“What are you saying? We are not to be at war. I will let you have your little factory when we are married. But first, the weapons.”
“Mmm, not so much, Peacock. I thought of something better. You get framed for killing our girls. We kill you in response. Then we go to war with your country and set up shop without anybody regulatin’ or gettin’ in our hair. Oh, and I get elected president.”
“What … what are you saying, Ladybird? It’s like you are the devil in disguise.”
“Oh, MoMo. We had some swell times. And now, it is time for you to die.”
Ladybird turned a dial on her signature diamond watch. MoMo grimaced and grunted in pain.
“Electrical current. Tucked into the heels of those blue suede shoes I gave you for Christmas,” Ladybird explained.
“Acckkk! Gah!” MoMo’s body twisted into unnatural shapes as he moved around the room. He shook, convulsed, and finally fell to the floor, dead. Ladybird Hope sighed and readjusted her watch.
“Well,” she said, patting her hair. “He always did love to dance.”
Tiara glared at Ladybird. “You’re a D-E-W-S-H.”
Ladybird’s eyebrows knit together in concentration. “Do you mean douche?”
“We never did cover spelling in Smart Class,” Adina said.
Jennifer marched toward the screen. “When The Corporation finds out what you’re doing, they are so going to drop you as a sponsor.”
“Listen, Little Orphan Lezzie, who do you think is puttin’ me in power? The presidency is now a Corporation-run business. And I intend to be Chairman of the Board. I’ve already got what I need — footage of ROC soldiers and an explosion. That’s what America will see on Barry Rex Live in about ten minutes. America will demand justice. I’ll make that justice my campaign promise. There will be T-shirts — made in my factories, of course — to show support. They’ll have your faces on ’em and some neato phrase, like, ‘Because they never got to walk the runway of life.’” Ladybird sighed. “Unfortunately, none of you will be around to watch the show. Can you imagine what a great moment that will be when I, Ladybird Hope, the best Miss Teen Dream who ever lived, appear at the televised memorial and lay a crown on the memorial grave of the beauty queens? I’ll give a speech about how we cannot let your deaths have been in vain, and then, as a final tribute, I will play a moving cello solo. I’ll be back in the game. Shoot, I’ll own the game.”
“This is not a game,” Adina said.
Ladybird stopped filing. “Honey, everything’s a game. There are winners and losers. I am a winner. And you …” Ladybird pushed a button on her remote. Steel doors slammed down, sealing them inside. “… are the losers. Now, I’m real sorry to tell you this, but I’ve rigged the island to blow. See? The detonator is a remote and it’s right here in my God Bless America crystal flag pin. Course, I won’t be selling this particular pin on the Armchair Shopping Network.” Ladybird laughed. She snorted at the end like a corgi. “Oh. But I am giving you a countdown, ’cause that’s classy. Prepare to take your final walk on the runway, Teen Dreams. Rest assured you’ll be more famous in death than you’d ever have been in life. There’s a small comfort in that, isn’t there?”
“No. Not at all,” Adina said.
“Well. With an attitude like that, it’s no wonder you’re in this position.”
A disembodied woman’s voice came over the speaker system. “Commencing countdown to destruction in ten minutes. Nine fifty-nine. Nine fifty-eight. Nine fifty-seven …”
“Oops. Looks like it’s time for me to go on Barry Rex Live and break the news about your deaths to a frightened nation looking for guidance. So long, Teen Dreamers.” Ladybird smiled and waved a stiff hand in a beauty queen salute. “Sorry you won’t go out pretty.”
The screen went dead.
“I am so not voting for her,” Tiara said.
“Nine thirty. Nine twenty-nine. Nine twenty-eight …”
Adina ran to the control panel embedded in a long desk beneath the TV screen. “There has to be some way to turn this thing off, right? Like a-a whatchamacallit… .”
“Off switch! Do-over button!” Miss Ohio said.
“Voice recognition software, maybe,” Shanti said, searching the control panel for some hint.
“One of those palm-reading things?” Jennifer offered. She and Sosie pushed buttons in random sequences, hoping for a detonation-stopping bingo.
