Chapter Twelve - Lucky #2
“Just musing over his ability to do all this,” I gesture to him, following us with the camera. “Without saying a word. I mean, hell. It’s hotter than a blister bug in the pepper patch, and the dude looks totally chill.”
“What’s your secret, Tony?” Becca grins, walking backward so she can address the cameraman. “Are you even human?”
Tony says nothing, though I see a small twitch in his cheek. It’s the biggest reaction we’ve gotten from him so far.
Up ahead, I spot a window display of costumes in one of the main storefronts. “Look.” I point. “Want to check it out?”
Becca picks up her pace to match my stride. “Yeah, it’s worth a shot, and maybe they have air conditioning in there.”
We duck inside the store, both sighing as an icy blast of cold air hits us when we cross the threshold. The shop is small, but like pretty much everything in Roswell, it’s entirely UFO themed. We head for the window area, where there’s several racks of costumes and alien attire.
“This. Is. Awesome,” I say, holding up an inflatable suit that makes the wearer look like an alien who is carrying a human. “We would totally win with this.”
Becca giggles, but her face falls when she spots the price tag sticker. “If only we could afford it.”
I glance at the sticker and quickly return the costume to the rack, swearing under my breath. We scan the rest of the selection, but there’s nothing in our price range. We head back into the blazing sun.
“Look,” Becca says, pointing across the street.
Ross and Skai are walking in the opposite direction, their arms laden with shopping bags.
Becca watches them go, chewing on the corner of her bottom lip.
I don’t have to ask her what she’s thinking because I’m feeling it, too.
It’s a little unnerving how easy a time the other finalists are having compared to us.
Especially considering that the clock is ticking, and Becca and I are both walking around empty-handed.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say, hoping that I sound more confident than I feel. “We’ll figure something out.”
“Yeah,” Becca says, flashing a smile to the camera Tony has taken the opportunity to shove in our faces. “We got this.”
But when an hour passes, and we’re still costumeless, neither of us can seem to muster up that same level of optimism.
We’ve checked every possible vendor and storefront for materials, but everything costs way more than we have.
We’ve officially reached the end of the main street, and the only booths left are kid crafts, a face painting stand, and food vendors selling fried Oreos on a stick and snow cones served in plastic spaceships.
“I hate to say it, Holly G, but I think we are officially out of options.” I swipe the twenty from my pocket and wave it at her. “We might as well buy ourselves twenty dollars’ worth of fried Oreos and see if we can bribe the judges with them.”
Becca snorts a laugh and plops down on one of the wooden benches that line the sidewalk. “Maybe we should throw in a galactic snow cone to really seal the deal.”
“I mean, if it were up to me, that would definitely be the winning ticket,” I say, sitting next to her. I smile, but it fades quickly as I realize just how screwed we are. Becca’s own smile has turned into a frown, and for several seconds, we just sit in silence.
I honestly don’t know what to do. When it comes to taking risks, I’m your guy. But creative stuff? Yeah, I’m about as helpful as a doublewide during tornado season.
“What about all the costumes at the UFO Museum? Think we could talk them into letting us borrow—” I stop mid-sentence, my eyes falling on two figures hurrying away from us on the opposite side of the street.
Becca’s eyes follow mine, and her mouth pops open slightly when she spots Iris and Sean with a gleaming, lifelike spacesuit tucked between them.
Tony swivels the camera between us and our competition until they’ve disappeared from view.
“That costume was amazing,” Becca breathes. “They’re going to win for sure.”
I want to agree. There’s a part of me that already knows that our chances of beating something like that are slim to none, but there’s the other part of me that never backs down from a challenge, the part that lives on 2% chances and unfavorable outcomes.
“Not if we beat them. I mean, everyone loves a good underdog story, right? We can still do this. It’s like Dozer said—we just have to be creative. We can’t buy a costume or a mask, so we’re just going to have to figure out another way to turn into an alien.”
“Lucky!” Becca sits up suddenly, her eyes wide. “That’s it!”
“What’s it?”
“I have an idea.”
Becca’s entire face is lit up, and my heart stutters at the sight of it, doubling the adrenaline buzzing through my veins. “Tell me.”
“It’s a bit of a stretch, and I’m not even sure if I can pull it off, but if I can, I think we might have a shot. What do you say?”
The look in her eyes makes me jump up from the bench. Whatever she’s about to suggest, I’m game. Doesn’t matter what it is, I’m in.
I grin at her. “Let’s do it.”
—
“Well?”
Impatience causes my left knee to bob up and down, despite my best efforts not to fidget.
Becca pulls her hand away from my face and narrows her eyes. “I’m almost done. Be still, and I’ll finish a whole lot faster.”
“Sorry.” I press my heel into the ground to keep my leg from moving. “I always get a bit antsy before stuff like this.”
“Oh, so you do a lot of costume contests in your free time?”
“No, but making videos, doing all the stuff I do, it’s a lot like this, you know?”
Becca’s hand stills again. “You mean like a performance?”
I snap my fingers together. “Yeah! That’s it.” My knee starts bobbing up and down again. “It’s like in those few seconds before the camera turns on, and I’m all up in my head about what’s coming next. I can never seem to keep still.”
“I imagine risking your life will do that.” Becca deadpans as her hands move across my face.
“Not everything I do on my channel is life-threatening.”
“Luckily for you, there’s no need to have paramedics stand by for this performance,” she teases.
“But yeah, I know what you mean about the performance thing. It’s .
. .” She pauses, her cheeks tugging downward a bit.
“It’s sort of a part we have to play, almost like a mask we wear.
When the camera is on, we have to be . .
. who they think we are.” Her voice is soft, but there’s a sadness in it, too. A tightness in her eyes.
I don’t like the way my stomach flips over at the sight. I force out a chuckle. “Yeah, well, I’m Lucky DeLucca. I’m sure I can figure out a way to make this contest a little more thrilling.”
My words have the intended effect, and Becca laughs, chasing away that vacant look. “How about you just focus on strutting your stuff and winning the competition, huh?”
I hold up my hands. “Fine, fine. But you have to let me out of this chair first.”
Becca smacks me lightly on the shoulder. “Quit being a baby, I’m putting the finishing touches on now.”
A minute or two later, she steps back, inspecting her handiwork. “You know,” she says, crossing her arms. “I think it actually looks pretty amazing.”
“Yeah? Let me see.”
Becca hands me a small mirror, and I hold it up to my face. The second I see my reflection, I leap out of the metal folding chair.
“That’s no moon!” I yell, throwing out my favorite Star Wars reference as I turn my head from side to side so I can see my face from different angles. “That’s a damn space station, Holly G!”
“You like it?”
“Like it?” I look up from the mirror. “It’s incredible. How did you do it?”
Becca shrugs. “Haven’t you heard? The Internet can be a great educational tool.” She beams at her own joke while I go back to examining my face.
“I can’t believe you did that with just a little leftover face paint.”
It had taken nearly all our money and some sweet-talking on my part, but when we managed to convince the folks over at the face-painting stand to let us buy some of their nearly-used-up paint, Becca had assured me that she “had a vision.” But what I’m seeing isn’t just some paint job, it’s a damn Da Vinci.
Since we didn’t have enough money to buy enough paint to cover my whole face, Becca divided it into two halves. My right side looks completely ordinary, the same ole mug I wake up to every morning, but the left side of my face has been completely transformed.
Mixing the half-used tub of blue face paint with the smaller, nearly empty tube of green, Becca has created a bright aqua blue color that covers the left side of my face, starting at my hairline and going all the way down my neck and just beneath my clavicle.
Over my left eye, she used black to cover my entire eyelid, my eye socket, and my eyebrow, creating an oblong shape that definitely looks out of this world.
And when I close my eyelid completely, my own eyeball disappears, giving the illusion of a large, alien eye.
“This is incredible,” I say, unable to stop staring at all the tiny details.
The white streaks that highlight my nose and forehead give the paint depth, and Becca used the tiny wooden sticks we managed to get for free from the fired Oreo people to create three-dimensional gills on my cheekbone.
She applied another one just above my eyebrow, completely changing the shape of my forehead into something more angular and harsh. It’s absolutely brilliant.
Becca beams at me, the brush she used to apply the paint still poised in her hand. “I don’t usually work with paint, but I’ve watched enough sci-fi and fantasy makeup tutorials, and I thought, hey, I could do that.”
“Well, you rocked it, Holly G.” I do a little dance, wiggling my shoulders and moving my arms up and down like a wave. “And now I’m gonna go and rock the contest.”
“Not so fast,” Becca says with a laugh. “There are a few finishing touches.”
With her help, I slip on the t-shirt we doctored to go with the make-up, and lastly, Becca takes a bit of gel and spikes up the left side of my blonde hair, which we’ve dyed blue using the juice from the two galactic snow cones we bought with our last few dollars.
“There.” Becca assesses me. “I think you’re ready.”
I take a step closer, noticing a tiny streak of blue across her cheek. “You’ve got something,” I say, reaching out. “Right there.” My fingers graze her ear as I swipe at the paint with my thumb.
When my eyes find hers again, Becca is staring up at me, and I realize just how close we’re standing.
“Did you get it?” She asks, her voice a little breathy.
I swallow. “Yeah, I did.”
“Attention, all entrants in the alien costume contest,” a booming voice says into a loudspeaker. “The competition will begin in five minutes. Please head to the back of the stage area to line up.”
The words make both of us jump back.
“That’s my cue,” I say, recovering quickly.
Becca nods. “Good luck up there.”
I make my way backstage and head for the line of people, all dressed in colorful costumes.
And as I take my place among the other participants, I almost convince myself that it’s just the adrenaline of the contest making my heart do a tap dance in my chest.
Almost.