Submitting To The Mafia

Rosalind

Someone's watching me.

My skin burns with the touch of a stranger's gaze, sending shivers skittering down my spine. It's strong enough to stop me mid-step in

the center of the Grand Theater.

The garment bag is heavy on my shoulder, but I turn anyway. Holding my breath, I scan the sea of people around me, either scurrying to get backstage or waiting to take their seats when the doors open.

I don't catch anyone's eye-at least, not that I can see-so I scold myself and force an exhale.

I'm being silly. Just some pre-show nerves, that's all.

Being looked at is part of the pageant world, something I have to start getting used to. Maybe whoever it was thought I was someone else. Or maybe the prickly sensation of someone staring at me is left over from my mom and our endless nomadic life, or even my guilt of running out to get the dress I'd almost forgotten earlier.

"Rosalind, hurry your ass up."

I snap out of it and grin at my best friend, Genius, who's waving at me frantically from the door to the dressing rooms, her blue and purple hair standing out in like a cool breath of reality.

"Come on, Roz!"

"Coming," I mutter, hoisting the bag up so I don't trip. Weaving through the throng of bodies, I manage to find my way over to her.

We hurry to the side door designated for contestants and show our passes to the guard, hulking and intimidating in all black and a pair of sunglasses. He lets us pass without a fuss, and we rush down the hall into our designated dressing room.

Even though there are only a handful of girls left in the competition, the room is bustling with activity, mostly their managers or mothers trying to get them as close to perfection as possible.

Moving to my assigned station, I quickly strip down and wiggle into my pale mauve gown. When I glance in the mirror, I force myself to smile.

It's good. It fits the image I want-demure with a hint of sophistication I don't have.

I mean, I'm twenty-one. I graduated early from college, one I attended online after a life of bouncing from place to place. Forget sophistication. It's a wonder I don't look like a freak.

Then, I notice the fierce frown and crossed arms behind me. I raise my gaze to Genius in the mirror. "What? This is what we decided on," I tell her.

She scowls. "Nuh-uh. You decided. Thankfully, I'm your pageant queen fairy-god-sister from another mister."

She spins on her heel and marches off to a black bag draped over the chair next to us. Picking it up, she unzips it and hands me a sea of red. "Put it on."

"But-"

"Trust me?"

I sigh. Genius and I met on one of my few-and-far-between chaperoned trips to the library. She popped up and asked me if I was a vampire and never left. She stuck with me through untold bumpy rides and… she's my only friend. Real friend. Best friend. "Trust you."

Unzipping me, she pushes the dress off my shoulders and helps me put on the red one.

When I'm secured into the garment, she smooths out the non-existent wrinkles on my ass and stomach before stepping back and admiring me.

Glancing down at the vibrant red silk, the complete opposite of the gown I'd chosen, I hold out my hands. "So? Is this one better?"

"Better is an understatement."

I'm not sure I'd go that far. It's definitely tighter than the mauve one, and that alone makes me more uncomfortable, but that's what doing these pageants are all about for me-stretch my limits. Experience all the things I never got to growing up. Be in the spotlight for once, not hidden away.