Read The Rites and Wrongs of Janice Wills for Free Online

Leaders
never
avoid possible targets.”
    Margo shrugged. “Weird,” she said.
    “No,
totally
weird,” I said. “I fully explored the aggressively friendly nature of the FreshLife Leader in ‘Margaret Mead, Melva, and Me,’ and my scientific conclusion was that they never miss an opportunity to proselytize.”
    Margo shrugged again. “Come on,” she said. “I’m too restless to sit here. Let’s walk around outside.”
    We walked to Melva’s uptown, which features the old court square — our one, sad point of pride. The outskirts of Melva, the part of town along the highway, can be depressing — the fractured stoplights, the Kmart, an ugly hunk of mall, too many all-you-can-eat restaurants, and the ever-crowded Alston-Henry Barbecue. Of course, then you drive uptown, and things get a bit snobbier, or classier — depending on your view. There’s the old banker’s house, the M. Scott Werther mansion — one of the big, restored Victorian relics of the days when Margo’s recent ancestors dominated state politics. Manicured women power walk their fluffy dogs by those graceful old porches and cupolas. The shops surrounding the court square sell handcrafted beaded jewelry from Charleston, sleek silver pens, and monogrammed linens from an Atlanta boutique. Two upscale restaurants with fresh flowers on every table serve sweet tea in cool blue glasses and herbed sweet potatoes. In this part of Melva, an old name is worth more than any amount of money — which is good, because recently, money has been in short supply.
    For the majority of Melva, the two things that hold the most importance are 1) biscuits and 2) Wednesday night church supper. Trucks might be number three. Wrestling and high school football four and five. In other words, Melva is a town of biscuit-eating sports enthusiasts who smile, pray, and sing the national anthem while the town seems to be crumbling under everyone’s feet.
    “This court square’s gotten to be so cheesy,” I said, pointing to Kassie’s Kozy Korner: A Kidz Shop! This is what passed for cuteness in Melva: alliterative misspellings.
    “As opposed to?” Margo asked.
    “I dunno,” I said. “As opposed to nothing. I’m just sick of how nobody cares about anything outside of this place. No one has any interest in the world outside Melva. Everyone thinks Melva
is
the world.” I gestured to the Confederate War Memorial plaque in the square. “That,” I said. “That’s the world. That’s the extent of what anyone knows here. It’s the court square and Miss Livermush and that’s it. The end.”
    “But it gives you something to study, right?” Margo asked. “As an anthropologist?”
    “Yeah,” I said. “Nincompoops engaged in nincompoopery.” But then I saw TR’s wickedly pretty face smiling in my mind and had a flash of inspiration — the entire plan. It was too perfect. The surest way to get into
Current Anthropology
yet.
    “I’ve got it!” I said, feeling my heart begin to pound a little more strongly. “You know what I have to do? I have to
enter
Miss Livermush after all.”
    Margo looked askance at me. “What? Seriously? Your mom’s gonna weep with joy,” she said. “But why the sudden change of heart?”
    “I’ve got to see the pageant
from the inside
. I need to experience the perspective of an actual participant!” I practically yelped. “It’s regional, it’s quirky, it’s perfect! Don’t worry — I’m still gonna help you take down TR, but this is how I’m going to get my real material!”
    It would be so easy: I could take notes on pageant preparations, read some Livermush Festival history for context, and then just observe. Now that I stopped to think about it, the whole thing was a research bonanza. This was my ticket into
Current Anthropology
.
    Margo raised her eyebrows, then gave me a thumbs-up. “Yes!” she said. “It’ll be so much better to have company!”
    “Now,” I said. “I was gonna tell you this earlier. Guess who