Winner of the 2025 Joyce Carol Oates Prize for Fiction

 

​On the Precipice of Something Great

June 1976, one day before a teen beauty pageant in Ohio

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       "A five, six, seven, eight...”

        A rollicking version of “Grand Old Flag,” being played on an out of tune piano, ran through the auditorium. Fifteen young women, all in their late teens, danced around in monochromatic leotards and black character shoes as they rehearsed the introductory dance for tomorrow night’s pageant. Facing them was a vibrantly dressed middle-aged man, the choreographer, who stood in the front row of the velvet, folding auditorium chairs. The door opened and another contestant ran into the room. As she dashed onstage, the choreographer, Frank, shot her a glare. The group sat in silence for a few seconds, then Frank counted off again. As they danced, the cluster broke off into two lines, and everyone twirled off stage. From the wings of the theater, one girl, Suzy, whispered to another, Donna.

        “See that one? No, not her - the one who walked in late. Yeah, her. She has a baby at home. It’s probably the reason she’s late every day - can’t get a babysitter. I see her bagging groceries at Kroger. Joan is her name, I think.”

       “It’s a shame,” replied Donna. “She can’t be any older than eighteen, right? Probably a high school dropout.”

        “I guess,” Suzy said back. “My mom says it’s her fault. She said to me ‘See? That’s why I never let you go out without your older brother. If I let you catch a ride home with a boy, you’ll end up in her position.’”

        “Yeesh,” Donna said, sucking in air. She couldn’t imagine having to raise a kid. Her parents recently switched to generic cereal when the price of Wheaties went up. That’s why this pageant’s $500 cash prize was such a sweet idea: she’d be able to fatten her college savings account. She wasn’t even sure what her major or even her college would be, but this didn’t matter. She would be the first person, male or female, in her family to get a degree. This was her chance to become a career girl – she could worry about kids later.

        As the girls were told to “take five,” they ran to the dressing room to take off their heels and get a drink of water from the dingy fountain. Beige, painted brick walls were covered in makeshift vanities, with metal chairs sat in front of each. The room was rife with noise, as girls vented, laughed, and squealed. Little cliques had already formed by this rehearsal, and certain mirrors had more people crowded around them. Donna and Suzy had already formed an improbable bond; while the women in Donna’s family worked hard for their money, Suzy came from a wealthy family where a woman’s pageant win was her greatest accomplishment. They gossiped together whenever they weren’t busy in rehearsal, and were talking about the dance and the gowns they would wear.

Poor Joan, the latecomer, had only one friend in the competition: the sweet, aspiring dancer Amy, who was busy practicing her routine with the accompanist in the auditorium. Joan sat alone in her little makeup space, as did Phyllis, who was pretty, but stood out too much with her spunky attitude. The girls didn’t want to be associated with anyone who complained, within earshot of the pageant director, that the opening dance felt “demeaning.”

        Phyllis knew that her attitude around pageants (that they were setting back feminism about fifty years) was the main reason that the girls avoided her. After all, who would want to befriend someone setting herself up to lose? This was only part of their hesitance, though. While Phyllis had some potential, her rebellious personality often made people uncomfortable. Many couldn’t place what word could be used to describe someone like this: Radical? Bra-Burner?

        Man-hater perhaps? Of course, Phyllis was the only one in the room who really knew the proper term for a woman like herself. It was a word she rarely heard in the news, never in the movies, and had only seen once in a dictionary in junior high. That word was lesbian. While this was her preferred term for it (she had been called countless derogatory synonyms), this was ultimately the issue that had landed her in the pageant.

        If it weren’t for Wendy, a kindred spirit in Phyllis’ class of 1977, then Phyllis wouldn’t have experienced such milestones as her first kiss, first puppy love, and ultimately, her first heartbreak. The last part occurred a week after Wendy’s mother had walked in on the two young lovers, then screamed at Wendy as Phyllis ran, face flushed, out the door. While Phyllis had gone through agony waiting to hear about the aftermath, Wendy had landed a nice boy from debate club to save face and comfort her mother. While Phyllis was unsurprised, she was still enraged as she figured out her next steps. As long as Wendy’s mother didn’t inform Phyllis’ parents, Phyllis would buy a Greyhound ticket out of town. While she had worked at her local roller rink for years, this cash prize could give her the extra bump she needed to transport herself away and finance an apartment somewhere else. She could escape from her small town to a city, where she could find other free-thinking women like herself, and maybe a real lover.

         Meanwhile, Joyce, a beautiful, well-liked cheerleader, had a loyal crew surrounding the mirror as she discussed her upcoming talent number. The girls didn’t understand why Joyce hadn’t competed before; it seemed like she was the total package. In school she was admired by many of her cohort for her looks, fashion style, and sass. She had attracted the attention of many boys: dumb, smart, athletic, popular, etc. When she wasn’t the object of jealousy, she was one of the most well-liked girls in school. So why hadn’t she competed in pageants before? Secretly, like Phyllis, Joyce found the pageants an embarrassing waste of time. Cheerleading in her eyes was athleticism and true showmanship, but competing primarily for looks felt stupid.

        The problem was, her all-around-perfection had landed the affections of one dim-witted football player, Tommy. While he was an idiot, and Joyce despised making conversation with him, she loved the status their relationship had given her, and he was cute. After a fumbling incident in the back of Tommy’s Chevy three weeks ago, she found herself pregnant. Giving birth was not an option, especially not with drooling, pawing Tommy as the father. The clock was ticking. Thankfully, a neat new court case, Roe V. Wade, with the help of a clinic in the next town over, would solve all her problems. That, and a cash prize of $500, of course.

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        The girls came back onstage after their five-minute break. Amy was just wrapping up work with the pianist. Every part a go-getter, she needed as much practice in her talent as possible; this needed to be perfect. She had been told, by her mother, that pageants were a great place to be recognized for talent. While her mother couldn’t name any famous former contestants that Amy knew, this was still a rare opportunity for Amy to make a name for herself, especially if she won and worked her way up to bigger pageants. She had grown up watching musicals on television, and always knew that this was her calling, on Broadway, or maybe Hollywood.

        Girls were called up, one by one, to run through their talent portion; first was Amy. Jumping onstage, smiling from ear to ear, she performed a dance rendition of “I Feel Pretty” from West Side Story. Every part of the number was perfect, so naturally, multiple girls reacted with jealousy off-stage. “A bit much, don’t you think?” giggled one girl turned to Joyce.

        While Joyce laughed a bit at this remark, she secretly admired that Amy, who was only sixteen, had picked a song that perfectly represented her bright personality. “My turn,” she said with sass as she strutted on stage. She performed a baton routine with a ragtime piano piece. The show’s director, a balding old man sitting in the audience section, smiled as he enjoyed the traditional performance, and the royal blue leotard Joyce was wearing. “Pervert,” she thought as she spun the baton, but she knew what was needed to win this competition. Ironic, she thought, considering that sex got her into this conundrum in the first place.

        Then there was Phyllis. While some of the girls had said “good luck” to Joyce, people gave a weird look to Phyllis as she walked on stage. She carried her guitar on stage, and pretended to ignore them, but as she stepped on stage, she froze, unable to start singing. The director tilted his head with disapproval. “Are you going to perform or not?” he barked at her.

        Phyllis thought of Wendy, Wendy’s mom, her parents, and the daunting prospect of leaving her hometown. Not a word left her mouth. She ran off stage, and walked as fast as her high-heeled feet could take her toward the women’s room.

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        Onstage, Joan was promptly called on to keep the rehearsal moving along. As Phyllis sped off, nearly tripping on the ropes and curtains, she caught Joyce’s attention the most. Phyllis ran into a stall as she vomited, so quickly that she forgot to close the door behind her. Joyce, with time to kill, walked in and stared at her.

        “What’s going on here?” she asked “Ipecac? Or wait, was it a little drink to calm the stage fright?” Phyllis wiped her mouth, and the seat, with toilet paper.

        “Ew, neither. Just good ol’ fashioned nerves.”

        Joyce wasn’t satisfied. “You’ve got to be kidding. Why would you care that much? I thought you thought this whole pageant was ‘demeaning’ or something.”

        Letting her guard down a bit, Phyllis said “I just want to win, ok? I really need that money.”

A look of recognition passed on Joyce’s face, as she looked toward the window. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

        Phyllis found herself surprised by Joyce’s serious reaction. “What would you need money for? You go to the same high school as me, and I’ve seen you walk by with your cheerleader posse. Life looks peachy keen for your crew.”

        Joyce took some umbrage with this statement. “I’m sure this won’t come as a surprise to you, but gorgeous cheerleaders still have problems. Why does it matter what I want to do with the money anyway? What do you want with it?”

         Phyllis stood up and began washing her face in the sink. “I just want to get out of this town. It’s too claustrophobic for my taste.” She dried her hands and headed for the door.

Joyce scoffed. “That’s not it, is it? Lemme guess, you want to run away and start a little lesbian nest with your high school lovebird?”

         Phyllis stopped in genuine shock. She shut the creaky door and turned around, visibly flushed as she was the day Wendy’s mom walked in. She sputtered a jumbled combination of words “Where did you hear that? What are you talking about? Who told you that? It’s not true what they say...”

“Relax. Jesus. I didn’t hear anything,” Joyce interjected. “That Wendy girl? I saw you two spending a lot of time together in the halls, and she started hanging around the library. I never saw her spend time there on purpose until she met you. She was showing up late to practices looking all in love, and in another world. I talk to her sometimes during practice. She’s a sweet girl. I’ve never seen her around any boys, in that way, even though she claimed she knew a boy from another school named ‘Phil.’ Eventually, I put two and two together and realized that it was you putting her in that lovesick daze.” Joyce grinned a teasing smile, as she saw Phyllis’ reaction, and knew that her hypothesis stood.

        Phyllis had forgotten that Wendy was a cheerleader. She felt like she was going to be sick again, as she realized that a pageant girl now knew the full truth. She ran back into the stall, closing the door behind her. “Why would it matter anyway? She’s with a boy now, Richard or something,” she said from behind the door. A true look of pity passed on Joyce’s face, though Phyllis couldn’t see it.

“I get it, OK?” she said, leaning against the stall. “This town can be a stifling, lonely place. Being a cheerleader doesn’t make me your enemy, though. I know there are some mean girls in this competition, but I don’t really feel that way, and I don’t have a problem with your personality or the whole gay thing. My older brother’s a queer, actually. He got out of Ohio and is much happier in San Fran’ now. I do think that you should try to make friends here. I mean, you can’t leave yet. And we’re not all evil. Anyway, come out when you want,” she chuckled. “Of the bathroom, of course.”

        Joyce walked out, and Phyllis was left stunned, still hunched over a toilet.

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        Joan played piano in her rehearsal: a talent that she had perfected after years of accompanying the school choir. Her hands danced around the old piano, and she swayed like a professional. The piece, Clair de Lune, was a popular yet serious song, and everyone remaining backstage, and in the audience, couldn’t help but marvel at her skill.

        As she finished, Suzy walked on stage with nothing but confidence. “Wish me luck,” she said to Donna, but Suzy knew she didn’t need any. The accompanist began playing a movement from swan lake. Suzy, in a tulle skirt and perfectly laced pointe shoes, began her ballet routine. Donna grinned at her backstage, but her smile began to falter as she realized that Suzy truly had a chance of winning. She hid these feelings as she remembered that Suzy didn’t need the prize money, and that she was only competing for tradition’s sake. Suzy’s mother was even a member of the panel that would favor her tomorrow. It’s so unfair, Donna thought secretly.

        Insecurities plagued Donna’s mind as she replaced Suzy on stage. While Donna began to feel feelings of dread creep up during the earlier dance rehearsal, an all-encompassing feeling of despair swept over her body; now, Donna knew that no matter how well she sang she couldn’t beat Suzy. Even though she had rehearsed her rendition of Ave Maria with the school choir teacher for weeks, and poured her soul into every Latin word, she didn’t have the effortless joy that Suzy conveyed in her stage presence. Every one of Suzy’s actions oozed confidence; Donna guessed that Suzy had grown up in an environment where her dancing talents were praised in every parlor and cocktail party. While Donna’s singing was technically great, it could never match the lifetime of support and pampering that ran from Suzy’s perfectly straight back to her perfectly pointed toes. Try as she might, she couldn’t hide this from her face, and as she quickly glanced back at her friend, Suzy began to wonder why Donna didn’t look happy.

        Back in the dressing room, the girls all seemed uneasy, despite their promising talent performances. “You were great out there,” and similar phrases were directed towards Suzy and Joyce, as contestants flocked around the favorites. Donna, however, was distant from Suzy, and hadn’t complimented Suzy’s performance. Despite the praise that Suzy was receiving from other contestants, she only noticed Donna’s cold treatment, as Donna focused on taking her costume off. Instead of asking why she was being cast aside, she instead slid over to Phyllis’ table. “So...” she started, “I heard you snuck off to the bathroom earlier. What happened?”

         Phyllis felt a wave of fear hit her again but worked to hide any sign of being affected. “Just nerves. I’m having a weird day. It won’t ruin my performance tomorrow,” she said, imitating confidence.

        Suzy wasn’t satisfied. “I haven’t seen you do a pageant before. What made you want to compete? I know the prize money is a big motivator for many.” Suzy smiled a bit as she began to sense that she was getting somewhere. Joyce shot a side smile to Phyllis from the opposite side of the room, and Phyllis noticed, shooting a weak smile back. “Just wanted to try my hand at something new,” she said to Suzy.

         Before Suzy could interrogate further, Donna stood up. “What’s wrong with wanting the prize money?” she snapped. “We can’t all be rich little beauty queens with a mommy in the business.”

Suzy, taken aback, thought about this comment, then fired back. “Just because I’m good at ballet and can buy new tights when they get a run doesn’t mean I win for free!” An unintelligible argument erupted between the two of them. Around the room, the girls stared and suppressed smiles as they watched the cat fight. Amy, the most naïve person in the room, was upset watching this exchange. “Why can’t we get along?” she pleaded, as no one responded.

         The posse sitting around Joyce giggled at the fight and burst into peals of laughter as Amy attempted to interject. “Aw poor baby,” one girl said to Joyce. “Maybe the angry queer can console her,” another laughed.

       Joyce looked at the second girl as she made this comment about Phyllis. “Don’t be a bitch,” Joyce said, turning to the commenter briefly, who looked back at Joyce as her jaw dropped.

Another girl pitched in with “why would you care, Joyce? You know who I’m talking about. I’m surprised she hasn’t snuck a peak at me while I was changing.”

        Joyce looked back at her as she rolled her eyes. “Pipe down, you probably aren’t hot enough for her to want to see you naked,” she retaliated, showcasing her trademark sass. The girls all turned on her.

        “What’s gotten into you, Joyce?” another girl asked, “I thought you were fun.”

         Joyce considered this last comment, then decided “maybe I have a different idea of fun, then.” She walked away from the group, feeling overwhelmed and annoyed.

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         Walking out of the cramped dressing room, Joyce opened the door marked “EXIT” that led to the parking lot. She walked down the short concrete staircase and leaned up against the brick, taking a deep sigh. She didn’t notice Joan smoking a pack of Virginia Slims next to her, until the smoke hit her nose.

        “Hello there,” said Joan. She gestured a ‘want one?’ towards Joyce.

        Joyce quickly glanced from the left to the right. “Sure. Thanks.”

         Joan helped light Joyce’s cigarette, and Joyce took an expert drag. Joan hid her surprise at the sight of the beauty queen’s ability to smoke. They sat in silence for a long minute.

         Joyce broke the silence. “So, this is where you disappear to during rehearsals?”

        “Yep,” replied Joan. “When you’ve got two little ankle biters at home and little time to yourself, smoke breaks are a godsend. Of course, I love them and all, but it gets to be a lot. I’d never do it around them or anything; I have a front porch rocking chair that’s comfortable at the end of a long day,” she paused.

         “This pageant has started to feel a bit like my home life. I’m surprised the judges haven’t noticed me duck out of rehearsal yet. I’m sure they’d find it un-ladylike to smoke. Especially when I’m supposed to be practicing my moves,” she said with an exaggerated gesture of her arm.

Joyce chuckled. “I guess what they don’t know can’t hurt them.” Joan has a sense of humor, she thought to herself. “So,” she ventured “what’s it like being a mother? Other than working and taking breaks to smoke?”

         Joan laughed a little at the awkwardness of the question. “Well, it’s new for me. I was in school, probably in the class above you, right before the pregnancy and shotgun wedding. My husband is from a strict Catholic family, and I was urged to get married and move in with him after he told his parents about my predicament. Sometimes I wish that I could have finished school first, but I like the little family I’ve started. And I want the best for my kids,” she took a long drag and slowly blew it back out.

         “Especially my daughter. She’s only two now, but she loves the princess stories I read to her. That was part of the reason I entered this competition. For one, I wanted to show people that I could still accomplish something, even after dropping out and starting a family. I know the other girls talk about me behind my back, but I want them to know that there’s nothing wrong with being a mother. Not that I have a problem with these ERA women, but I like being a ‘housewife,’ and I think we’re capable of doing anything unmarried women can do.” She paused.

        “Then there’s my Barbara. Whatever she chooses to do when she gets older, I want her to know that moms are capable women. I want to show her that mommy is a hard worker, while looking pretty like these princesses she admires. My mom wasn’t around half of the time when I was a kid, and I just want to make my little girl proud.” Joan began to tear up. “I love her so much.”

Joyce handed Joan a handkerchief pulled from her cleavage, and Joan laughed at its sweaty and wadded condition. “Thanks,” she said with a smile.

         As Joan had spoken, Joyce’s admiration for her doubled. She still wanted an abortion, but she understood why Joan lived the way she did. It was hard to imagine feeling the same way, at least right now; Joyce saw that Joan had had an accidental pregnancy just like her, but guessed that Joan loved her husband, and knew that a family was right for her. While the two women would end up pursuing different paths, at that moment, a strange sisterhood was felt by both.

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         After a restless night and a long, nerve-wracking day, the big show had arrived. Girls arrived at the venue hours early to begin applying makeup, and stage mothers arrive to help the girls get ready. Freshly dry-cleaned, floor length gowns were hung up on racks, metal pipes, and door frames, and gave the appearance of curtains. The room smelled of Aqua Net, burnt hair, powdery cosmetics, perfume, and sweat. Monologues were heard throughout, as the girls practiced their speeches for the judging panel. Donna and Suzy sat down next to each other out of instinct, even though they hadn’t resolved their argument. Suzy’s mother, in heavy makeup and a new dress, scolded Suzy for washing her hair an hour ago, as it now wouldn’t hold a curl. Donna’s mother, wearing a tattered apron from her salon job, expressed frustration as Donna blinked right after mascara was applied. Both girls turned to the other, rolling their eyes and smiling as their mothers fussed over their respective daughters’ appearances. Behind them,

        Amy’s mom had botched her makeup, so Joan, a self-taught makeup artist, worked the blush brush as she touched up Amy’s face.

        “How are you feeling about tonight, Joan?” asked Amy, beaming.

        “I feel good about my talent, and I think I look damn good,” she said with a smile and gesture toward her visage. “The only problem is, I had to lie about being married with kids. Of course, all the girls already know. I just hope the judges don’t say anything. The curse of living in this tiny area.”

        Amy’s face dropped at the thought of her friend’s potential disqualification. “I hope you get to compete. You worked so hard.” Amy’s eyes became glassy, and Joan immediately noticed.

        “Hey, hey, don’t ruin that mascara, it took me a minute,” said Joan, scolding Amy the same way she would Barbara. “I’m proud of the work I’ve put in, and my family is here in the audience to support me. That’s good enough. Besides, you should focus on your West Side number, kid,” and she began to sing an operatic version of the song, making Amy’s tears turn into laughter.

 

 

        In their dance outfits, the young women performed the “Grand Old Flag” dance number, with the cheesy vigor required of the song. The patriotic audience of parents, grandparents, and great grandparents erupted into applause; the contestants scurried offstage as the curtain fell.

        The night proceeded exactly like the dress rehearsal the day before. Despite nerves and individual pressures, each girl performed without any serious malfunctions. The biggest difference, however, was in Phyllis’ performance. At the end of the prior night’s dress rehearsal, she had gathered herself, with Joyce’s encouragement, and apologized to the director. She had showed him the performance on stage to prove that she was capable of wowing.

        Now, with renewed passion and open support from Joyce, who no longer had a group of loyal fans, Phyllis stepped out with her guitar and performed Janis Ian’s song “At Seventeen.” Once again, she paused at the beginning, and Joyce held her breath backstage. Then, Phyllis began singing, with a voice more melodic and soothing than anyone could have anticipated.

        When choosing the song, she hoped that the audience wouldn’t read too deeply into the song choice. It was true, that like the lyricist, Phyllis had “learned the truth at seventeen, that love was meant for beauty queens.” Even though these words went against everything the pageant represented, Phyllis couldn’t help but feel that she was performing the truth and smiled at the thought that she had taken a dig at this whole system.

         Thankfully, the audience appreciated the sincerity of Phyllis and her guitar. They must not have thought about the song’s themes, as they erupted into applause as soon as she finished performing. As she walked off, Joan, waiting to go on next, smiled at Phyllis. With the full sincerity that her old soul afforded, she whispered to Phyllis. “That was beautiful. Well done.” This compliment relaxed Phyllis,’ and she replied, “break a leg,” back to Joan.

          During the final deliberations, before they would be called back onstage, the girls sat in metal folding chairs in the hallway while others leaned up against the brick wall. Amy sat with Joan, as they talked about the fun they had competing. “I think I saw your daughter in the audience with your husband when you played,” said Amy.

       “Really?” Joan asked back.

        “Yeah,” said Amy. “Your man was holding her, and she was almost jumping out of her seat with excitement. She was smiling so wide I thought it was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

        Whether this was true or not, it was Joan’s turn to start tearing up, and Amy hugged her this time. Hearts pounded, and nearly every hand was clutched in another. Joyce stood next to Phyllis and grabbed her sweaty palm.

        “I don’t mean anything by this, you know,” she said to Phyllis.

         “Why would it mean anything, miss cheerleader?” she replied. Both laughed lightly, while other girls glanced at them with confusion.

         Suzy worried that her mother might chastise her if she failed. Donna sensed this and reacted with an outreached hand. While Suzy struggled to admit her faults, she accepted Donna’s gesture. The contestants realized that anyone had a chance of winning the competition. While Suzy had a nepotism advantage, and Joan a possible disadvantage, beauty shined from everyone. Worries danced around in each head, as they remembered the importance of this prize money.

         In the years that followed, these ladies would become girlfriends, wives, and mothers. Some would become women’s rights activists or business owners, and others would choose to be Reaganite homemakers or PTA parents. In this moment, none of this mattered. $500 wouldn’t change the trajectory of their lives as much as they believed. Whether they knew this or not, excitement, anxiety, and joy were felt by all. Time stood still on this June day in 1976 as each girl hoped for the best: they were all young women on the precipice of something great.

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