“Was I talking to you?” Amber asked. “I don’t have any whale watching shows planned.”
“Fat jokes,” Midnight said. “There’s that cutting wit again.”
Amber’s eyes widened guiltily, and she scurried away.
“Bitch.” Midnight muttered. “Like she might beat Miranda?”
As if conjured by Midnight’s use of her name, a small commotion did break out in the meeting room on the other side of the accordion partition that Miranda Wright was using as her dressing room. When they heard her cry, “What the fuck?!” Raima sauntered over.
“I said the very same thing,” she said.
Miranda whirled around at the sound of Raima’s voice in the hall. “She did this to you, too?” Miranda asked, letting unfestive confetti shreds of yellow silk fall to the floor.
“Well, someone did,” Raima said, eyes wide with pretend innocence. “Two contestants have their dresses cut to shreds and the third, who sucks, is ready for the stage. It’s kind of a mystery, what could have happened.”