Sour Grapes

that time, voluptuous curves were “in.” And she was basically curveless, until the hormones kicked in... about tenth grade. Suddenly, those distinctly feminine attributes appeared, burgeoning forth with a vengeance. And for about a week, Savannah had been hot stuff on campus.
    But then, suddenly, “stacked” was “out” and models in miniskirts with figures similar to those of prepubescent boys were “in.”
    In one week, Savannah had gone from Beanpole to Major Babe to Fatso.
    Life sucked.
    But she had learned a valuable lesson: You can’t rate yourself by society’s fickle standards.
    She had decided, then and there, to love her flesh... every gorgeous, soft, feminine inch and ounce of it. And, with all her heart, she wished she could give that precious gift of self-love to every young woman in the room. Unfortunately, it wasn’t something you could transfuse.
    Clicking back into professional-bodyguard mode, she surveyed the room again, looking specifically for Barbie Matthews. But she didn’t see her. Apparently the girl hadn’t come down yet. Her friend, Francie, had taken a seat at Atlanta’s table, and there was an empty chair beside her. Savannah assumed she was saving it for Barbie.
    The girl still looked worried and preoccupied, not joining in the lively conversation at the table.
    The welcoming speeches had begun with Mrs. Lippincott onstage, introducing the various luminaries in their midst. Savannah watched her with interest, noting her expertise and ease at the microphone. If beauty-pageant experience imparted this sort of social grace to its participants, perhaps it could be a positive thing for the contestants after all. Such skills would be useful in many of life’s venues.
    If only Savannah could get over the unpleasant feeling that these girls were being evaluated on the sum of their external parts, rather than the intrinsic value of their souls.
    When Mrs. Lippincott began to introduce the girls, and they filed across this stage, one by one, speaking a quick hello into the microphone, Savannah’s uneasiness increased. Across the audience, she saw expressions on some of the men’s faces that reflected genuine appreciation for the girls’ youthful beauty, and even some worshipful adoration.
    That was all fine and good.
    What she didn’t like were the eyes that racked up and down each girl, while their owners engaged in their own little private, out-of-body experiences... fantasies that probably would have offended, if not horrified, the girls on the stage. And most of those wearing that sort of look were old enough to be the girls’ fathers... in some cases, their grandfathers.
    One of the worst offenders was the guy that Ryan had warned her about earlier, one of the judges, Frank Addison. Sitting at a front table, he had an excellent view, which he was taking full advantage of.
    When Atlanta’s name was called, and she glided across the stage to speak her “hello” into the microphone, Savannah couldn’t help noticing the lecherous attention he was paying to her baby sister.
    “Roll up that tongue of yours and stick it back in your mouth, you old perv,” she whispered. “And screw your eyes back into their sockets while you’re at it.”
    When Atlanta left the stage, instead of returning to her table, she exited the room by way of a side door. Savannah had seen a number of the girls coming in and out through that door. It appeared to be the shortest route to the ladies’ room.
    Alarm bells went off in her head as she watched Frank Addison rise from his seat and stroll nonchalantly through the same door behind Atlanta. It took Savannah only a few seconds to get across the room and out the door.
    “Oh, no you don’t,” she muttered as she followed him, rapidly closing the distance. “Don’t you even think about what you’re thinking about... not with any of my girls, you peckerhead, and especially not with that one!”

    Barbie Matthews knew with more certainty than she had ever known anything before, that she was about to be murdered; the only question remaining was, “How?” She had done everything she had been told to do. She had allowed her hands to be taped so tightly that her fingers had almost immediately gone numb. She had submitted to having a wide piece of the silver tape stretched across her mouth, which itched terribly and tore her lips, besides making it difficult for her to breathe. She could taste her own stomach juices, bitter in her mouth, and she