Beauty Queens

Beauty Queens Page 122

Miss Ohio dropped to the ground. “Take the guns,” she barked. The other girls scrambled down past the unconscious guard and the other two men who had taken arrows in the legs and butt.

“You bitches!” a guard snarled at Miss Montana.

“Excuse me? You try to kill us, we defend ourselves, and we get called bitches? So typical!” Miss New Mexico head butted the man, knocking him out with her tray.

“Thanks,” Miss Montana said.

“Don’t mention it.”

The girls removed the ammo and tossed the guns as far into the jungle as they could sling them. Then they set off for the compound.

“This is going to look so good when they make the TV movie of my life,” Miss Ohio said.

Back on the beach, The Peacock examined the bulletproof vest, which had taken the full brunt of the gunfire. General Good Times had not been so lucky. “General Good Times! Noooo!” The Peacock fell to his knees in the sand. When he rose again, he held aloft the only thing left of his comrade — a stuffed foot. In the firelight, The Peacock’s eyes burned. His Elvis wig had been knocked askew during the blast. It clung to his scalp like tentacles of soft-serve ice cream on a hot day.

Spittle formed at the taut edges of his mouth. “I will have revenge on toast for the death of my trusted advisor. Soon, everybody in the whole cell block will be dancing to my jailhouse rock.” The Peacock removed the safety from his pistol. “Let’s boogie, beauty queens.”

“HEY! JENNIFER! STOP!”

Jennifer turned to face Sosie, who was bent over, breathing deeply.

“We need to keep moving,” Jennifer signed.

“No. Stop. Need to know first.”

“Know what?”

Sosie hesitated for a moment, waiting for the words. “Why are you ignoring me?”

“I’m not ignoring you.”

“Bullshit. You’ve been avoiding me ever since …” Sosie stopped. “Is it because I’m not sure I’m g*y?”

Jennifer gestured to the jungle behind them. “You know what? Not the time.”

“Yes. It is the time. If we get offed by a bunch of Corporation ass**les, I don’t want to go out without telling you this.”

“Telling me what?”

Sosie rubbed her right fist over her heart.

“Sorry for what?” Jennifer signed.

“Sorry I can’t be what you want me to be. Sorry I’m not your dream girl.”

Jennifer wanted to let it go, but she couldn’t. “You kissed me! What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know! I just … wanted to.”

“So, it was nothing for you? Like, ‘Hey, kids, I wanted to try strawberry licorice, so I did. Hooray! How cool am I?’”

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Sosie said.

“Did that mean nothing to you?” Jennifer enunciated clearly.

“It wasn’t like that. I liked it. I like you.”

“I’m all confused again.” Jennifer paced away and came back. “Are you g*y or not?”

“I don’t know what I am yet,” Sosie answered. “I’m still figuring it out. But if I were a big, card-carrying, softball-playing, Joan Jett-worshipping lezbot, I would totally jump you.”

“Nice stereotyping.” Jennifer rolled her eyes, but a blush worked its way up her neck. “For the record, I hate softball. But, um, thanks for that other bit.”

Sosie hugged Jennifer. “You’re, like, the coolest girl I know. And I’d hate it if you hated me.”

“I don’t hate you. As much. I mean, I definitely hated you for a little while there.”

Sosie folded down her middle and ring fingers and waved the sign at Jennifer.

“Whatever,” Jennifer said.

“Do it back.”

“We need to go.”

Sosie didn’t give up. She turned it into a robot dance, arms and legs popping and locking, her expression wide-eyed and smiling.

“Don’t do the happy robot dance. You know I’m defenseless against that.”

Sosie quickened her jerky movements until she resembled a robot on speed. Through it all, she kept her hands locked in the same sign until Jennifer finally laughed.

“Okay, okay,” she said, returning the gesture. “I love you, too.”

Sosie stuck out her hand. “Friends?”

Jennifer sighed. She gave Sosie a small, fake punch to the upper arm. “Eventually.”

Sosie nodded. “Fair enough. Someday, you’ll marry this amazing woman and I’ll be your maid of honor.”