Sour Grapes

stage with the bearing of a queen, she wished that Gran were there to see her. She would have been busting with pride.
    “Your sister looks lovely tonight,” Ryan said. He stood at her shoulder, watching, as she was, from the sidelines. “I’ve seen you wear that color... sapphire blue, isn’t it? It complements your eyes and hers, too.” Savannah batted her lashes at him. “Why, sir... I didn’t think you’d noticed.”
    “Of course I’ve noticed. John and I were just saying the other day how beautiful you looked the last time we took you to dinner at Chez Antoine.”
    “You’re only saying that because you’re ‘safe,’ immune to my feminine wiles. Straight guys never say cool things like that.”
    “Some do. Just not that barbarian you spend most of your time with.”
    “No, but I like him anyway.”
    Ryan laughed. “I understand.”
    “You do?”
    “No, but I’ll take your word for it.”
    They watched a while longer as the remainder of the contestants made their appearances. The number of participants had dwindled since the noon swimsuit showing. Some of the parents had gotten wind of Barbie Matthews’s demise and had come to collect their daughters. A few of the girls had been frightened and eager to leave, but most chose to remain and finish the competition.
    Savannah’s threats to send Atlanta packing had fallen by the wayside. Everyone seemed convinced that Barbie’s bad luck had been of her own making and was unlikely to be repeated with anyone else.
    Except Francie.
    Savannah had been keeping a close eye on her, and the girl seemed just as troubled and nervous as she had that morning, maybe more. She tripped on the hem of her gown while walking up onto the stage, and when it was her turn to speak a few words at the microphone, she stammered and choked on her own words.
    “I wish I’d been able to get her to open up to me,” she told Ryan. “I’m sure she knows exactly what happened to Barbie and why. But she’s too scared to talk.”
    “I know. I tried, too, but she was terrified to even have anyone see her speaking to me.”
    “Did you hear from John? Did he check her out?”
    “Yes, he says she’s had it rough, been in and out of foster homes her entire life, through no fault of her own. She’s a good kid, no drugs, no record, very good grades. She’s living at home now. Apparently, mom’s got it together for the moment. Her last foster parents want to adopt her.”
    “Why don’t they?”
    “There’s some problem with the mom giving up complete custody. Dad isn’t on the scene.”
    “Any brothers or sisters?”
    Ryan gave her a quizzical look. “Yes, I thought you knew.”
    “Knew what?”
    “She’s Trent’s sister.”
    “Trent Gorton? The east end boy that Barbie dated?” ‘The very one. That’s how Trent and Barbie met. He was dropping his sister off at a pageant.”
    Savannah thought that one over as Mrs. Lippincott went to the microphone, thanked everyone for coming, and wished them a safe trip home.
    Trent’s sister, huh?
    Now, that was a horse of a different feather.

    Back in her room for the night, Savannah took a two-minute shower—a cleaning that Gran would have called, “a lick and a promise.”
    She didn’t want to waste a moment on bathing that could be spent sleeping. Having agreed to meet Ryan for breakfast at 7:00 A.M., she was already dreading the prospect of hauling her weary bones out of bed. It would come all too soon.
    Besides, Atlanta was pacing in the bedroom, impatient to begin her “beauty bath,” which she said would include special moisturizers and exfoliates, the mixture being her own carefully guarded secret
    She had halfheartedly apologized to Savannah for refusing to share her “fountain of youth,” until Savannah told her bluntly, “‘Lanta, don’t take this wrong, but I don’t give a tinker’s damn about beauty treatments right now. I don’t have to look good to catch bad guys. Just don’t stand between me and the shower or the bed.”
    In less than five minutes she had completed all the minimalist toiletries and was blissfully horizontal. And ninety seconds later, she was drifting in a pea green, dreamland boat with Winken, Blinken, and Nod.
    But then, a bony hand reached out and rocked the boat. It was the Wicked Witch of the East... or was she from the South? She had a really heavy Southern accent and—
    “Savannah, wake up.”
    “No, go away.”
    “Really, Van, wake up,” Witchy Poo said.