances in the rearview mirror and starts to sweat. I’m sure she’s not happy that their prized possession hasn’t even survived the car ride home.

“PULL OVER!” Mac screams.

I look at my watch and it seems that Mac’s normal post-pageant breakdown is right on time. I can’t really blame her for being crabby; we’ve been up since five this morning getting ready. She’s had people poking at her all day with makeup wands and curling irons, plus Mom feels the need to remind her umpteen times to smile on stage. Sometimes I want to throw a fit, but alas, someone needs to be the calm one in the family.

“Sweetie, I can’t pull over,” Mom calls out to an increasingly agitated Mackenzie. “We’re on a tight schedule. Lexi has to get to work. Give your crown to her and she can fix it.”

Mac reluctantly hands me her crown.

“Lexi, fix it,” Mom orders, fatigue from the day showing in her face. “Just do this one thing for your sister.”

This one thing? I resist the urge to remind Mom that I gave up my entire weekend to drive with them to Livingston. That I spend hours each week sewing Mac a new costume or driving her to her dance lessons. That I have to do insane, completely abnormal things like apply butt glue to my sister.

But it’s been a long day for us all, so I keep quiet and examine the crown. The tiny side comb used to hold the crown to the head has snapped off. “Can you please hand me my sewing kit?” I ask Mac.

She fishes for my kit in the back of the car, which is jammed with crates and hanging bags filled with all her pageant gear. She gives a little humph when she finally hands it over to me. I take fabric glue and apply it to the crown, willing it to hold so we don’t have to listen to a tantrum for the remaining three hours.

While Mac’s being grouchy now, she usually thanks me the next day when she’s been able to get her beauty sleep. I know she’s appreciative to have me there as a sane person to go to when Mom goes into one of her Pageant Panics. (One time, Mom suggested that Mac have mascara tattooed on her to save time each pageant—I wish I were joking.)

I turn my attention toward the broken tiara. As I hold the comb in place, I notice that the sequins are starting to fall off. “This thing is beyond cheap,” I say. Then I can’t help asking, “How much money did we spend this weekend?”

“None of your business,” Mom says coldly.

It kind of is my business. I don’t have a job for pocket change. I have a job so I can eat. Dad’s child support goes mostly to the rent while every, and I mean every, cent Mom makes at the SuperStore goes to the pageants. So if I want to go out with friends or eat organic fruits and veggies instead of fast-food crap for every meal, I need to pay for it. Not to mention the fact that I want to spend the summer in New York City to attend the Fashion Institute of Technology’s summer program. All of that, everything, needs to come from my money. The only time the pageant money was used for me was when I wanted to take sewing lessons. And I was only given that so I could become Mackenzie’s Official Seamstress.

“Give it back!” Mac starts kicking my seat. “I want my crown.”

“I need the glue to dry.”

Mac screams, “I want it back NOW!”

I turn around. “Just give me a few more minutes, please. Believe me, I do not want your crown.”

“Lexi!” Mom raises her voice at me. “Give your sister back her crown.”

Seriously? Why am I the bad guy in this situation? I gently hand Mac her crown back. “Be careful, the glue hasn’t dried yet.”

I hear Mac whisper something that sounds like “thank you.”

“Honestly, Lexi . . .” Mom doesn’t finish the sentence. It just hangs in the air. And then she has to go and finish it. “You shouldn’t be jealous of your sister.”

Knots begin forming in my back from tensing up. “Why would I be jealous of her?”

Mom sighs. “You know . . .”

“No. I don’t.” Even though I do. But I’m really in no mood for it right now. I still have to work the closing shift at work. While they get to spend the evening at home watching TV, I have to be on my feet until almost midnight.

“Oh, Lexi, I know it’s hard for you to have your baby sister get all the attention.”

I’m not envious of Mackenzie because of the pageants. I pity her. That’s why I don’t usually get annoyed when she has one of her temper tantrums. She really doesn’t know better.

I try to keep my voice level as I say, “No, it’s not.”

Mac’s voice comes from the backseat. “You’re just jealous because you’re ugly.”

And like that, the camel’s back has been broken. I turn around and see panic flicker in her eyes. She knows she’s gone too far. But instead of forgiving her, I say, “Yeah, well I’d rather be ugly on the outside than on the inside. I can be painted up to look like one of your precious beauty queens, but you’re always going to be an ungrateful brat.”

I instantly regret it.

“LEXI!” Mom nearly runs off the side of the road as she smacks me on the leg.

I know I went too far. I know what I said was rude. I know I should apologize.

But calling me ugly is not okay.

I do my best to zone out Mom as she starts lecturing me about being a good sister and not egging Mac on. There’s no point in arguing. Mom will never take my side on anything.

It’s Mackenzie’s World. I just live in it.

END OF EXCERPT 

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