Chapter Fifty-Eight. Sarah Lynn
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
SARAH LYNN
Hannah, Olivia, and I are in the dressing room. Tomorrow is the big day, so today’s about staking out territory. Olivia hangs her garment bag on the rack with the others. Hannah riffles through her makeup bag, and I clear space on the long vanity for my case, which I’ll keep locked until morning.
“I think I’m going to puke,” Hannah says, looking into the mirror and arranging her curls. She’s been looking a little pale this morning, and maybe the reality of stepping onto a stage in front of a crowd is catching up to her.
Olivia is still fiddling with her dress, but her eyes keep flicking to the open door, watching moms and contestants drift past.
“Hannah, you walked out naked in front of half the school,” I say. “I think you can walk in a dress in front of some old church ladies.”
She smirks.
I line up my curling iron and comb on the table. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Olivia, still acting cagey. She hasn’t met my eyes once today.
Maybe she’s still thinking about what Cat said—about Mom and the scaffolding. I’ve tried not to think about it myself, but every time I replay the crash, the way the metal buckled and the lights swung, a chill crawls up my spine.
In the car ride home, Mom let out a long breath through her nose. What a mess, she said.
I’m just glad Olivia’s okay, I told her.
We’ll figure something out, she said.
And I wasn’t sure whether she’d heard me. Whether she meant she would figure out how to get the scaffolding back up in time for the pageant. Or if she’d meant that as a response. That she would figure out another solution to our Olivia problem.
And I didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to think about what my mother was willing to do. What she might have done before.
So I turned my face to the window, watched the Sherman land slip away, the bulldozers, the mountains of overturned earth, and the crime scene tape that wound its way around The Hollow.
“Hey, Liv,” I say now. “You okay?”
She turns to me and blurts, “My mom has videos of us at The Hollow.”
I freeze. “What do you mean, videos?”
“Like, from a security camera or something. She was watching them last night.” Olivia’s voice drops lower with each word. “Videos of us.”
Hannah’s lip gloss pauses mid-swipe. “Are you serious?”
My pulse spikes. “Those cannot exist.”
Olivia flinches. “I know—”
“I mean, whatever,” Hannah says, sliding the gloss again. “Our parents already know.”
“No, you don’t get it.” Mom’s warnings echo in my head: Don’t send boys racy pictures unless you want them printed out and taped to every locker.
Don’t post anything online unless you’re okay with the entire pageant board watching it together in a room.
I fumble for my phone like I can somehow erase it all myself.
“If anything ever ends up on the internet, it’s there forever.
Forever. That’s like … rule number one.”
“Shit,” Hannah says, chewing her bottom lip.
“This is how celebrity careers die.” I’m up now, pacing a circle between the chairs. “One leaked picture. One stupid video. Next thing you know, your face is a meme.” I picture Mom in the dark kitchen, her back to me, her silence like a pillow pressed over my face.
I replay the tequila shots, the joint to my lips, the three of us stepping naked from the woods. Mr. Magnuson leaning against his truck, parked in the shadow of trees.
The girls are looking at me, worry clear on their faces. Hannah winds one curl tightly around her finger. Olivia hides her face in her knuckles. I meet my own eyes in the mirror, lift my chin the way I’ve been trained.
“We’re getting rid of those videos,” I say, rolling my shoulders back, letting the worry fall away. If my mother taught me anything, it’s how to follow through with a plan.