novelxo Passenger Princess: Chapter 8
My first official event for Miss Americana is at Atlantic City Boardwalk with the mayor and the Governor of New Jersey.
Yes, the governor.
This is my life now, I suppose.
But this is also the start of one of my oldest daydreams. When I was young, I read an article about someone who traveled the entire continental US in an RV throughout the summer. They went to every state, seeing all the sights and documenting them all the way. As someone who had never traveled outside of New Jersey, taking all of my childhood vacations at the Jersey Shore with my family, someone who daydreamed about adventures and travel, it seemed like the most fantastic thing someone could ever do.
And now, somehow, this pageant I joined as a bit of a joke is allowing that dream to come true.
How fucking cool is that?
“Okay, so next, we’re going to walk over to the oldest restaurant on the Ocean View Boardwalk,” the PR manager for the Miss Americana pageant says, looking to the assistant to the governor, who nods in agreement.
“This way!” she says, waving her hand.
Our crowd begins to walk: Regina is up front with the governor, Anne is walking as close to whatever press she can beg to give her three seconds to gab about herself, and Jaime and I trail toward the back of them. He has dark black sunglasses on, his jaw tight as he stares forward, on the lookout like someone is going to pop out from behind one of the dunes and snatch me away.
“Nice day,” I say, looking at the sun before sliding a pair of brown tortoiseshell glasses down onto my nose, the lenses in a cat-eye heart shape.
“Mmm,” he says, his head never looking toward me as he continues to scan the area as if someone is going to jump out at any moment and try to kidnap me.
I let out a small laugh, pressing on his arm to give him a friendly shove, but he doesn’t even move, not the tiniest sway. “You know you can relax a bit, right? We have security for the Governor of New Jersey up there. If someone was a safety risk, it would be him, not me.”
Jaime’s face doesn’t move to look at me when he speaks. Instead, he stares straight ahead, scanning. “My job,” he says.
“Did you magically forget how to use full sentences when you realized I was your assignment, or do you just hate me?”
“I don’t hate you, I’m just doing my job.”
I roll my eyes again, looking at the blue sky with exhaustion. My mouth opens to say something before my name is called.
“Ava!”
It’s a kid’s voice, and when I turn, a girl, maybe twelve years old, is quickly walking my way with her dad. I slow my steps.
“Ava! I’m a huge fan!”
I turn away from Jaime and the group, moving to the girl with a wide smile.
“I’m so sorry, I told her you were busy,” her dad says, an apology written on his face.
“Goodness, no!” I say. “I’m so happy you stopped me to say hi!”
“I’m a huge fan. You’re so cool! I’ve been watching you since you won the New Jersey pageant! I can’t believe that was your first one!” She’s cute, with wide green eyes and brown curly hair pulled back in a ponytail, a pink T-shirt, and a purple skirt with a pair of white sneakers.
“Oh, god, don’t remind me! Did you see me trip up the steps?” I ask with a self-deprecating laugh because I did trip up the stairs during the New Jersey pageant during the interview section. I laughed it off, making a joke about it to the announcer. Some articles attributed that “real” moment to the start of my becoming the sweetheart, fan favorite of the Miss Americana pageant.
Some have even speculated I did it on purpose, and it’s pretty fucking embarrassing to have to tell people you aren’t nearly as smart as they think you are, just a total klutz.
The girl laughs and nods. “I did, but it made me like you more. I’m pretty clumsy, too.” She lifts a pink cast on her arm, which I hadn’t noticed before, with signatures all over it.
“Clumsy girls are the best girls. We’re having too much fun to worry about silly things like gravity.”
She smiles wide before nodding. “I’m starting dance lessons at First Position next week because of you!” she says.
“No way! Oh, my goodness, you’re going to have so much fun! Make sure you tell Jules I said hi!”
“I will!” She looks at me and then at her dad, suddenly nervous. “Can we get a picture?”
“Only if you let me sign your cast, too,” I say, pulling a Sharpie from my pocket. Giving out signatures has been one of the strangest parts of this new change in my career, but I’m more than happy when it’s for cute girls like this one.
Her eyes go wide before she jumps up, clapping. “Oh my god, my friends will be so jealous!”
I laugh, signing my name to the cast before taking a photo. “Can you send me that photo?” I ask, and her eyes go wide as she nods. I give her dad my email so he can send it.
“Bye!” I say with a wave. “I can’t wait to hear updates from Jules on your dancing!”
“Thank you, really,” the girl’s dad says, genuine appreciation in her eyes. He lowers his voice. “She’s always being made fun of for her clumsiness—she has dyspraxia, and it makes things a bit harder for her. You just made her day.”
My heart warms at his confession. “I’m more than happy. If you ever need anything, you have my email now,” I say with the tip of my chin toward his phone. He gives me a smile, and the two return back to where they were before she ran my way.
Jaime and I make our way back to the group. We’ve almost closed the gap when Jaime initiates a conversation for the first time.
“That wasn’t safe, Ava,” he says, low and irritated, as we reach the back of the pack.
“What?”
“That wasn’t safe. You have no idea if those people had good intentions.”
I stop walking all together and look at him, and he keeps walking until he realizes I’m not following. He turns to me, and there’s five feet between us as I stand with my hands on my hips. His are crossed over his chest, and for a moment, I wonder what we must look like. It has to be a fun sight—a woman in pink wearing a giant tiara glaring at a burly bodyguard wearing all black.
“Jaime, it was a twelve-year-old girl in a cast and her father. In broad daylight. With the governor a couple yards away. I think I was pretty safe.”
“Thinking you’re safe is how people get killed, Ava.”
“God, you’re so dramatic,” I say with an eye roll and start walking. “You said it yourself, this is a glorified babysitting job, right? So there’s no real danger.’
He sighs audibly. “I need you to make my job easy, Ava. Approved people only; if you want to stop, you need to let me know, and I’ll decide if it’s allowed. That’s how we’re both going to get out of this without any major issues.”
“Yeah, I’m not doing that,” I say, flipping my hair over my shoulder to ignore how annoyed I’m getting.
“They could have hurt you.”
I give him a look of irritated disbelief. “You’re joking, right?”
“I don’t joke about safety.”
I stare at him, mouth open, before laughing.
“I don’t see what’s so funny,” he says
“Uh, the fact that you saw a twelve-year-old girl and her dad as some kind of crazy security threat?”
“You don’t know the shit I’ve seen, the way people will fake shit just to get close to someone. Not everything in this world is sunshine and rainbows, Ava. Dangerous people are out there.”
“I’m not an idiot. I know I look all cute and pink and silly, but I do have two brain cells to rub together. I know there’s danger, and believe it or not, I’ve survived twenty-six years without any major issues. I know you’re used to following around mega rockstars, but I’m just a girl who won a contest. Put the crazy away for a bit, use your common sense, and we’ll have a grand time this trip, okay?”
“Ava—”
“No. I’m excited for this trip. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime for me. I won’t let some crazy, overzealous bodyguard ruin that.” I take a deep breath, refusing to let this grumpy fucking man ruin my excitement.
“I know you’re some kind of stoic asshole, and I know you’ve been all over the world, but I haven’t. I’m going to say hello to people. I’m going to hug little girls who tell me they’re inspired by me to start dancing or try their hand at a pageant. Get used to it. Figure out how to work with it—to work with me—because I won’t change who I am just because you have some chaotic idea of what is safe and what’s not. I’ll take common-sense steps to make sure I’m not making your job more difficult, but I need you to do the same.” I stare at him, waiting for a response, but his face remains hard and unmoving.
I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms on my chest. I’m not the kind of girl who backs down. In fact, I’m the kind of girl who fights just for the fuck of it. The kind who will hold onto a grudge just for shits and giggles. Fuck, I won the entire pageant just because Anne was a bitch.
He must see my determination, because eventually he closes his eyes and sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low, almost too low to hear.
I force myself not to smile. “What was that?” His jaw goes tighter, and I lose the battle of the smile.
“I’m sorry.”
I put a hand to my chest and gasp as if he’s shocking me. “The big macho Jaime Wilde apologizing? On day one? Did I break you this early?”
“I’m sorry. I’m being a dick. You don’t deserve that. You’re right; a twelve-year-old girl isn’t a threat, and you’re here to do a job, just like me. We can set up realistic rules that we both agree to. Just…give me some slack because I’m not used to this.”
“This?”
“All of this,” he says, waving his hands at me. “The sass. The stubbornness.”
I stare at him for long moments, trying to decode the sincerity of his words to better understand what he’s saying and what he means, before I decide it doesn’t matter. He’s making the effort, and I should, too, if only to make this tour easier for both of us.
“Okay, okay. Look, let’s make a deal. I’ll do my best not to give you too many heart attacks by going off plan with your crazy, neurotic schedules, and you’ll give me some slack when it comes to being, well, me. Deal?”
He stares at me the same way I stared at him moments before, assessing me behind those dark glasses before, finally, he nods. “Deal.”
A wide smile paints my lips, though it’s not a fake pageant smile; it’s my real one. “Okay, now, big guy, let’s catch up with everyone and eat. I’m starving.” I loop my arm in his and start to walk towards the group, and begrudgingly, he follows. When he tries to disengage himself, I hold on tighter. “Nope. You’re stuck with me,” I say with a wide smile. “You wanted to be glued to my side; now you are. Fish fish, you got your wish.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he grumbles. Still, I don’t miss how he doesn’t continue to fight my hold, instead giving in and shifting to make the grip more comfortable for both of us.
God, this is going to be a fun summer.