The Underdog

She wore a black dress with a pink sash to match her shock of hair, and she was being sponsored by a funeral home.

“Go on down, they’re dying to meet you,” she said when introducing her benefactors, and the crowd laughed at this, our first inside glimpse of a standout girl in a beauty pageant I helped judge this weekend (how could I not accept the invitation to step into such an alien role?).

She wasn’t traditionally pretty. Aside from the dye-job, her skin was pale, her mouth full of silver, her hair rough cut into a short style. She was slim and moved across the stage with her nerves on display, her smile slight and her eyes pinning us, saying, “Don’t you dare laugh at me.” Fearful and proud, frail and strong; she wore these banners across her chest as well. She was intriguing because she was such a contradiction up there on the stage.

Three of us were asked, in the first round, to judge twenty-five girls based solely on beauty and poise, to narrow the field down to five. There were girls with handicaps who struggled to move and speak cleanly, girls who were overweight and those with mouths full of braces. What was beauty, anyway? A girl genetically blessed with an oval-shaped face, big bright eyes, Jolie lips and Monroe curves? And then, despite the fact that we weren’t supposed to judge on anything “other,” we listened to each girl deliver a memorized essay.

Most of the girls got through their speech without any problem, though some stumbled over their tongues, leaving long gaps between regurgitated phrases. And then there was Pinky, who admitted she was terrified, that being onstage and judged by a group of strangers ranked right up there with decapitation on her list of The Top Five Things I Should Avoid at All Cost During My Lifetime. I’m not sure how long her speech lasted, maybe two minutes, but she opened herself up to everyone, let us see the soft inner parts, and then she made us laugh with her. Despite calling herself a geek, “that weird girl who stands in the corner and doesn’t talk to anyone,” nearly everyone cheered when she finished and the somewhat bowed bloom-of-a-girl seemed to stand a little taller for the nourishment.

Of course I scored her highly. She was absolutely a beautiful person. But I was somewhat surprised when she was not only named Miss Congeniality by her teenaged peers but was also listed as one of the top five finalists by all of the judges. I wasn’t the only one who’d fallen!

In a private room with the girls, we judges had the opportunity to ask questions to appraise not only beauty and poise but also personality. Though I was really pleased with the finalists, I was surprised they didn’t all seem anxious to speak, to reveal more than rainbow-colored satin gowns–not even Pinky, who was shaking visibly. I was nervous, too, I told her; still, she shook. She was chronically shy and lacked confidence, she’d said on her application, yet again a kind of inner light shined through whenever she busted past her fear. During our Q&A session, she revealed that she felt most cool while wearing her marching band uniform, still had imaginary friends (though sometimes they left her), loved Harry Potter and admired JKR for her intricate plots and fine balance (I gave her an extra point), and–surprise–she was actually having fun during the interview! She was no longer shaking.

When the girls left the room, we judges deliberated in separate corners. For me, it was down to two girls–the two who’d let us in the most. I gave it to Pinky by a point, but how would the others score?

Fifteen minutes later, we were back in our seats and the girls were back on stage. The fifth runner up was announced, then the fourth and third, and finally the second. It was Pinky who was left standing alone, shock clear on her face, receiving flowers for a Queen. The crowd went crazy, cheering, rising to their feet. I stood too, laughing when Pinky got her crown then rushed off the stage and through the crowd with her hands overhead, her fingers splayed in double Vs for Victory.

The underdog had won it. Not only that, but she seemed to transform herself and the crowd in just a few hours. How often did that happen? How often would I be a part of something so perfectly complete, so offbeat (or should that be off-color?) and so flipping cool?

I had breakfast this morning, a bagel smeared with maple cream–my gift for being a judge–glad that sometimes life turns out sweeter than expected.

Write on, all!

Therese Walsh

Therese Walsh (she/her) co-founded Writer Unboxed in 2006 and is the site’s editorial director. She was the editor of WU’s only book, Author in Progress, and runs the Writer Unboxed UnConference.

Her second novel, The Moon Sisters, received starred reviews and was named one of the best books of the year by Library Journal and Book Riot.

Learn more about Therese on her website, and sign up for her newsletter to be among the first to hear about any new projects.

www.theresewalsh.com/