Town in a Blueberry Jam

“Amanda’s next,” Maggie whispered to Candy, clutching her arm tightly. “I don’t think I can stand it. I’m afraid to look”

“Breathe, girl, breathe,” Candy urged.

A moment later, Amanda walked out looking prettier than Candy had ever seen her. In a charming sleeveless pink and yellow flower-print dress complemented by pale pink pumps with thin ankle straps, Amanda Tremont strode onto the stage, smiling nervously as she gazed out at the assembled crowd and took her place beside the other contestants. Her long dark hair hung loose about her shoulders and had been brushed out so much that it shone in the spotlight. A single pink rose was tucked behind one ear.

“She looks absolutely gorgeous,” Candy breathed.

Maggie sniffed back tears and tightened her grip on Candy’s arm. “My little baby is growing up.”

Candy patted her hand. “I hate to tell you this, dear, but I think she’s already all grown up.”

“Oh my,” was all Maggie could say.

“Our final contestant,” Bertha Grayfire continued dramatically, “is someone you all know, someone who has made quite a name for herself in our little community — ”

“Oh no,” groaned Maggie. “Here comes She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

“ — Miss Sapphire Vine!”

“Oops, I think they named her,” Candy whispered.

Maggie snorted as Sapphire pranced onto the stage wearing a cowgirl costume, complete with rhinestones, long leather fringes, red boots, a cowgirl hat, and a holster with a wooden gun.

Candy almost burst out laughing. “That’s not Sapphire Vine. It’s Annie Oakley!”

“Looks like Lord Voldemort to me,” Maggie muttered.

“You’ve been reading too many Harry Potter books.”

“I know. I’ve got a Hogwarts headache right now. Wish I were a wizard so I could make her disappear. She doesn’t belong here.”

The crowd, though, appeared to love Sapphire and her costume, as did the judges, who applauded approvingly.

With that, the competition began.

“By tradition,” Bertha explained, “we’ll begin with a contest designed to test each girl’s knowledge of our world-famous wild blueberries. During this portion of the competition, which will account for thirty percent of each contestant’s final score, judges will not only be listening carefully to each contestant’s answer but also will be watching to see how the contestant acts under pressure, handles her stage presence, and thinks on her feet.”

And so the questioning began. In an order predetermined by draw, the contestants were asked about the nutritional value of blueberries, how the berries were grown and picked, about their history and popularity, and even about cooking with blueberries. Candy was surprised to find she knew many of the answers, which she mouthed to herself, as if she were standing on stage — or watching Jeopardy! At one point she felt Maggie nudge her side. “You know, you should be up there,” her friend said with a grin.

Candy almost blushed. “Not for all the tea in Boston Harbor.”

Amanda handled herself well, to Maggie’s delight, but so did most of the other girls. Haley Pruitt obviously had been studying up on blueberries. But the surprise of the evening was Sapphire Vine, who not only answered each question properly but also did so in a way that clearly distinguished her from the other contestants.

“Ooh, I hate that woman,” Maggie seethed as Sapphire answered one question concerning acid rain’s affect on blueberries in a particularly canny way.

“She’s overdoing it,” Candy whispered. “Don’t worry — the judges notice things like that.”

“They do?”

“Sure, I think so.”

Maggie looked mildly relieved. “You’re a good friend.”

Then came the talent portion of the show. “Rather than appearing in alphabetical order, as they were introduced,” Bertha announced, “our contestants have drawn numbers to determine the order in which they will perform. This portion of the pageant will account for thirty percent of each contestant’s final score. First up is” — she paused as she glanced down at her index cards — “Amanda Tremont!”

Maggie’s hands flew to her mouth. “I think I’m going to faint.”

“Hang in there,” said Candy, patting her friend on the back.

“She’s been practicing this for weeks. I just hope...”

Her words faded as piped-in music blared from speakers at the front of the auditorium. Amanda appeared onstage wearing a workout outfit — snug-fitting white polyester-and-spandex pants with navy stripes down the sides and a matching cotton tank top. She launched into an athletic routine that included moves she had learned as a cheer-leader, gymnast, and dancer. She bounced and tumbled about, did handstands and splits, and even worked a few hip-hop moves into the three-minute routine. An appreciative ovation rewarded her as she finished.

The music struck up again, a different tune this time, for Mollie MacKay, who sang a heartfelt if slightly off- key version of “Memories” from the musical Cats. Jennifer Croft came next, playing an acoustic guitar and singing a familiar old tune by Simon and Garfunkel. Emily Fitzsimmons followed, twirling batons.

Then came Haley Pruitt. She walked down off the stage to a piano at the left side of the main floor, opposite the judges’ table, and sat gracefully on the bench. Turning toward the audience, she said in a soft, lilting voice, “I’d like to perform for you now the Prelude in C Sharp, opus three, number two, by Sergey Rachmaninoff.”

“Sergey who?” Maggie whispered hoarsely.

“Rachmaninoff.”

“So she’s playing a rock song?”

“It’s a classical piece, silly. Shut up and listen.”

As Haley took a moment to breathe deeply and compose herself, a buzz of whispers arose from the audience. Many of them seemed as confused as Maggie by Haley’s introduction, but once she played the first few commanding chords of the piece — dumm, da, dumm, da, dummmm — recognition dawned on many of the faces in the audience.

As Haley moved through the piece, Maggie leaned over. “Hey, I’ve heard this before,” she whispered. “I think that Sergey guy wrote it for a Chevy car commercial.”

Candy gave her a quieting glance. “Shh.”

The hall hushed as Haley moved into the intricate fingerings that made up the middle portion of the piece, the notes sounding sharp and clear, played with a practiced hand. The audience sat mesmerized, transfixed by Haley’s skill and the grandeur and beauty of her performance. As she neared the end, echoing the majestic opening chords, the audience held its collective breath, hands poised to applause, anticipating the ending.

Not being familiar with the piece, some clapped prematurely at awkward silent places, but Haley ignored those, playing the piece as it was meant to be played, until the final quiet notes.

When she rested her fingers upon the keys, bowed her head forward, and finally rose with a slight smile, the hall erupted in applause.

“Lovely, just lovely,” Bertha said into the microphone. “My, we have such a talented group of contestants here tonight! I don’t envy the judges their job one bit. It will be a very difficult task to select a winner from these remarkable girls, I can tell you that. Now, for our final performance of the evening... the moment you’ve all been waiting for... Miss Sapphire Vine.”

As the lights went down and the hall quieted, Candy whispered, “Do you think she’ll do a striptease?”

“That’s about the only talent she has, honey. Unless she plans to drag a typewriter onstage and write a newspaper column right before our very eyes.”

“Now that would be exciting.”

“About as exciting as painting toenails.”

“Hey, careful. That’s the highlight of my week.”

“Mine too.”

“Shh. Here she comes.”

A pause. Then, “Oh... my... God. She looks like... a giant blueberry?”

A wave of gasps, chuckles, and whispered conversations swept through the audience as Sapphire Vine appeared on stage wearing one of the most outlandish outfits Candy had ever seen. It looked as though it could