Chapter Twelve - Lucky
CHAPTER TWELVE
My fingers hover over Dozer’s outstretched hand. I’m sorta hoping I’ll have a Luke Skywalker moment and feel some pull towards one of the choices, but there’s no Force behind the envelopes.
I look to Becca, but her eyebrows are furrowed, and from the tightness around her mouth, it’s obvious that she’s as apprehensive as I am about choosing one of these bad boys.
“Whatcha thinking, Holly G?” I tap one of the envelopes at random. “Two?” It’s as good a choice as any.
Becca chews on her bottom lip for a second and then nods. “Two,” she confirms, and I pluck the second envelope out of Dozer’s hand.
I don’t miss the way he chuckles under his breath before moving on to the other contestants. Becca’s eyes go wide, confirming she also heard it.
“Well, that can’t be good,” I murmur, handing her the envelope.
“Nope.” She sighs, running a finger along its edge.
It reminds me of the way those same fingers had smoothed sunscreen across my nose and cheeks this morning, how the gentle warmth of her hands on my skin had given me the same jolt of adrenaline I get from filming my videos. But I quickly shake my head. Focus, Lucky.
Dozer passes out all the remaining envelopes in order of who placed what in the trivia game. Becca and I got to choose the first envelope, while Ross and Skai end up with the final one.
“You may open the envelopes now,” Dozer says gleefully, clapping his hands together as the cameramen move in to capture both the contents of the envelopes and our reactions. Tony edges closer, making sure the camera has a front row seat to whatever it is that’s about to go down.
Becca starts at the corner of the envelope, using her fingernail to lift the edge of the flap and then carefully runs her index finger beneath it, loosening it from the strip of adhesive.
I hold my breath as she reaches inside, but the second I see the twenty dollar bill in her hand, it all comes out in one big huff.
“What the hell?” I ask. I expected some kind of riddle or something, not cash.
Becca flips the bill over, inspecting the back. “There’s nothing here. It’s just twenty dollars.”
“Yeah, but what’s it for?”
“I have no idea, maybe . . .” Becca’s eyes have focused on something behind me.
I whirl around in time to see Sean pull a small stack of bills from his envelope. It looks as though Skai has a similar stack in her hand. Even Evie and Ziven have pulled more than one bill from their envelope.
“Damn,” I murmur. “This is definitely not good.”
Beside me, Tony shoves the camera a little closer, capturing my expression. So, playing along, I wave the single bill in front of the camera.
“Methinks Team Bucky just got screwed,” I stage-whisper to the lens and then whistle through my teeth.
“Don’t call us that,” Becca elbows me in the side.
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because it sounds ridiculous.” She says it so matter-of-factly it makes me chuckle.
My inner smartass ignites, and I drawl, “Well, I like it.”
“That’s because you are equally ridiculous,” Becca shoots back without missing a beat.
I flash a sly smile to the camera, but it’s hard to ignore the way my insides sort of feel like I’ve just wadded them up and stuffed them in a blender.
“Finalists!” Dozer booms, his eyebrows lifted so high they’ve practically disappeared into his hairline. “For tonight’s challenge, you will be participating in one of the Roswell UFO Festival’s most anticipated events!” He pauses for dramatic effect, and the camera crews move in even closer.
I slide my eyes over to Becca, but she’s too focused to notice, her nose scrunched in concentration.
Dozer claps his hands and bellows, “The alien costume contest!”
It’s not at all what I’m expecting him to say, and Becca lets out a breathy “Oh!”
Across from us, Ziven’s laugh is booming. Iris, in a somewhat disappointed voice, asks, “A costume contest? That’s our challenge?”
I can’t blame her. It does seem a little anticlimactic after the adrenaline of the trivia game.
“Oh yes!” Dozer answers, completely oblivious to our lack of excitement.
“But, of course, there’s a catch. We wouldn’t want to make it too easy on you, now would we?
” His head swivels back and forth as he eyes each pairing, his eyebrows waggling.
“At least one finalist from each team will be required to don a costume for competition which begins promptly at 4 p.m. That means you have three hours to put together whatever look you’ll be sporting for the event. ”
“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Becca says under her breath.
I don’t know if she meant for me to hear her or not, but I did.
And so did Tony. He repositions the camera so that we’re both in the frame, ready to capture our reactions to whatever comes next.
He clearly knows something we don’t, and I brace myself.
“The money in your envelopes,” Dozer continues, “is what you will use to purchase materials for your costume. You are not allowed to spend any of your own money, nor can you ask for monetary donations from people on the street. You are allowed to incorporate the clothing you have on currently, but any other elements of your costumes must be purchased with the money we’ve provided. ”
And there it is. The words zip across my thoughts like a slapshot to a hockey puck, and I groan. Because now the different increments of money in each envelope makes sense. The teams with the most money will obviously have an advantage. And Becca and I with our single twenty dollar bill?
Tony inches forward, re-positioning his camera, but this time, I don’t feel like playing along. “Like I said,” I say to Becca, ignoring the camera altogether. “Team Bucky just got screwed.”
Becca presses her lips together for a moment and then surprises me by saying, “Maybe. But I wouldn’t count us out just yet.”
The determined look in her eyes makes my cheeks begin to lift. She’s right. We may be down, but we’re not out. Not Yet.
Dozer lifts an arm, giving a little wave to ensure he has everyone’s attention.
“There’s one last thing. The alien costume contest is one of the most highly anticipated events of the festival.
It’s not only a costume contest, but rather a performance.
You’ll be judged on originality, execution, and, of course, the crowd’s reaction.
So you’ll need to be creative! Are there any questions? ”
When none of the finalists respond, Dozer, who’s practically convulsing with excitement, bellows, “Then let the challenge begin!”
His words are like the gunfire signaling the start of a horse race and every single one of us takes off running towards Main Street.
I have no idea what our strategy is, but if getting there first gives us some sort of edge, then I’m all for it.
Becca follows beside me, and when we spot the vendor booths lined up along the sidewalks, we make a beeline for the first one, a booth selling nylon alien masks.
“What about this one?” I ask, holding up a particularly gruesome but awesome green and black mask.
Becca makes a face. “It’s terrifying.”
“Exactly.”
I move to the cashier, a woman wearing a rainbow-colored wig and a Mother of Martians t-shirt. She’s slurping loudly from the 64-ounce plastic alien tumbler.
“How much?” I hold up the mask.
“Sixty-five,” the cashier replies, and I nearly drop the mask as if it were on fire.
“Seriously?” I place the mask back on the wooden peg I removed it from. The cashier just shrugs, unconcerned, as she moves on from her Slurpee and begins popping the wad of bubble gum in her mouth so fast it sounds like the grand finale of a fireworks show.
“What about this one?” Becca holds up another mask, this one less gruesome, less realistic, and in an awful puke-green color.
The cashier brushes a stray hair from her wig out of her eyes and takes a long pull from the straw of her drink before answering. “Forty-five.”
I groan, scrubbing a hand down my face. “Do you have anything here that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg?”
The cashier responds by blowing a bubble so big her face disappears behind it.
“What’s the matter, Lucky?” Ziven’s voice booms behind me. “Cash flow problem?”
I turn around to see him standing across the road, fanning his face with a stack of bills. Evie stands next to him, smirking. Neither of them took losing the trivia game well, so they’re absolutely gloating over the fact that they have an advantage over us.
I don’t even bother responding, and Ziven’s laughter echoes behind me as I turn back to Becca, who is flipping over the price tags on nearly every mask on the vendor cart.
“There’s nothing here we can afford.”
“I figured. Let’s try another vendor.”
We head down the sidewalk, doing our best to maneuver through the crowd as we search booth after booth for something that we can use—and afford—to make our costume.
The sun is nearly at its highest point in the sky by now, and its rays bouncing off the desert landscape are brutal.
The band of my hat is soaked with sweat, and the back of my shirt is clinging to my skin.
Beside me, Becca’s cheeks are flushed, and a single strand of her dark hair sticks to her neck.
Tony trails behind us, occasionally darting around and in front to get a new angle, but as usual, he stays silent.
It reminds me a little of those street performers that paint themselves to look like statues.
A lot of people will stand in front of them and try to get them to laugh.
Most of the time, they’re unsuccessful. I chuckle under my breath, imagining Tony painted silver on a pedestal in central park.
“What’s so funny?” Becca asks.
“Nothing. I was just imagining Tony moonlighting as a street performer.”
Laughter bubbles from Becca’s mouth. “Well, that’s not what I was expecting you to say. Where did that even come from?”