Pretty Ugly: A Novel by Kirker Butler

there would need to be a good reason, and since there was no good reason—at least not one Miranda would accept—Bailey devised a plan: She would compete for one more season, never complaining and never giving her mother reason to suspect she was unhappy. Meanwhile, she would try to gain so much weight that in the end Miranda would be begging her to retire. Bailey knew her mother couldn’t stand fat girls in pageants, and she was more than happy to sabotage her own body as long as it took her career down with it. It had been a difficult year, especially after Miranda started monitoring her food and making her work out like Madonna. But if pageants had taught her anything, it was patience and determination.
    After twelve months of surreptitious binge eating, it looked as if Bailey’s plan was going to work. She was getting too big to win her age division, and Miranda would either have to let her quit or live with the shame of having a fat pageant daughter. But desperation breeds creativity, and what was more creative (or desperate) than cheating?
    “Mom, I think this is a bad idea,” Bailey said again, protesting her mother’s birthdate scheme. “Everyone knows how old I am. These moms know more about their competition than they do their own husbands.”
    “You’re just being dramatic,” Miranda said dismissively.
    “886-98-0093.”
    “What is that?”
    “Starr’s Social Security number. Please don’t do this.”
    But Miranda would not listen. So Bailey dropped it. She’d once spent six months dancing to Tom Jones’ “What’s New, Pussycat?” while dressed as a cat princess. At this point she was immune to embarrassment. It was just one more part of her life that was out of her control.
    The ice machine was tucked away in a dimly lit alcove by the emergency exit. When her bucket was full, Bailey fed the stolen dollar into the adjacent vending machine and freed a Baby Ruth from its corkscrew restraint. It landed with a satisfying thud. Tearing off the wrapper, Bailey devoured the candy in three quick bites. Retrieving her change, she found a small treasure in the form of an extra seventy-five cents forgotten by a traveling businessman.
    “Sweet,” Bailey said, her tongue thick with chocolate and caramel.
    Staring at the drink machine, she considered her options, then selected a Mountain Dew, something she’d never tried but had heard good things about. She popped open the can and drained it in one stretch. The belch was deep and resonant, and Bailey smiled for the first time all weekend. In the last two minutes she had consumed more calories than Miranda allowed her in a day. It felt like Christmas. Stashing the candy wrapper and soda can in a nearby housekeeping cart, she skipped happily back to her room, ice bucket in tow, feeling more alive than she had in weeks.
    *   *   *
    Miranda, meanwhile, stood in front of the bathroom mirror rubbing hemorrhoid cream under her red, swollen eyes. It was a trick she picked up from a veteran pageant mom.
    “That stuff was made to reduce swollen tissue,” she’d said. “How does it know if the tissue is on your face or your butt?”
    Wise people fascinated her.
    Miranda inhaled deeply and watched the door, wondering what was taking Bailey so long. Her stomach burned. Brixton had been up all night tossing and turning, trying to soothe her mother’s tears, and Miranda was sick about it.
    “My happiness isn’t your responsibility, sweetheart,” Miranda whispered as she rubbed her belly. “Your job is just to be beautiful and perfect.”
    Having her daughter’s future mapped out made pregnancy so much more enjoyable. Bailey and J.J. had both been dream pregnancies despite their respective thirty-five and forty-two hours of labor. Junior, on the other hand, had been a demon fetus. Miranda spent every morning of the first trimester spewing vomit and curse words into the toilet. She lost six pounds, which she couldn’t even enjoy because the rest of her