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“I’m a girl who just happened to get the wrong body.”

“My mom says people like you are wrong.”Advertisement

“I can’t speak for your mom.”

“I don’t know. I have to think about it,” Tiara said, and she hurried to join the other girls on the trail.

CHAPTER TEN

By day’s end, everyone had made it back to the camp on the beach. Jennifer introduced Sosie to the group and told everyone about their misadventure with (and eventual victory over) the giant snake, about the Lady ’Stache Off jars and the old ration kit. The girls took it as a sign that the island was known and there would be an eventual rescue, especially if Jennifer could get the radio up and running.

“I’ll give it a shot. I learned a lot when my mom used to work at the plant,” Jennifer said.

Taylor convened a meeting. The girls settled into their horseshoe formation. Taylor raised a baton whose ignitable ends had been reduced to stubs.

“Whoever needs to talk can ask for the baton. Parliamentary procedure will be followed.”

“Parliamentary procedure? Did you go to girls’ state? Because I did,” Adina interjected.

Taylor frowned and waggled the baton. “You’re out of order, Miss New Hampshire. I have the baton. As I was saying, if you need to say something, you raise your hand and ask for permission to speak. The speaker will recognize you and hand over the baton. If you speak out of turn, you’re gonna be hit with penalties. So,” Taylor said as she wiped a small spot of dirt off the baton’s glittery stick. “Now that we’re all back together, we need to talk about getting rescued and resuming our pageant practice.”

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Adina’s hand went up like a missile. “Permission to speak!”

Taylor rolled her eyes. “Granted, Miss New Hampshire. Please try to keep it clean. Not all of us were raised in a traveling RV of foul-mouthed circus folk.”

She handed the baton to Adina, who started to say something in response, then thought better of it. “For as long as we’re here, we need to survive. You know, build some shelter, find reliable food and drinking water. We need to organize.”

Taylor’s hand shot up. “Taylor Rene Krystal Hawkins of the great state of Texas! Permission to speak!”

“What fresh hell is this?” Adina muttered. “Granted.”

Taylor took back the baton. “Miss New Hampshire is right.”

“You’re agreeing with me?” Adina blurted out. “What are the other signs of the apocalypse?”

“You’re out of order, Miss New Hampshire. I’ll issue a warning. Next time it’s a penalty.” Taylor stood and paced with the baton cradled in her arms like a winner’s bouquet. “You know what I’m thinkin’, Miss Teen Dreamers?”

“What?” Mary Lou asked.

“That was rhetorical, Miss Nebraska. I’m thinkin’ that when we do finally get rescued, we want them to find us at our best. And what could be better and more in line with the Miss Teen Dream mission statement than having them find that we have tamed and beautified this island? It’s like extra credit. And you know how the judges love extra credit.”

Shanti raised her hand and received the baton. “I wrote my junior AP science thesis on micro farming and sustainable agriculture. I could come up with some plans for planting a garden and constructing an irrigation system. And I know how to make a system for drinking water.”

“But can you also make popadam as your grandmother taught you?”

“Out of order, Montana,” Taylor tutted.

Miss New Mexico raised her hand. “My sophomore year, I took set design when I couldn’t get into interpretive dance. I’m pretty good at building things.”

“You are now the building committee, Miss New Mexico. What else do we need?”

The baton passed from girl to girl as ideas were discussed: Huts. Fishing lines. Rain-catching tarp. Zip lines. Tanning booth. By the time the baton came to Taylor again, the girls had a renewed sense of hope. After all, they were the best of the best. They had lived through the pageant circuit, which was no place for wimps.

“When they come to rescue us, they will find us with clean, jungle-forward, fashionable huts and a self-sustaining ecosystem. We will be the Miss Teen Dreamers they write about in history books,” Taylor said.

“Nobody writes about Miss Teen Dreamers in history books,” Adina scoffed.

“They will now, Miss New Hampshire. We will be the best ever. This is my new goal. And I am very goal-oriented. Also, penalty: You’re on first watch tonight. Is there anything else?” Taylor asked. It was quiet. “Then I’ll call this meeting —” pqdm.com