If there was a reason to win this contest, I had it now. Sarah wouldn’t stop trying to ruin my life until she had my best friend clutched in her claw-like hands. But if I could win the crown, she’d finally back off. I could feel it. It was like a battle of two wolves trying to be the alpha. She’d run away with her tail tucked between her legs. And Hunter would be safe...since apparently he was too clueless to know what was good for him.
I was fully committed now. There was no turning back.
I was going to be the Junior Rodeo Queen.
Rhinestones and all.
Chapter Nine
Okay, so commitment wasn’t exactly a super-power of mine. Anyone could check out the half-sewn shirt stuffed in my closet, the stack of unread books under my bed, or the sink of dirty dishes I’d promised my parents I’d wash tonight for proof.
I’d do those dishes in the morning.
My big sister, Mandy, always said the first step toward any goal was accountability. It must’ve worked for her, because she’d crushed all of her goals this year, including on the track and off. So, if I truly wanted to win that crown, I was going to have to come clean to my mom tonight.
And for some reason, that made me more nervous than anything.
“Night, sweetie,” Mom said, pausing in my doorway like she did every night, blowing me a kiss as I laid on top of my bed listening to music. “Thanks for the beautiful basket.”
I waited for a snort or laugh to follow that sentence, but she just smiled at me sweetly. Leave it to my mom to be thankful for a craft project that could’ve been done better by a third grader. The woman was a saint. I didn’t deserve her.
“Hey, Mom, can we talk?” I sat up and pulled my headphones off. Here went nothing. Commitment 101. “I’ve got something to tell you.”
Her eyes narrowed just the slightest before she nodded, waded through the piles of clothes on my floor, then took a seat on the comforter beside me. I could understand her hesitation after all we’d been through in the past few months. I’d dropped enough bombs on her and Dad for a lifetime.
“I know you’ve been pushing me to find something I’m passionate about,” I started, staring down at the floor. “And I think I might have found something to try.”
I could practically feel the waves of tension melt off of her. She bounced on the bed beside me, her blue eyes growing wide. “Oh, Charlotte, I had my doubts about that basket weaving class, but I’m so happy something stuck.”
“Ugh, no.” I made a gagging noise. “Not the basket weaving class. I never want to go back there. Didn’t you see what I brought home?”
She smiled sheepishly. “Your dad did mention that it looked like a bird’s nest that had been through a tornado.”
“And then a hurricane.” I grinned at her. “But thanks for being proud of it anyway.”
“That’s what a mom is supposed to do. Even if their child’s art is ugly.” She nudged me with her shoulder and giggled.
Laughing about my failure at arts and crafts was making me feel slightly better about this whole accountability thing. I could do this. With a deep breath, I dove into it.
“What I really want to do is compete in the Junior Rodeo Queen competition this week at the county fair.”
Mom’s eyes grew wider than quarters. Little pink spots dotted her fair cheeks. I half wondered if she was having one of those senior moments that she’d been complaining about so much lately. Did I need to repeat myself? Did she need hearing aids? She stared at me for a full ten seconds before jumping off the bed and throwing her hands up in an embarrassing display of old-person dance.
“I knew it, I knew it,” she said in a sing-songy voice. “I told you that you should do it.”
“Mom, please.” I covered my face with my hands. It was a good thing we weren’t in public or I would have to die.
“This is so fantastic,” she said, finally halting her dance. “You’re going to win, baby. I just know it. And if you don’t, you’re still going to have so much fun.”
I appreciated her vote of confidence, even if I highly doubted that second part.
“Tomorrow’s the pie baking contest,” I said, baring my teeth nervously. “Can I borrow your brown sugar pie recipe? The one that you use to soften up Grandma Eve when she visits?”
Grandma Eve and Mom had never gotten along, ever since my parents got married. But Mom had discovered the trick to keeping Grandma sweet during her visits. Every Christmas, she’d fill the freezer with the dessert in preparation from a visit with the in-laws.
“You’ve got it, baby.” She kissed me on the forehead, then headed toward the door. “I’ll make sure I’m off work tomorrow to watch the competition. With this recipe, you can’t lose.” With one last embarrassing shake of her hips, she beamed at me. “I’m so excited, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep. Have a good night, sweetie.”
I groaned into my hands once more as she pulled the door shut behind her. If my mom was going to come to the competition, we were going to have to lay some ground rules about keeping all public celebrations limited to a fist bump or polite clapping. There was no way I was going to claim her if she acted like that at the contest.
My phone dinged on the nightstand where it lay. I picked it up and stared at the screen. Another text from Hunter. This one asking if we could talk. My thumb hovered over the screen as I weighed the idea of calling him. The anger I’d felt at him during the backyard BBQ a couple hours ago had already faded. I just wanted
