I blush when I get ready to tell her the whole story, but Paris walks up, her hoop skirt preceding her. "We're not supposed to have visitors," she says, looking at Jane as if she were gum stuck to the bottom of her designer heels.
I snort. "Then I suppose that same rule applies to your personal chef, makeup artist, and social media photographer."
Paris swings around at me, jostling the ruffles of her wide dress. "I have very specific dietary needs and a social media presence to maintain."
"Okay, but…" I start. I don't get to finish because suddenly someone is shrieking as if they've just been stung by a wasp.
I whip around and find that the noise is coming from another contestant, Emmy, who's doubled over with her hands covering her face.
A bunch of us contestants rush over, huddling around Emmy to find out what has happened.
"Something's wrong with my eyeliner. I just reapplied it and it feels like I put hot peppers in my eyes. Oh God, it hurts!"
Aleesha stays with Emmy while some of us retrieve bottles of water to help her flush her eyes. When the pain is finally under control, however, her eyelids are almost swollen shut.
"It looks like an allergic reaction. Honey, have you been using the same eye makeup all day?" I ask, calling on my first aid training to help her continue flushing the area with water.
Emmy nods. "Maybe somebody borrowed it without telling me and I got infected?"
I shake my head. "An infection wouldn't happen that fast."
Aleesha cuts in with, "Or somebody tampered with it."
Instinctively my head swings around to Paris's direction, who's leaning against a tent pole with one foot poking out from under her skirt, receiving a foot massage, while her stylist freshens up her makeup. It's then I notice her stylist is wearing latex gloves. Normally I would think this was just typical germaphobe behavior, but something about this doesn't sit right.
I turn back to Aleesha. "You don't think…"
We're interrupted again, this time by the arrival of the state fair first-aid volunteers. "Ma'am, we're going to take you to the emergency room." The rest of us competitors hug Emmy goodbye as she's taken away for medical attention.
Aleesha, the rest of the girls, and I watch her go and then turn to each other. "That's fishy," Jane says.
I nod my head, then turn toward Paris, who hasn't batted a single perfect eyelash in the midst of all of the drama. If anything, Paris looks quietly miffed.
I watch as Aleesha goes back to her station to touch up her eyes.
"Aleesha, you were over there this morning, weren't you?" I say, pointing to Emmy's now-abandoned station.
Aleesha turns to me and nods. "Yeah, but Emmy was complaining about the lighting being bad in that corner. I couldn't tell a difference, so I offered to switch spots with her after the swimsuit competition."
I look from her to Paris, then back at Aleesha, who's now leaving the tent to wait her turn backstage.
I turn to Paris and play dumb. "Poor Emmy," I say, shaking my head.
Paris exhales dramatically. "Such a shame. Too bad karma missed. Maybe next time."
I blink rapidly, taking a second to absorb what I think I heard her say. "What's that supposed…"
"Rocket! Line up!"
I exit the tent to the sound of awe and clapping in response to Aleesha's magic routine. I don't know how that woman levitates, no matter how many times I've watched her rehearse that trick. If the judges have any brain cells between them, they'll be handing her the tiara the second this contest is over.
When Aleesha finishes and exits the stage, I await my introduction while the stage crew removes all of her many props. I check the safety setting on my lighter. I look around for the stage volunteer who is supposed to catch the lighter when I sneakily fling it after starting the pyrotechnics, but the black-shirted stage crew is occupied and looks a little bit short-handed if I'm not mistaken. I have to toss the lighter—filled with flammable liquid—or else risk injury while twirling a flaming hoop against my body. Even if the crew isn't at the ready, everything should be fine as long as the safety switch is on.
After Cameron announces me, I take the stage with a winning smile on my face and my muscle memory taking over. I've practiced this routine all day every day for a year when I'm not waiting tables at the local dive bar, and I barely have to think about the choreography. Holding the hoop in one hand, I toss the baton high in the air, spin around, and catch it one-handed. I keep it twirling and start hooping at the same time. The audience cheers, and I think for a second that maybe I have a shot at winning.
And now it's time to light it up.
With one powerful toss, my baton goes flying so high the audience gasps. While the hundreds of pairs of eyes are on the flying baton, I turn sideways, hooping continuously, and light up my hoop. I toss the lighter backstage as quickly as I can. Without missing a beat, I catch the baton, light it with the flames coming from the hoop, and keep going with my routine. I've practiced so hard and make it all happen so fast, the audience doesn't notice.
So now, I'm hooping and twirling flames and the audience is cheering wildly. I work my way through all my spins, kicks, and tosses, all perfectly in sync with the pop music I've chosen. The audience's appreciation gets louder and louder, and I'm feeding off of it. Must resist the urge to improvise, Rocket. Just get through the routine.
But I want to show them how I can do all this with a one-handed flip. I've achieved it once or twice in practice when I'm feeling myself. If I do it, I will win this thing. I ponder this
