Chapter 1
Chapter One
June
Present Day
“Hey, Peeps! Welcome, welcome, welcome! If you’re new here, I’m June, and today we’re doing a full Valentine’s Day glam look using only drugstore products that you can grab at any big box store for under twenty dollars.
” I flash my biggest smile at the camera and hold up the pink sparkly basket I spent an hour arranging this morning.
“That’s right, babes. We’re proving that you don’t have to break the bank to look Date Night ready. ”
The comments are already flying in.
LipstickQween: YASSS QUEEN
MakeupMaven007: My bank account thanks you
Sarah584742: I’ve got a hot date tonight, so this is perfect!
I glance at my computer screen that’s sitting out of view. My ring light is hitting just right—the halo glow bouncing off my cheekbones and catching the shimmer I applied before going live.
I spent twenty minutes adjusting the angle before I started. I need my videos to be perfect, and the lighting can make or break a tutorial.
My content has been trending on Tokker for four consecutive weeks. Four down, eight to go. If I can keep this momentum rolling, I’ll win the Beauty Trend Setter Award—a shiny metal plaque and a five-thousand-dollar cash prize that Tokker gives to creators who trend twelve weeks in a row.
Five thousand dollars.
Do you know what I could do with five thousand dollars?
Pay three months of rent, replace the filming equipment I’ve been duct-taping together since November, and maybe, it’s a big maybe, buy myself a real Louis Vuitton handbag instead of the knockoff I got in Destin that’s already peeling on the handles.
“Okay, first up,” I say, plucking a tube from the basket, “this concealer. Three dollars and seventy-nine cents at Super Mart, and I am telling you, it gives the high-end brands a run for their money.” I dot it under my eyes, blending with my fingertip.
“See that? Bye-bye, dark circles. Bye-bye, evidence that I stayed up until two a.m. binge-watching the final season of Stranger Things.”
WyldChyld: You’re so pretty!
GothicGurl: I literally just added that concealer to my cart
Kristy123: Do you have a date for V-Day, June??
My stomach does a little dip, and I almost fumble the concealer tube. I recover fast—years of being on camera have taught me how to mask a flinch with a hair toss.
“A date?” I laugh, waving a hand like the idea is hilarious. “Girl, the only date I have is with Moo,” I point over my shoulder where my fat cat is snoozing in the windowsill. “—and a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.”
The comments erupt with laughing emojis and solidarity.
MakeupMaven007: Men are temporary. Lipstick is forever.
WyldChyld: SINGLE QUEENS UNITE
I point at my camera. “That’s right, girl!” I keep the smile plastered in place, but the truth coils tight behind my ribs.
I don’t do dates.
I don’t do boyfriends.
I don’t want anything to do with men, period.
Men leave.
That’s what they do. They promise you the moon, make you feel safe, call you their little Junebug, and then on a random Tuesday afternoon, you come home from school and they’re gone.
No note. No explanation from your mom, other than it’s your fault. Just gone, like you were never enough of a reason to stay.
I was twelve when my father walked out.
I bite my bottom lip, catching myself, and release it before the camera picks it up.
“Anyway.” I dip my brush into the palette and bring it to my lid, sweeping the shimmery rose gold across the skin. “Let’s talk about this color, because oh my gosh, you guys. For six dollars? This pigment is unreal.”
I power through the rest of the tutorial, layering blush and highlighter, and a gorgeous dusty mauve lip that I know will sell out the second I post the link. By the time I’m done, my face looks like I’m ready for a night out with the girls, and the viewer count has climbed past twelve thousand.
“And that, my friends, is a full glam look for under twenty dollars.” I turn my head side to side so the camera catches every angle.
“If you try this look, tag me so I can see your gorgeous faces. Don’t forget to hit that follow button and share this with someone who needs it.
Love you lots like tater tots!! Bye!” I blow a kiss, flash a peace sign, and end the stream.
The second the red recording light goes dark, I let out a long breath and slouch back in my chair.
Eight more weeks.
I got this.
Scooping up my phone, I scroll through the post-stream analytics, watching the numbers climb. Shares are up. Engagement is up. Sponsors are going to love this.
A notification pops up at the top of my screen.
New message from user:3718406
My thumb hovers over it and I bite my lip. I don’t recognize the handle, but that’s not unusual. I get dozens of DMs a day from followers wanting product recommendations or just saying hi. It’s part of the gig—the connection, the community. It’s what I love most about what I do.
I tap it open.
You looked so pretty in the sunlight this morning. The way it came through your window and hit your hair. Like gold. I couldn’t look away.
“What the hell?”
I read it again. Then once more, slower. “The way it came through my window?”
My eyes slice to the windows across my loft—both wide open, curtains pulled back to let in the natural light I need for filming.
Outside my window are buildings, and behind that is the ocean. Literally anyone walking by could have seen inside my apartment.
I’m on my feet in a flash, my chair rolling backward and hitting my filming desk.
I cross the apartment in hurried strides, yanking the curtains closed on the first window so hard the rings screech against the rod.
Then the second. The loft goes dark except for the fairy lights strung along the ceiling.
The hair on my arms is standing on end.
This is the third creepy message that I’ve gotten.
The first one came two weeks ago. I wrote it off as an oddball fan being weird. I missed your live today and hate myself for it. You work so hard, and I let you down.
A little creepy? Sure, but the internet is full of creeps, and I’ve learned to shake it off.
The second one came four days later. I think about you all the time. I feel so connected to you.
That one made my skin crawl, but I told myself it was nothing. I chalked it up to them not realizing how that comes across.
But this one...
The way it came through your window and hit your hair.
That’s not a guess. That’s someone watching me. Up close. Close enough to see my hair in the sunlight.
I press my back against the wall between the covered windows, my phone clutched to my chest, and try to slow my breathing.
Maybe I need to file a police report or something.
And say what? Hey, some anonymous person on the internet is sending me messages?
I’m an influencer with 3.2 million followers. Getting weird messages is practically in the job description. The police aren’t going to care. They’ll tell me to block the account and move on.
Which is exactly what I’ve already done. Twice. The creep must make a new account after I block them.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I yelp. The device slips from my fingers and clatters to the hardwood floor.
“Crap!” I press a shaky hand over my racing heart and stand there for a second, just breathing, feeling stupid for being startled by my own phone. “Get a grip, June.”
I bend down and scoop it off the floor, flipping it over to check the screen.
Stella: Heyyy you busy? Me and Brooklyn want to grab coffee at Sugar Shack. You in??
I blink at the text, my brain still half-stuck in fight-or-flight mode. Then I blink again. Wait…
Me: I thought you were still on lockdown?
I type out.
Ever since the night at the movie theater a month ago, her brother hasn’t let her go anywhere. And by “anywhere,” I mean anywhere. Work, school, and the mailbox. That’s it. Those are the only places she’s allowed to go.
Stella’s been climbing the walls.
Stella: He’s out of town What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
I snort. She’s flirting with danger. I’ve known Journey for years, and he’s a freaking grump.
He’s also the reason my stomach does backflips every time Stella mentions his name, but that is a secret I’ll take to my grave.
Me: You’re brave, biotch.
Stella: He’s on his way back from Kings Haven right now, so I’ve got a couple of hours of freedom. YAY ME!! So… Coffee? Pleeeease??
I glance at the closed curtains. The idea of staying here alone makes my skin crawl.
Me: Meet you there in 20
Tossing my phone on the bed, I walk over to my dresser and grab my wristlet off the top, checking my reflection quickly in the mirror.
Dang it. My makeup is way too overdone for coffee.
I eye my shower, contemplating if I have time.
Screw it. I can’t worry about it now.