Chapter Twenty. Kennedy Claire
CHAPTER TWENTY
KENNEDY CLAIRE
“You look beautiful, darling,” Aunt Birdie says, sitting on the edge of her floral-patterned bed.
Kennedy Claire is wearing the thrift store dress she’s altered herself to be her evening wear for Miss Lone Star Princess.
Uncle Richard thinks the pageant is silly.
Kennedy Claire knows it isn’t. She knows it is a stepping stone.
One that comes with scholarships and a walking coach who has trained multiple former Miss Texas winners and even one Miss America.
She combs through Aunt Birdie’s best jewelry in a walnut box on her dresser and selects a silver bracelet.
The metal is cool as water when it drapes across her wrist, and Kennedy Claire twists her forearm to reach the clasp, seeing the way those two bones—the ulna and the radius—rotate together as she does.
She broke her forearm once, when she was seven, raising her arm to block a blow from her stepdad.
She can’t even remember now what he was angry about.
Her mother kicked him out in a flurry of swear words and thrown dishes.
But when he came crawling back, a pathetic slur of apologies and promises and kisses, her mother let him back in.
A pattern Kennedy Claire could set her watch to.
Her arm healed fine. She has pretty arms, in fact, thin and delicate, her skin unblemished.
But she knows from watching Dateline episodes with Aunt Birdie that an autopsy can show whether a bone was ever broken, even if it happened years and years and years before.
So that even when Kennedy Claire is dead, his marks will still be there on her bones.
She gets the clasp hooked, spins the bracelet on her wrist, and examines herself in the mirror.
Behind her, Aunt Birdie’s eyes well with tears. “You’re perfect,” she says.
And she is. She is absolutely perfect. She has done everything within her capabilities to be perfect.
But perfect won’t be enough if the crown is already meant for Ingrid Whitmore. The Whitmore name. The Whitmore smile. The Whitmore mother sitting on the pageant board, the very first Miss Lone Star Princess herself. Iggy has destiny on her side.
Kennedy Claire cares about Iggy—she’s her best friend.
But she doesn’t care about destiny. She doesn’t believe in being powerless against the whims of the universe. Because she is not powerless. Not anymore.
Once upon a time, she was. Powerless, which is just another word for weak. She doesn’t think about that time often anymore—she simply won’t allow it. But when she does think about that time, she hates that weak little girl she was.
Now, things are different. Now, Kennedy Claire can shape her future however she wants.
As long as she’s willing to do whatever it takes.