Rebel McKenzie (19 page)

I had planned to say I wanted to work for world peace, but two of the C-W-B-S girls already took that one and it didn't go over so hot. I thought back to our interview practice. “Be specific,” Miss Odenia had instructed. “And sincere.”

“I want…to buy my sister some new underpants,” I blurted. “Hers are all holey and stretched out.
And also
”—I spoke louder to be heard above the laughter—“
also
I want to make little tiny eyelash wigs for people who don't have any. Eyelashes, I mean.”

“Very selfless,” Mr. Randolph said. “And very…original. Give Miss Rebel a round, folks!”

Somehow I got back in line. I didn't hear what the last C-W-B-S girl said. All I could hear was my own voice talking about
underpants
and
eyelash wigs
!

“The crown is
mine
,” Bambi whispered in triumph. “Not that you were ever any competition, bald eyes.”

“It's not over,” I whispered back.

Lacey Jane lurched to stand beside Mr. Randolph.

Mr. Randolph grinned down at her. “And last, but certainly not least, we have this charming young lady. Tell us your name and what you want to do in life.”

“My name is Lacey Jane Whistle,” she said. “In my life I want to—” She hooked her hair behind one ear nervously. “Wait a sec.”

I could see Miss Odenia wince. She probably thought Lacey Jane had forgotten everything she had ever taught her about interview questions.

“Take your time,” Mr. Randolph said.

“I had this all figured out but it's kind of hard to describe.” Lacey Jane took a deep breath. “Okay. I want to start a school—no, more like a club, only a nice friendly one—for girls who don't have mothers and need to learn how to do stuff like fix their hair. Older girls—ladies—will teach them about makeup and tell them when they're too old for ankle socks. And…that's what I want to do.”

No one spoke. Then the applause exploded. Instead of smiling at the judges, Lacey Jane bit her lip and stared down at her sandals.

“All right, folks!” Mr. Randolph said, when the clapping faded. “We're gonna start the talent part of this pageant—”

A scream ripped through the audience. My sister stood up, clutching the strap of her purse in a stranglehold.

“Rudy's gone!” she cried. Everyone turned to stare at her. “My little boy is gone!”

“R
ebel!” Lynette shrieked. “Get down here and help me find my baby!”

Mr. Randolph, who probably realized the lady in the audience was close to hysterics, said, “Folks, there seems to be a little trouble down front. What say we take a ten-minute break and help look for this missing infant?”

I scrambled off the stage and met Lynette's eyes. They whirled like twin pinball machines. “He was sitting with me and Miz Odenia,” she said, seizing my arm.

“Then how did he get away?” I asked.

“He got up to put his trash in the can. But he never came back! Rudy! Ruuudeee!” I scanned the crowd. I could hear people asking Miss Odenia for a description of the missing “infant.” Between the rides and food stands and games, Rudy could be anywhere.

“Where
is
he?” Lynette screeched. “He's been kidnapped!”

“Maybe he went to the Johnny-on-the-Spot,” I said. “You go check. It's by the Tub O'Fun. I'll look around the game booths.”

But Lynette pulled me back. “That'll take too long! Come with me to the missing child station. And then we're calling the police.”

A man hurried up, towing a blond-haired little boy. “Is this your son, miss? I found him wandering around the pony ride.”

“That's not Rudy! My baby boy is sweet and kind and much
better looking
than that boy ever will be!”

The little boy's face screwed up like he was going to cry.

“Lynette, get a grip!” I said as the man led the boy away. “Or the police will take
you
to jail.”

I caught a glimpse of something near the stage steps, a small, pale figure with white-blond hair and taped glasses. He wore a plastic inner tube around his waist and gripped a shiny black tote bag with something heavy inside.

“There he is!” I said. “There's Rudy!”

“Where—?” Lynette looked frantically in the direction I was pointing.

“We found him!” I yelled toward the stage.

Feedback from the microphone shrilled in our ears. Mr. Randolph adjusted the sound with an apologetic smile and announced, “Folks, the missing baby has been found. I repeat, the missing baby has been found. Return to your seats and we'll get this show on the road again!”

Lynette knocked people over as she rushed toward the stage, but Rudy had already climbed the steps. All of the Violets were in line except me. Rudy wedged himself between Lacey Jane and one of the C-W-B-S girls. I hurriedly took my place.

“Get that kid out of here,” Bambi said, twitching her long skirt back like Rudy had flying cooties.

I leaned over. “Rudy! What in tarnation are you
doing
?”

“Rudy Eugene Parsley!” Lynette's voice carried over the music of the nearby merry-go-round. “Get off that stage right this minute!”

“No.” Rudy shifted his grasp on the heavy bag, resting it on the inner tube around his waist.

Mr. Randolph ambled over. “Hi-dy, son. What's your name?”

“Rudy Parsley.”

“Well, Rudy Parsley, we're having a beauty pageant. For young
ladies
.”

The C-W-B-Ss giggled.

Rudy looked scared but stood his ground. “I have a talent. I don't see why I can't do it just because I'm a boy.”

Mr. Randolph's sweaty face split into a grin. “That's a mighty good point.” He turned to the audience. “What do you think, folks? Should we let this boy perform?”

The judges nodded and even cracked a tiny smile. Everyone clapped except Bambi's mother. She sat in the seat in front of Lynette, holding Kissy.

Mrs. Lovering stood up so fast, Kissy's neck nearly snapped. “You can't change the rules. That child did not pay a registration fee or fill out an application. And he's a
boy
! He does not belong in this pageant.”

“I'd like to see what Rudy Parsley can do,” Mr. Randolph said, grandly ignoring her. “What do y'all think?” The audience clapped and cheered their approval.

Bambi's mother sat back down in a huff.

“Okay, Rudy.” Mr. Randolph waved him toward the front of the stage. “Tell us what your talent is. I bet it has something to do with that big bag.”

“Yep.” Rudy set the shiny tote on the floor. Doublewide's seal head poked out. He looked around wildly.

“My talent is my cat, Doublewide the Wonder Cat,” Rudy explained. “He can tee-tee in the toilet. And nobody learned him.”

“That
is
a talented cat,” Mr. Randolph agreed, keeping a straight face. “But how is Doublewide gonna show the folks this amazing feat? You don't happen to have a toilet in that bag, do you?”

Everyone laughed.

“No, but I have this.” Rudy wiggled out of the plastic inner tube and set it on the stage floor. “It's kind of like the toilet seat at home.”

In the audience, my sister shielded her eyes with one hand. I wished I could disappear myself. Rudy was actually going to set that cat on the inner tube so he'd tinkle in front of everybody!

Mr. Randolph gave the audience an exaggerated wink. He was clearly tickled with Rudy. “Take it away, Rudy and Doublewide!”

Rudy picked up the cat and placed his hind legs on the inner tube. Rudy had pumped too much air into the inner tube and Doublewide's paws kept slipping off. Shoving him back on, Rudy said, “Okay, Doublewide. Pee!”

At that moment, something went
yark!

Doublewide spotted the dog on Mrs. Lovering's lap. He hissed and his back arched. Then he shot off the stage. As he leaped, his hind toenails punctured the overinflated inner tube, which burst with a loud
pop!
It sounded like a starter pistol.

Kissy squirmed out of Mrs. Lovering's arms and scuttled across the judge's table. Doublewide jumped up on the table, too. Three times Kissy's size, he could have easily flattened the dog with one swat, but Kissy's constant yapping threw him off.

“Get these animals out of here!” the woman judge exclaimed.

“Doublewide!” Rudy yelled. “Come back and finish your trick!”

“Kissy!”
Bambi screamed.

One of the men judges lunged for Kissy, but the dog squirted away like a bar of soap and chased Doublewide off the table and down the first row of the audience. Some people laughed, but others jerked their feet back or climbed up on their chairs. Doublewide bounded under a parked truck, with Kissy yipping right behind.

Rudy burst into tears. “He's run off again!”

I remembered the night Rudy sleepwalked. It seemed like the things he loved were always leaving him—his father…and now that stupid cat. Doublewide had a habit of hitchhiking with strangers. Suppose the cat crawled into the back of one of the trucks and the truck drove off? Rudy would never get over it.

There was only one thing to do. I raced across the stage and vaulted to the ground, my dress sailing up like a parachute.

“Hey, young lady!” said Mr. Randolph. “You have to perform your talent!”

“Go on without me!” I called as I ran across the carnival grounds.

I glimpsed the galloping cat on the other side of the truck. Doublewide was fast, but not as fast as Bambi's dog. His weight slowed him down. And Kissy was gaining.

“Doublewide!”

The cat didn't break stride as he sprang to the ledge of the Pick-Up-Ducks game. He tried to jump over the “creek” of bobbing yellow ducks but didn't quite make it. Kissy leaped up and nipped his tail. There was a huge splash, followed by a
yip
. Plastic ducks and water sprayed everywhere.

I bagged the drenched cat as the guy running the game fished a soggy Yorkie out of the stream. She was no bigger than a damp hamster.

“I believe this is yours?” he said.

“'Fraid so.” I clamped Doublewide under one arm and Kissy under the other, but not before they both shook themselves all over me.

By the time I reached the stage, my soaked dress was covered with dust, straw, and fur. I handed Kissy to Bambi's mother then dumped Doublewide in Lynette's lap as I sank into Rudy's empty seat. He was still onstage, standing in one corner.

“How's it going?” I asked.

“Almost finished with the talent part,” Lynette said. “Thanks for bringing this wretched animal back.”

“I guess Bambi will win,” I said regretfully. “Her dress is so pretty.”

Miss Odenia sniffed. “Bambi broke the rules. It says on the registration form, ‘no pageant attire.' That's a custom-made pageant dress, not an off-the-rack outfit. I bet she'll be disqualified in the appearance category.”

My heart lifted, then hit bottom again. If I hadn't run offstage, I might have had a chance. My recitation may have cinched the pageant.

“I'm glad Mama and Daddy aren't here,” Lynette said. “Have you lost your mind? Telling the entire county about my holey underpants? Why didn't you say you were going to buy me a new bedroom suite instead? And
what
happened to your eyelashes?”

After I told her the whole sordid story, she sighed. “Honestly, Rebel, could you have done more to lose this pageant?”

“And next we have Miss Bambi!” Mr. Randolph announced after one of the Chanel-Winter-Baylee-Shelbylynn girls finished slaughtering “Tomorrow” from
Annie
. The last shrill notes flew out of her mouth and seemed to land in the rafters of the stage like a flock of starlings. People actually flinched.

Flashing her brilliant smile, Bambi trotted up to the microphone.

Mr. Randolph stood back, as if afraid to get too close to her. Bambi grabbed the microphone from him and chirped, “Hi, y'all! I'm gonna play a little number that my dog Kissy just
loves
. There's Kissy! Isn't she the sweetest li'l thing? ‘Yes Sir! That's My Baby' comin' up just for you, Kissy-poo!”

She planted her feet apart and began plucking at the ukulele. The judge's faces didn't give anything away, not even when Bambi flipped the ukulele over her head and played it behind her back. At the end of her song, she dropped into a deep curtsy and skipped back in line to thin applause.

Mr. Randolph spoke. “And last-but-certainly-not-least, we have Miss Lacey Jane. What is your talent, sweetheart?”

Lacey Jane lumbered to the front of the stage. “I sort of made up a dance,” she said. “Well…maybe it's not really a dance, but I call it that.”

She was going through with it!

“Do you want to tell us anything about your—um—dance?” Mr. Randolph asked.

Lacey Jane looked like she was going to keel over in a faint, but she said, “I picked this song because it puts me in mind of my mother. How she's watching over me.”

Mr. Randolph nodded at Anita, who switched on the music Miss Odenia brought. Rushing violins whirled from the speakers. Then Patsy Cline's voice cascaded over the audience like a waterfall.

Lacey Jane stood poker-still. I held my breath, waiting for her to start stumbling like a busted puppet.

But Lacey Jane kept her feet nailed to the stage. Instead, she raised her arms over her head and began moving her hands. Her feet never moved, but her fingers performed a ballet. Her fingers sketched every note of music and every word Patsy Cline sang.

I never noticed how graceful Lacey Jane's hands were.

One minute, her hands were swans swimming on a pond, the next, they were roses bursting open in a flutter of petals. Everyone—even Bambi—was hypnotized by the music and her movements.

When the violins rushed in again at the end of the song, Lacey Jane's hands twirled like leaves in a gust of wind, then dropped still by her side. She bowed her head. At first I thought she was hogging the bow, but then I realized she was afraid to look up.

The applause was deafening. My palms burned, I clapped so hard. Lacey Jane took that pretty song and turned it inside out. And she took us along on the ride, all of us rising and falling with every note.

Finally Lacey Jane looked up and gave the audience a small smile. Then she ran to her place in the line.

“Thank you, Miss Lacey Jane,” Mr. Randolph said. “In this
most
unusual pageant, we have decided to let Miss Rebel McKenzie perform her talent. C'mon up here, little lady.”

Did I hear right? I still had a chance! Lacey Jane was clapping enthusiastically, urging me to come back up onstage.

Seeing Lacey Jane's flushed face made me realize something. She really meant what she said in her interview, and her talent was the best so far. Of us all, she deserved to win the pageant.

I couldn't give my recitation. It was just too darned good. I had to do something else, throw the pageant so Lacey Jane would win instead of me. What would the judges hate?

“Be right back,” I told Mr. Randolph. “I have to get my—uh—prop.”

In the tent, I dashed over to the cooler and flung open the lid. I grabbed a can of RC Cola and popped the top. Tipping my head back, I guzzled the soda, swallowing huge air-filled gulps. Then I ran back onstage.