AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Hair: Natural blond
Eyes: Blue
Best Feature: My unwavering commitment
Fun Facts About Me:
I am a winner of Li’l Miss Lone Star, Miss Dustbowl County, Junior Miss Waco County, Miss Purdy Boots, Little Miss Perfect, and Miss GlowWorm. I am proud to represent as Miss Teen Dream Texas.
I was voted Most Likely to Rule the World in a Scary Way. But I am used to dealing with petty jealousy.
My role model is former Miss Teen Dream Ladybird Hope, and I aspire to be like her in all ways.
Personal motto: “God made me beautiful. The least I can do is share it with the world.”
My mom left when I was six to go “find herself.” Some people are just weak and you have to pity them.
I am not weak. I do not need your pity.
Nothing scares me.
34For skin that’s silky smooth, try The Corporation’s Pore It On clay mask. Follow it with No More Oil light moisturizer. Once a week, steam clean with the Dream Steam kit. Attend to your breakouts before they break out with Zit Zapper ointment. Fix flakes with Flakes Be Gone. Prevent future crow’s feet with Eye on the Future eye cream. Banish cellulite with Orange You Glad You Don’t Have Orange Peel gel and circulation stimulator. Moisturize your knees with The Knees Have It. Cream your ankles with Special Ankle Management lotion. Tame your brows with What R U, A Woolly Mammoth? brow gel. Take care of those nasty earlobes with Lobe It Away exfoliator. (Did you notice how terrible your earlobes look? We did.)
35Forever Young Jeans, the gravity-defying jeans for moms who want to party with their kids.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Taylor’s legs were strong and they had carried her deep into the jungle. She’d climbed over rocks and cut through heavy growth until she could no longer run. She settled beneath the sheltering apron of a bush and let go. She couldn’t understand. She’d always been a good girl. A perfect girl. No one had tried harder than Taylor Rene Krystal Hawkins. And what had it gotten her?
“I can’t be what they want me to be.” It was what her mother had said.
Taylor couldn’t remember her mother very well. She had been six when Mrs. Hawkins had walked out before dawn, leaving Taylor with a lingering kiss on her forehead and a wound that lasted much longer. She remembered small moments, and these moments came to her now: A birthday cake cradled in her mother’s hands, with white peaks of frosting and animal crackers around the edges. The two of them on the swings at the park, kicking their legs higher and higher. The light catching her mom’s face as she stood at the kitchen sink, unmoving, the water running over the untouched dishes. Her parents squaring off in the open doorway of their bedroom. “This life is killing me, Chuck,” her mother saying in a voice hoarse with tears while her dad stood in his army greens, quiet as always, his hands worrying the edges of his hat. Her mother sitting in the half-light glow of the television well after Taylor should have been in bed. Beside her, a cigarette burned down to ash in an aluminum pie plate. The TV glittered with beautiful women parading in evening gowns, their smiles holding so much promise: Everything can be yours! All this and great shoes, too! Taylor’s mom wasn’t smiling, though. The familiar sadness had settled into her eyes and mouth.
“Tay-Tay, whatcha doin’ up, baby?”
Taylor didn’t answer, only snuggled into the comfort of her mother’s lap to watch the show. Girl after girl shimmered on the small screen. They were the most perfect things Taylor had ever seen.
“That’s a nice dress. I like yellow,” her mother said without enthusiasm.
“Will you brush my hair?” Taylor asked.
“Hold still.” Her mother brushed sweetly, softly, and to Taylor, it felt like the world was just this — her mother, the beautiful girls on TV, the caress of a brush in her hair. They watched till the end when a golden girl from Texas won the shining crown and took her tearful walk amidst flashing bulbs. It was late, and Taylor’s eyelids were heavy. She could just make out the sound of her mother crying softly as she rested her face against the top of Taylor’s head.
“I’m sorry, Tay-Tay,” she murmured. “I can’t be what they want me to be. I can’t do it.”
“I’m sleepy,” Taylor said with a yawn.
Her mother carried her upstairs and put her to bed. “You be a good girl, now. Be Mama’s strong little girl, and you’ll be okay.”
The next morning, her mother was gone. At first, Taylor had been fearful. How could a person just disappear like that? What if other people and things began to disappear — her father or the TV? She gathered her toys around her and tied them together with jump ropes like a sculpture, each one tethered to another. She pitched her pink Barbie camping tent nearby and tied the toy sculpture to one of the poles.
Two weeks later, Taylor saw Ladybird Hope on TV talking about her life in pageants, how it had given her the confidence to go after her dreams. Taylor left the safety of her tent and padded into the kitchen, where her dad sat reading the paper and eating a bowl of cornflakes.
“I want to be Little Miss Perfect,” Taylor announced.
Her daddy signed her up. The ladies at the church saw to it that she got her dresses and lessons. And when they placed that first crown on her head, Taylor found her calling. They loved her. If you did everything right, they had to love you. That mantra had seen her through countless pageants. But this time she’d done everything right and they were leaving her anyway. You couldn’t be perfect enough to keep the world from betraying you. There was no way to win this game playing by the rules that had been set up so long ago. No. You had to rewrite them. You had to play your own game.
Her cheeks were wet. Taylor didn’t usually cry; it was hell on the mascara. Only amateurs cried. Angrily, she wiped the tears away and talked through her affirmations:
