Wilt by Brooke Harper EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Author: Brooke Harper
- Language: English
- Formats: PDF / EPUB
- Status: Available For Free Download
- Series: None
- Price: Free
- File Size: 2 MB
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?”
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