42.
Jaime
43. Ava
44. Jaime
45. Ava
46. Ava
47. Jaime
48. Ava
49. Jaime
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Morgan Elizabeth
ONE
AVA
I think I’m going to vomit.
That’s the only thing going through my mind as I stand under bright
lights in a dress my best friend made that weighs as much as a small child,
my makeup a full centimeter thick, my feet numb from towering heels, and
my hair sprayed within an inch of its life.
I’m going to vomit, and this is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.
“Third runner-up is…Miss Oklahoma!”
Kristie McGee is sweet, but she stuttered during the interview section,
and, from what the girls in the dressing room whispered to me about, that’s
worse than a death sentence. Her fake smile doesn’t crack as she gazes at
the camera before her light goes out, leaving just three women lit on the
stage.
My hands robotically move in small, gentle claps—the only acceptable
kind on this stage. It's small enough, you’re barely even moving, and no
real sound is made, but like everything else on this stage, it’s for show. To
say, look what good sports they are!
And although I’ve been framed many ways over the last four months,
from a trailblazer to a disgrace and humiliation to the apparently sacred
world of pageantry, no one can say I’m not a good sport.
I breathe carefully, trying not to splinter the dress Harper literally sewed
me into or show my nerves on my face. At least three cameras at different
locations are pointed at each remaining contestant, and any tiny shift in my
