Chapter Five - Becca
CHAPTER FIVE
“Becca Evans!”
Dozer’s voice projects all the way to the back of the ballroom, the echo of my own name rattling through me.
Wait . . . what?
I blink once, then twice, staring at Mr. Dozer as my stomach sinks. It sounded like he just announced that my partner was—oh no.
Lucky DeLucca heads toward me, a half-smile lifting one of his cheeks, as the crowd goes wild.
Disappointment rips through me. Who you get paired up with could make or break you in this competition, and Lucky hardly strikes me as someone who takes things seriously.
A wave of nausea churns my stomach, but I refuse to let it show, making sure my smile doesn’t fade even for a moment.
“Hey, Partner,” Lucky drawls, moving to stand next to me.
He practically towers over my 5’2 frame—what is he?
Like seven feet tall?— and when his arm brushes my shoulder, I’m tempted to reach up and wipe the touch away.
It reminds me of the 3rd grade playground when me and my friends used to run around screaming about how boys have cooties.
This definitely isn’t elementary school though, and my entire future is now dependent on the guy standing next to me.
I sneak a peek at Lucky, taking in the bright blue eyes and sandy blond hair that keeps threatening to fall into his eyes.
The strong set of shoulders beneath his t-shirt, the healthy suntan of his forearms. Heat flushes my face as I recall the feel of his fingertips pressed into my hip.
The way his hand cradled my head when we fell. The way—Nope. Nope. Nope!
Attractive as he may be, I can’t let myself be distracted.
I have to focus on what’s important: winning the competition.
Given my new teammate, I’ve got my work cut out for me.
I’ve known guys like Lucky DeLucca before, always looking for laughs even at his own expense.
I don’t know if he’s planning to take this competition seriously or not, but all I have to do is think of my mother and our pile of mounting bills to know that life isn’t one big joke.
A sigh slips from my lips, and Lucky’s eyes dart toward me. His brows lift slightly, as if to say, “You okay?” but I pretend not to notice, readjusting my smile for the masses.
When Dozer has finished announcing the pairings, he waves his arms to quiet the crowd. “Our teams will have tonight to get their affairs in order and then the competition will start bright and early at 8 a.m. tomorrow!”
He returns the microphone to the Buzz Con emcee and waves us off stage. I give a final little wave to the cameras and follow the rest of the finalists off stage.
The minute I’m out from underneath the bright lights, my smile falls and I fan my face, flushed not from the lights, but from frustration.
“This way, please,” Mr. Dozer calls, leading us into one of the smaller meeting rooms adjacent to the main ballroom.
There are dozens of reporters, as well as a full audience of fans and other creators waiting to interview us about the competition.
After the live Q & A, we’re whisked off to a publicity room where each team is photographed for all the Starlight promo.
When the day finally winds down, Dozer leads us into a small green room behind the stage. There, his staff is waiting with packets of information about the contest—written rules, legal disclaimers, etc.— and a bunch of paperwork we have to sign.
We’re also introduced to the camera crews that will be following us around during the duration of the competition.
We won’t be filmed while we sleep or travel from one destination to the other, but otherwise we should expect the cameras to be watching.
It’s a little weird to think about, since I’m so used to just talking into my own camera.
Lucky and I don’t speak at all, but he sticks by my side, already taking this whole partner thing to an annoying level. At least his stupid smirk is gone, and it looks like he’s paying close attention to all the rules and regulations.
While Dozer drones on and on about how incredible the competition will be, I can’t help but eye the other finalists. All of the pairings are a bit unusual—Iris has been paired with Sean, Evie with Ziven, and Skai with Ross—which will definitely make things interesting.
“So, Holly G,” Lucky says, when we’re finally dismissed for the night. “I know we didn’t exactly get off on the right foot, but it looks like it's just you and me now."
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, because you nearly killed me. And it's Becca. Are you seriously going to act like you don’t know my name?”
Lucky grins. “You just look more like a Holly Golightly to me." He gives me a little wink and then stage whispers, “I like your shirt.”
This catches me off guard. Lucky DeLucca has seen Breakfast at Tiffany's? I wouldn’t figure him the type to even know who Audrey Hepburn is, much less one of her most iconic roles. I admit, I’m impressed, but I’m also confused. Is he trying to be nice or is he making fun of me? I can’t tell.
“So,” Lucky says as he shoves his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “You want to grab a coffee and talk strategy for tomorrow?”
I narrow my eyes and glare at him.
“What? Ohhhh,” he says with a chuckle. “Too soon on the whole coffee thing, huh?”
“Look,” I huff, “I think we should just call it a night. I’m exhausted from traveling and since we have no idea what the first challenge will be, I doubt ‘talking strategy,’” I make air quotes with my fingers, “will make much of a difference.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. It was a long day for me, too. Gotta get my beauty sleep so I’m camera ready for tomorrow.” Lucky’s eyes are sparkling, and I think he expects me to laugh, but I don’t.
“I’ll see you in the morning.” I brush past him towards the door. “Don’t be late.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Holly G,” he says from behind me, and I can hear the amusement in his voice.
Outside the convention center, the air is thick with Texas humidity. I make a beeline for my hotel.
All I want is to ditch my outfit for a comfy, worn t-shirt and a messy bun and crash for the night, but I need to film and schedule some new content for my accounts. Since the next week will be mostly contest stuff, I want to get at least one more video of normal content up for my followers.
Plus, I’m feeling a little worked up about the competition. Despite the obvious “challenge” part of the Starlight Challenge—I don’t even want to think about what that might entail—knowing my future is now tied to Lucky has my heart racing. I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself.
“It will be fine,” I mutter. “You’re in it to win it no matter what. You’ll figure something out. You always do.”
A few more deep breaths, and I’m feeling a little more settled, so I shove my remaining nerves aside, grab my phone, and head into the bathroom where the lighting is better.
My make-up needs a bit of a refresh, so I uncap the top of my favorite red lipstick, Selfie Queen, with a satisfying pop and glide the matte color along the curves of my lips, creating the perfect kiss of ruby red.
With a practiced hand, I reach out and adjust the leg of my travel tripod ever so slightly, leveling out the frame. I press the “record” button, give a bright smile, and launch into my intro.
“Hey, friends! Right now, I’m in San Antonio, Texas for Buzz Con, but before I tell you all about that, let’s talk red lipstick,” I say loudly, directly into the lens.
“You guys have been asking, so today, I’m sharing with you everything I know about how to rock a sassy red.”
I grab my collection of reds from my makeup bag and hold them up. “Nothing says confidence like a bold lip color, and red is a classic that anyone can wear. The key is choosing just the right shade for your skin tone. To do that you . . .”
When I’m finished with my tutorial, I give a quick update about the contest. “I’m really excited about working with Lucky, and I know we’re totally going to kill this competition,” I beam into the camera.
Liar, Liar, pants on fire.
I end the recording, and my shoulders sag.
When I’m filming, everything has to be over-exaggerated or else the footage feels flat and without energy.
It’s a lot like what stage actors have to do when they’re playing to a large crowd.
Their movements are bigger than normal so that the people in the very back rows can see what they’re doing.
It’s the same thing when I film my videos.
My energy, my smile, my bubbly disposition—it all has to be completely over the top or the comments will get super messy.
I don’t have time right now to respond to every single comment about how I’m “not myself.” As if my audience is really the judge of that.
Using one hand to massage my sore cheek muscles, I plop down on the king size bed, lean back against the pillows, and pull up the app I use to edit all my short-form videos.
Editing is my least favorite part of content creation. When I first started making beauty tutorials back when I was thirteen, I never worried about jump cuts or lighting composition. It was just me, a bag of leftover, half-used make-up from my mom, and an old digital camera.
Now, with millions of followers, the quality of my videos matters, and I spend countless hours each week ensuring the flawless production of each and every frame. It’s annoying, but worth it in the end, I suppose.
I tap out a cute caption and upload the video to all my accounts, making sure to share it to my stories as well. Once that’s done, I check the monetization stats out of habit.
All of my accounts are monetized and every single video view equals money in my pocket.
I hate thinking of it like that, but I don’t really have a choice.
I exhale slowly, relief bubbling through me.
Both my follower count and the views on my most recent videos have gone way up since I was announced as a Starlight Challenge finalist, and it looks like I’ve gotten a bit of a bump today.
Probably because of the earlier live stream and the announcement of the teams. I scan the numbers, feeling some of the tightness in my chest ease.
But then my phone rings, and I know without even having to look at the screen who it is.
“Hey Mom,” I breathe into the phone, bracing myself.
“Rebecca, have you sssseen my shhhhirt,” my mom slurs into the phone.
I’m not home, but I can still smell the tang of alcohol on her breath.
“Sorry,” she manages. “I need my shirt for work.”
“You got fired a week ago, remember?” I remind her, gently.
“What? I’m fired?”
She sounds so concerned, so clueless that if I hadn’t already had this conversation with her a dozen times, I might feel bad for her.
“Yup. You showed up drunk. Again. So, Don fired you.”
“But what are we going to do?” My mother begins to cry. “How will we—”
“Stop,” I say, calmly. Yelling will only make her cry harder. “Everything is going to be fine. I’ve got it covered, remember? You don’t have to worry, Mom.”
My throat aches as I say the words. “Now, why don’t you go lie down. Drink a glass of water, okay?”
She mumbles something that I can’t make out.
“Mom? Did you hear me? Go to bed and get some rest.”
She doesn’t answer, but the breathing on the other end of the line is heavy and rhythmic.
Asleep or passed out, one of the two. I listen for a moment, picturing her in my mind.
The sallow, almost yellowish tint to her skin.
The purplish smudges under her eyes that look like bruises.
The way her long brown hair hangs in tangles over her shoulders.
When I was a kid, I remember thinking my mom was the most beautiful woman in the world. Now, I hardly recognize her.
I tap my phone, ending the call. My hands shake as I reach for my laptop again.
I glance at the numbers one more time. The monetization of my accounts, plus all my sponsorship and collaboration deals used to keep the roof over our heads, but more and more bills keep arriving and we’re struggling.
We’re close to losing the house, and if we do, I’m not sure what we’ll do.
“It’s fine. Everything will be fine,” I say to myself, repeating my mantra from earlier. “Just focus.” Shaking my head to clear it, I close my laptop and reach for my phone again.
My notifications are out of control thanks to tonight’s announcement and my new partner. Already the hashtag #TeamBucky is spreading like wildfire. I gag a little. Aw, hell. We’re like one of those celebrity couples that everyone raves about, except we are so NOT a couple.
I post a quick update about how excited I am for the first challenge, and then, feeling slightly ridiculous, I click on Lucky’s profile.
His accounts haven’t been active in a while, but there’s a picture that he posted this morning about making a comeback.
I’m confused by this until I click through a few threads and read the comments.
That’s right, I recall, pulling up Google and typing ‘Lucky DeLucca ATV Accident’ in the search bar. The very first link takes me directly to Lucky’s YouTube channel, to the footage of the livestream from that day.
His accident was all the internet could talk about when it happened. He disappeared from socials, and there was a lot of speculation that he might never return, but then he was announced as a Starlight Challenge finalist.
Curiosity bubbles in my chest, but I don’t play the video. It feels . . . wrong to watch it. So, I don’t.
Instead, I get up and grab my toiletry bag, trying to distract myself by going through the steps of my skincare routine.
Once my face is clean, my teeth are brushed, and I’m in my comfy clothes, I settle back against the pillows and try to get some sleep, but all I can think about is Lucky DeLucca and his dopey smile.
I roll over and pull a pillow over my head, trying to silence the noise in my mind.
It doesn’t work.