cigarettes, and has these bangs cut just a little too short in a line straight across her forehead. She claims they make her look like Bettie Page. Personally, I think they make her look like Porky Pig’s girlfriend from Looney Tunes.
Regardless, Macie thinks Krista looks cool and “retro.” “Krista is a hot hipster chick,” Macie says, giggling about her bright-red, cat’s-eye glasses. “She found those at this supercool vintage store over in Capitol Hill. I love it. She’s fierce.”
Maybe she is. Maybe “hip” just isn’t “pretty.”
I’m not sure what Macie Merrick saw in Krista. Jillian tells me Krista’s daddy dropped dead of a heart attack at the dinner table. Turned out the autopsy revealed he was on so much OxyContin that he’d blown a clot and had a stroke right there over a petite filet.
Krista generally looks bored and above it all and like she can’t wait to have another cigarette, but she sure lit up the first time she saw me. Walked right up to me at the registration for new students the week before school started last year.
“Hi,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Krista.”
“Katherine,” I said, taking her hand and using my “evening gown portion of our competition” smile. “It’s a pleasure.”
Before I realized what was happening, she pulled me in close and whispered, “Thank God you’re black. I was hoping we’d get some decent color this year.”
“Excuse me?” I asked, smile frozen in place.
“I’m on the Welcome Committee for the student council,” she said. “C’mon. Wait’ll Macie gets a load of you.”
And that was how it happened. Macie smiled with her mouth right away that night, but her eyes were holdin’ back a secret. Maybe two. She or Krista was always at my elbow thatnight, and Mama smiled like a possum eatin’ briars. “Look at you, Katherine. You’ve already made friends with the student council members. That’s just fantastic. Oh, sweetheart, I just knew that you’d make friends right away.”
I wanted to sass her. I wanted to say, “Mama, these girls are not my friends. These girls want to earn their race-relations badge.” But I held my tongue and thought about Aunt Liza. Don’t show your cards, Li’l K.
Macie showed me to the right table in the gymnasium, and Krista tagged along with me and Mama, who insisted I take the tour of the whole damn campus. Finally, I waved good-bye and walked toward my car. Mama had met me at the school after stopping by a regional Miss Teen USA preseason orientation to pick up entrance forms and meet some of the other local participants. As soon as it was final that we were moving, she’d called to make sure we were all squared away with contacts and residency requirements.
As I beeped the automatic locks on the silver BMW Daddy had gotten me for my sixteenth birthday, I heard a voice behind me.
“Wow. Is this your car?”
I jumped a little as I turned around and saw Macie standing with her arms crossed, leaning against a jet-black model of the same car I drove. I was quick to push my smile back up.
“Oh . . . hey, Macie,” I said. “Didn’t see you there.”
Macie had a funny look on her pretty face. “Didn’t expect you to drive something this . . .”
I let my smile go. “Nice?” I finished her sentence.
Macie just stared at me in silence—like she was sizing me up for a gown. Mama’s stylist friend Darius, who always helps me pick out my evening gowns and swimsuits, uses the same look when he’s peering at me, trying to imagine me in sequins or bugle beads or a sheer black organza.
After a moment, she cocked her chin to one side and smiled at me with just her mouth again. “Meet us at Marv’s,” she said.
“Us?” I asked. When she spoke she sounded almost weary. “Katherine,” she said, “won’t you please privilege me and several of my dearest friends with the honor of your presence this evening?”
She was making fun of me. At least I thought she
Regardless, Macie thinks Krista looks cool and “retro.” “Krista is a hot hipster chick,” Macie says, giggling about her bright-red, cat’s-eye glasses. “She found those at this supercool vintage store over in Capitol Hill. I love it. She’s fierce.”
Maybe she is. Maybe “hip” just isn’t “pretty.”
I’m not sure what Macie Merrick saw in Krista. Jillian tells me Krista’s daddy dropped dead of a heart attack at the dinner table. Turned out the autopsy revealed he was on so much OxyContin that he’d blown a clot and had a stroke right there over a petite filet.
Krista generally looks bored and above it all and like she can’t wait to have another cigarette, but she sure lit up the first time she saw me. Walked right up to me at the registration for new students the week before school started last year.
“Hi,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Krista.”
“Katherine,” I said, taking her hand and using my “evening gown portion of our competition” smile. “It’s a pleasure.”
Before I realized what was happening, she pulled me in close and whispered, “Thank God you’re black. I was hoping we’d get some decent color this year.”
“Excuse me?” I asked, smile frozen in place.
“I’m on the Welcome Committee for the student council,” she said. “C’mon. Wait’ll Macie gets a load of you.”
And that was how it happened. Macie smiled with her mouth right away that night, but her eyes were holdin’ back a secret. Maybe two. She or Krista was always at my elbow thatnight, and Mama smiled like a possum eatin’ briars. “Look at you, Katherine. You’ve already made friends with the student council members. That’s just fantastic. Oh, sweetheart, I just knew that you’d make friends right away.”
I wanted to sass her. I wanted to say, “Mama, these girls are not my friends. These girls want to earn their race-relations badge.” But I held my tongue and thought about Aunt Liza. Don’t show your cards, Li’l K.
Macie showed me to the right table in the gymnasium, and Krista tagged along with me and Mama, who insisted I take the tour of the whole damn campus. Finally, I waved good-bye and walked toward my car. Mama had met me at the school after stopping by a regional Miss Teen USA preseason orientation to pick up entrance forms and meet some of the other local participants. As soon as it was final that we were moving, she’d called to make sure we were all squared away with contacts and residency requirements.
As I beeped the automatic locks on the silver BMW Daddy had gotten me for my sixteenth birthday, I heard a voice behind me.
“Wow. Is this your car?”
I jumped a little as I turned around and saw Macie standing with her arms crossed, leaning against a jet-black model of the same car I drove. I was quick to push my smile back up.
“Oh . . . hey, Macie,” I said. “Didn’t see you there.”
Macie had a funny look on her pretty face. “Didn’t expect you to drive something this . . .”
I let my smile go. “Nice?” I finished her sentence.
Macie just stared at me in silence—like she was sizing me up for a gown. Mama’s stylist friend Darius, who always helps me pick out my evening gowns and swimsuits, uses the same look when he’s peering at me, trying to imagine me in sequins or bugle beads or a sheer black organza.
After a moment, she cocked her chin to one side and smiled at me with just her mouth again. “Meet us at Marv’s,” she said.
“Us?” I asked. When she spoke she sounded almost weary. “Katherine,” she said, “won’t you please privilege me and several of my dearest friends with the honor of your presence this evening?”
She was making fun of me. At least I thought she
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