Dumplin': Chapters 50-61

“Wait till you hear about my pageant-dress fiasco. I hope y’all are having better luck,” I say.

Amanda covers her mouth, stifling her own laughter.

“I forged my mother’s signature.”

Sure, we’d been heckled a few times, but once that paper goes to print, there’s no turning back.

“Millie invited you over here to her home and all you’ve done since I walked in is stick your face in your phone and brood.”

Every little mauve detail matches, including the house-shaped shelf that holds spare toilet paper.

“No, and this is where they like to stump you.”

Her mom, with hair tall enough to hold a few family secrets, stands with eyes brimming like she might cry or something.

She stands in front of the fridge, the white light turning her into a silhouette.

I bet Millie’s mom isn’t too thrilled by the idea of beer in the house, so technically we’re doing Mr. and Mrs. Michalchuk a favor.

“I wanted to sabotage this pageant from the inside out. That was the only reason I entered. I wouldn’t be the girl with buckteeth. I’d be that girl who ruined the whole pageant.”

She’s the head honcho. The lady calling the shots. All she has to say is yes.

The soles are signed in her big loopy signature, proving their authenticity.

The front doorbell rings, interrupting my inner rant.

You don’t deserve to win anything or be in any pageant until you make the effort and do the work. Maybe fat girls or girls with limps or girls with big teeth don’t usually win beauty pageants. Maybe that’s not the norm. But the only way to change that is to be present. We can’t expect the same things these other girls do until we demand it.

“Her parents found out about the pageant,” she says with nonchalance.

I don’t know that this would earn me any good karma.

The extra day is spent in interviews and grueling dress rehearsals.

His hair is always perfectly coiffed and his jeans are a smidge tighter than a tourniquet.

He is the stereotype Dr. Mendez’s Bostadelphian parents warned him about.

She begins to scratch something down on her score sheet. “And then, once I had a nice chunk, I’d donate it to charity. Or use it to buy a holiday meal for a family in need.” Creativity? Check. Savvy? Check. Selflessness? Check.

She begins to scratch something down on her score sheet. “And then, once I had a nice chunk, I’d donate it to charity. Or use it to buy a holiday meal for a family in need.” Creativity? Check. Savvy? Check. Selflessness? Check.

I think that my whole world has cracked into all these little pieces, and the only way I can go about fixing it is one shard at a time.

She plops down in the chair next to me, and licks her thumb as she tries to rub off a barbecue stain on the lapel of her blazer.

I find my name on a piece of paper taped to a small stretch of mirror. Except over my name in black marker in all caps is DUMPLIN’. Scrawled in a hurry like someone had to say my name and couldn’t resist.

I’m actively trying not to look smug, but it’s not easy.

“Let’s take this out into the foyer.”

Her mother flinches at the word, and discreetly wipes away a tear.

Standing here from this exact vantage point, my entire house feels new with possibilities.

I push the plastic cover up and hold the dress out by its hem, studying the sheen of the fabric.

But she’s all confidence in her green two-piece and espadrilles.

Really, the criteria is simple.

“You’re disqualified,” she says.

The zipper doesn’t strain nearly as much as it did the last time, but it’s just not—“Mom, this is as far as I can get it,” I say with finality.

Sometimes figuring out who you are means understanding that we are a mosaic of experiences.

We sashay down the ramp to the front of the stage.

My mom’s mouth hangs agape, but then curves into a faint smile.

Her escort, Courtney, who I’m guessing is from out of town because I’ve never seen her before, wears her blond hair slicked back into a neat bun. It complements her fitted tux nicely.

Once Courtney’s out of earshot, Ellen guffaws and slaps Hannah on the back.

I watch the Q&A session as some girls surprise me with almost profound answers, while others stumble over their words.