“Why are you so nervous?” “I’m not.” I didn’t look at Parker as I answered, keeping my eyes locked firmly on the road ahead. “You look more nervous than a beauty queen who’s waiting for the judges to announce the winner of the pageant.” I rolled my eyes. Mom had been watching some Miss World-style pageant on TV last night, and although Parker had complained about it, he’d clearly been paying attention. “I must not look nervous at all then,” I replied. “Those beauty queens are masters of composure.” “I never said you were a good beauty queen.”
