Rebel McKenzie (6 page)

An army of plastic termites marched across the counter of the pest control part. An old man with a floppy stomach like a shopping bag swiveled his desk chair around.

“Hey there, kids. What can I do you for?”

“We're here to sign up for the beauty pageant,” said Lacey Jane.

He pointed to the curtained doorway. “In there. Mama will help you.” That old man had a mother? She must be a hundred and two.

We walked into the bridal consignment part. Racks of fancy dresses lined the walls. A mannequin wearing a rhinestone-spangled wedding gown stood in the center. Clamped over the model's crooked wig was a rhinestone headband with a short veil.

Up close, I could see the dress was grubby around the hem and the veil was dusty. A tattoo of an anchor adorned the mannequin's left forearm. Someone had tried unsuccessfully to scrub it off.

All this frilly stuff made me feel choky and I began to cough. A woman not much bigger than Rudy emerged from the back. I thought she was a kid, but then I noticed her little hanging stomach. Pest Control Man's mama. She
was
ancient.

“Hello,” she said, smiling through a sea of wrinkles. “I'm Mrs. Randolph. How can I help you?”

“We want to be in the beauty pageant,” I said.

On the tiniest feet I'd ever seen on a grown-up, she tottered over to a desk, pulled a drawer open, and took out a clipboard and pencil.

“Names?” As Lacey Jane and I spelled our names, she wrote them down.

Reading upside-down-and-backward—another special talent of mine—I spotted Bambi Lovering's name at the top of the list. So Bambi
had
entered the pageant!

The woman handed us each an application form. “Fill this out, have a parent or guardian sign it, and bring it back to me with your entry fee.”

Outside again, the heat slapped us like a scalding washcloth. Lacey Jane said, “I have two dollars. Let's get Slurpees.”

“You're my friend for life!” I gushed, stepping into the cool oasis of my favorite store.

Lacey Jane gave me a funny look, but said nothing.

The 7-Eleven was empty except for the clerk and an older woman piling groceries on the counter. While she counted change from her wallet, we ordered three blueberry Slurpees. The clerk dispensed the slushy drinks into tall plastic cups.

Lacey Jane paid, then we went outside and sat on a bench. I pulled on the straw so hard, ice-pick pain jabbed my skull. Delicioso. Rudy fumbled with his straw until I stabbed it into the X cut in the lid.

Lacey Jane scanned her paper. “‘Age divisions. Sweet Pea, three to five. Daisy, six to eight. Violet, nine to twelve. Rose, thirteen to fifteen.' We're Violets.”

The older woman came out of the 7-Eleven with two large bags. She adjusted her grip and squinted up at the blazing sun.

“Gaggy names,” I said, checking out my own form. “‘Three Words That Describe You.' How about brilliant, beautiful, and—bombastic!”

Lacey Jane giggled. “For hobbies, put down burping!”

“That's great! Got a pencil?”

The woman set her bags on the concrete and mopped her shiny face with a handkerchief. She wore cotton gloves, which seemed weird. I was too hot to wear a part in my hair, much less gloves.

“I saw Bambi Lovering's name on the contest list,” I said.

Lacey Jane grinned with blue-stained lips. “She doesn't stand a chance against our gorgeous selves.”

“She might as well drop out!” I pretended to clink my cup against hers.

“Yeah!” Rudy echoed. He slammed his cup into ours. Blueberry slush spilled over our fingers.

“Rudy!” I swiped my sticky hand on his knee.

Lacey Jane striped Slurpee across my cheek. I flicked my straw at her, spattering her shirt with blue specks.

“The pageant judges won't look twice at Bambi,” I said, giggling. “You're a cinch to win. And I'll get second place, easy.”

The woman frowned at me, gloved hands on her hips. “Not till groundhogs boogie.”

Sponsored By

Better-Off-Dead Pest Control and Bridal Consignment

“When you have bugs or an unused wedding dress, think of us!”

Age Division (check one): Sweet Pea (3–5):____ Daisy (6–8):____ Violet (9–12):
X
Rose (13–15):
____

Name:
Rebel McKenzie


Address:
8705B Grandview Lane, Frog Level, Virginia


Phone:
5558770


Parent/Guardian:
Lynette Parsley
(older sister, and that's her real signature—she can't help it she writes like a kid)


Eyes:
Brown
Hair:
Brown
Grade:
going into 7th (though I should be in college)


Three Words That Describe You:
Kind, Thoughtful, (very) Nice


Hobbies:
Digging fossils up, reading my favorite book,
The How and Why Wonder Book of Prehistoric Mammals


Ambition:
to be a paleontologist (the Ice Age kind, not
the dinosaur kind)


Three People You Most Admire:

1. Dr. Paul E. Blackwood, the author of The How and Why
Wonder Book of Prehistoric Mammals, even though he is
probably dead

2. My parents (okay, that's two)

3. Mr. Brawley, principal of Frog Level Elementary School


Type of Talent:
too many to list!


PAGEANT RULES:

• If you are performing a musical talent,
  bring your own music
  
• Off-the-rack dresses for Appearance,
  sportswear for athletic Talent
  
• No pageant attire!
  
• Judges' decisions are final
  

“W
hat do you mean?” I asked, looking up at the woman. I didn't really want an answer, but since she was butting in, she owed us an explanation.

“Beauty pageants aren't so easy to ace,” she replied. “Don't roll your eyes at me, missy. I know what I'm talking about.”

“
You
were in a beauty contest?” I said in disbelief.

“I used to model. Same difference.”

If my jaw hadn't been hinged to my skull, it would have dropped in my lap. Even I knew that models were pretty and skinny. This frizzy-haired old woman was built like a fire hydrant. Her pudding-plain face was studded with little raisin eyes and a blobby nose. Maybe she once modeled Halloween masks.

The woman started to heft her bags again. “Law, I do it every time. Come up here to pick up one or two things and wind up with more than I can tote.”

“We'll help.” Lacey Jane leaped to her feet, tossing her Slurpee cup in the trash. “Rebel, you take this one.” She gave me a bulging sack apparently filled with plutonium bricks. The other bag had a loaf of Wonder bread peeking out the top.

I was brimming with questions, but followed the woman down Greycliff Road. Who was she? And why was she wearing gloves? Was she a cat burglar? I could see her knocking over candy stores easier than I could picture her modeling dresses.

“Miz Matthews,” Lacey Jane said. She sounded respectful. Not at all like her usual prickly self. “You shouldn't be walking in this heat. How come you don't drive a car?”

“I can't see like I did.” She chuckled. “Viola Sandbanks would carry me to the store any time I want. But she runs on about Palmer and the mailman so, I forget what I'm going after.”

“Who's Viola Sandbanks?” I asked. “Who's Palmer? And who are
you
?”

“Lands, this heat's made me overlook my manners. I'm Miss Odenia Matthews. You're the little sister of the lady who rents Mr. Shifflett's mobile home.”

“
Younger
sister,” I corrected. “Rebel McKenzie. What about this Palmer and the mailman?”

“You'll meet them tomorrow afternoon,” said Miss Odenia. “Well, not Mr. Beechley because he has his route and wouldn't come on a bet. He's so terrified of Palmer Sandbanks, he just throws the mail in our boxes all mixed up, and I have to stand there and sort it out. I don't want anyone to think
I
receive those racy lingerie catalogs.”

“Tomorrow afternoon?” I felt mixed up myself. Tar blisters rose like soup bubbles, and haze shimmered over the road like a mirage.

I don't know why Lacey Jane was so worried about the old woman walking in the heat. Miss Odenia strode ahead like Grant taking Richmond. Her white blouse was freshfrom-the-dryer crisp. Pit stains soaked my T-shirt clear to my kneecaps.

Even Rudy noticed. “You need some be-odorant. Get it? B.O.?”

“When the feeling comes back in my hands, I'm going to swat you one.”

Miss Odenia frowned at me. “That's the very thing I'm talking about. If you girls are serious about this beauty pageant, you must speak politely. And you can't gallop onstage and carry on like hoydens.”

Hoydens!
What a funny word! I giggled.

Miss Odenia froze me with a Look scarier than the Squint-eye my mother used. Mama could take Look lessons from this old lady.

“You won't be judged just on appearance, but also personality,” she went on. “You need to be confident, not brash.”

“I
am
confident,” I protested. “I'm practically a paleontologist.”

“Maybe,” she said doubtfully, “but you sadly lack grace and poise.”

“Grace? What does that thing we say on Thanksgiving got to do with the price of tea in China?” I asked.

“You know very well what I mean. Mocking is a bad habit. Along with slouching and lumping along like a camel.”

She must have been talking about Lacey Jane. She lurched down the road, leaning forward like she was pushing against a hurricane.

“Miz Odenia, can you help us?” Lacey Jane said as we entered the trailer park.

She nodded. “I'd be glad to give you pageant tips.”

I didn't believe she was doing this out of the puredee goodness of her heart. She had to have a reason. “How come?” I asked point-blank. “What's in it for you?”

“Rebel!” Lacey Jane said, shocked. “When somebody says they're going to help you, you don't ask them why!”

“Rebel has a right to be cautious,” said Miss Odenia. “She doesn't know me from Noah's house cat. As it happens, I do want a favor in return.”

“What?” I said.

We stopped in front of Miss Odenia's trailer, the one with the ceramic kittens climbing the shutters and the flower beds and the plaster frog in the birdbath.

She clucked her tongue as we walked to the front door. “I'd better tackle those weeds in the portulaca when it cools off. C'mon in. I have lemonade in the Frigidaire.”

We followed her inside. I gratefully dumped the grocery bag on the kitchen counter and shook my numb fingers to get the circulation stirring again.

“I'll bring the drinks into the living room,” Miss Odenia told us.

Her living room was nothing like Lynette's. Old dark wood chairs were covered in faded flower print material. Tables displayed black-and-white photographs in silver frames. But no people, at least not whole people…just
hands
.

There were framed magazine advertisements of hands touching toasters, holding telephones, flaunting diamond rings. Between the frames, statues of hands wore draped bead necklaces or fancy gloves. Over the sofa hung a gigantic photograph of a hand.

Creeped out, I elbowed Lacy Jane and whispered, “Next time, warn me.”

Lacey Jane's eyes were practically out on stalks. “I've never been in here before either,” she whispered back. “Miz Odenia's always watched us kids when she was outside working in her yard.”

I stared at a photo of a hand holding a carving knife. “What's wrong with pictures of kittens?”

“I think it's neat,” Rudy said. No surprise. His taste was all in his mouth, or else why would he have a crush on Bambi?

“Here we go.” Miss Odenia set a tray of glasses on the coffee table. She had taken off her gloves. I tried to see if her fingertips were sandpapered, like a safecracker's. “Now, let's get down to brass tacks. You girls are in sore need of help. I know for a fact Bambi Lovering has entered the pageant. She has a lot of experience. I can teach you how to walk and conduct your interview.”

I drained my glass of lemonade, then said, “What's the catch?”

“In exchange for pageant lessons,” Miss Odenia said, “I'd like you girls to serve at my card parties on Tuesdays and Fridays. I'm tired of doing all that work myself.”

“Serve?” I lifted one eyebrow. I didn't like the sound of this.

“Refreshments,” Miss Odenia said.

Handing out cookies at a party didn't sound too bad. “When do we start?”

“Tomorrow at noon. Wear nice clothes. No shorts or T-shirts.” She looked pointedly at me. “The lesson will be first. My party is from two to four.”

Miss Odenia showed us to the door. Lacey Jane and Rudy burst excitedly outside, but I hung back.

“I'm supposed to babysit Rudy,” I said. “What will I do with him tomorrow?”

“Bring him. He can watch TV in my spare room. Or play in the backyard. You can keep an eye on him.” She paused. “What else is troubling you, Rebel?”

I glanced out where Rudy was spinning himself silly. “Why do you
really
want to give us these lessons? Like you said, you don't know me.”

She leaned in closer. Her breath smelled like cinnamon. “No, but I do know Lacey Jane. I've watched her grow up. She used to be a happy, sweet child. But after her mama died last winter, that girl's been nothing but a bundle of sorrow.”

You could have knocked me over with a wisp of dryer lint. Lacey Jane had never breathed a word about her mother being dead! That explained why she didn't talk about her mother. A pinprick of guilt jabbed my side like a runner's stitch. I felt sorry for her but I didn't want to feel too sorry. It wasn't like we were going to be best friends.

I wondered if I should say anything, and decided right then and there I wouldn't. Lacey Jane would tell me when she was ready. Besides, I felt uncomfortable talking about dead people. Animals dead for thousands of years, no problem. But people—especially somebody's mother—well, that was different.

“Balance on the ball of your foot,” Miss Odenia said. “Don't put your heel down first. I know it feels strange, but it's the way pageant girls walk. Try it, Lacey Jane.”

Lacey Jane raised up on her toes. “Like this?”

“Not so high.”

Lacey Jane took a few wobbly steps. “I keep wanting to put my heel down.”

“Practice and you'll get it.” Miss Odenia eyeballed me next. “Okay, Rebel. Before you can walk you need to learn correct posture.”

Me? Hadn't she seen how Lacey Jane pitched forward like she was dropping off a diving board?

But I sucked my stomach flat to my backbone and stiffened my legs like bed slats. My skirt promptly dropped to the floor in a crumple of denim.

Lacey Jane fell about laughing. “Oh, the judges will
love
that!”

I yanked my skirt back up. “I didn't bring any dresses,” I mumbled. “This miniskirt of Lynette's is the only thing that fits. Sort of.”

“Is that why you were late?” Lacey Jane asked.

“Mmm-hmm.” People didn't need to know
every
thing about me.

“You could've borrowed one of my dresses.” Lacey Jane smoothed her bright yellow sundress. Her barrettes and ankle socks matched, natch.

“Mistakes happen even in pageants,” Miss Odenia told me. “You picked up your skirt without any fuss, which is good. Now, shoulders back and down. Chin up.” She prodded and pulled me into position like a life-size Gumby.

I clutched the counter. “I feel like the Leaning Tower of Pisa!”

“You're not. You're actually standing straight for a change. Okay, girls, one at a time, walk for me. Don't toe out, Rebel. None of that slew-footed business. Make like you're following an invisible line. Long strides. Lift your legs! Point your fingers down—your fingers want to curl naturally, but that doesn't look good.”

By the time I pageant-walked from one end of Miss Odenia's living room and back again three times, I had cramps in my calves. Then Lacey Jane took her turn. She turned her toes in so far that her knees locked.

“Again, only this time, smile. Always smile at the judges. You first, Rebel.”

I remembered everything she told me—chin up, shoulders down and back, balance on balls of feet, follow invisible line, long strides, fingers pointing down. But I tromped on the back of one of my flip-flops and nearly landed on my face.

“Rebel, you can't wear flip-flops in a pageant.” Miss Odenia checked the clock over the stove. “I'll teach you pivot turns tomorrow. Now we need to get ready.”

As we fluffed a snowy cloth over the card table and set out hobnail glass luncheon plates, Miss Odenia instructed us to speak politely but only when we're spoken to, serve plates to the left and clear from the right, and serve ice tea to the right. All that nice-manners stuff got on my nerves.

“I wasn't raised in a barn, you know.” I glanced out the window to see Rudy, who was supposed to be playing in the backyard, heading for the sewer pipe.

Jerking open the front door, I yelled, “Rudy Parsley, get your scrawny butt
back
in the yard this instant!”

“What on
earth
?” complained a woman teetering at the bottom of the cement steps. “I've never
heard
such screeching!”

It was the lady with the Tastee-Freez hair, three colors swirled on her head like a triple twist cone. Bambi Lovering's mother.

Behind her, two ladies bumped into each other like people in a fire drill. One was decked out in so much costume jewelry, it was a wonder she could stand up. The other had on a flowery pinafore over a white puff-sleeved blouse. Her outfit would have been fine on a nine-year-old, but she had to be pushing fifty.

Miss Odenia hustled me inside. “Go in the kitchen with Lacey Jane and remember what I told you.” Then she told her company to come on in.

They clattered into the little hall, jostling pocketbooks and clucking like hens.

“Law,” said Jewelry Woman. “I like to melted out there.”

“Every bit of the curl fell plumb out of my hair,” Pinafore remarked.

“Yes, it's another scorcher. Some ice tea will fix you right up.” Miss Odenia cut her eyes toward me and Lacey Jane.

We poured four glasses and carried them into the living room to the card table. After some backing and filling, Lacey Jane and I figured out how to serve to the right without crashing into each other. Miss Odenia snapped her napkin open in her lap. Our signal to bring in the luncheon plates.