She walked out anyway. Not a sashay, not a waddle. A walk. One foot after the other. She felt every eye in the audience: the snicker from a group of cheerleaders in the second row, the polite, worried smile of her mother (the former pageant queen who had never quite forgiven the world for giving her a “big-boned” daughter), and the quiet, steady nod from El, who had snuck a bag of barbecue chips into the auditorium.
Dumplin’ looked up at the Texas stars, so close and so far away. She pulled out the kazoo and played one last, squeaky chorus. It echoed off the silent streets of Clover City. Dumplin-
The judge shook her head, a real smile cracking her lipstick. “No. She bought everyone hot dogs from the concession stand and taught them a line dance.” She walked out anyway