Chapter Thirteen - Becca #2
It’s both amazing and hysterical at the same time. I’m laughing so hard my cheeks hurt, and I don’t even care that one of the cameras has moved in closer to catch my reaction. Seeing Lucky up there, dancing around like that, so full of energy and life, is electrifying.
Once the emcee finally manages to shoo Lucky offstage, she lets out a breathy laugh into the microphone. “Now, it’s time to cast your vote. If we can have all the contestants come back out, please.”
One by one, the entrants file back on the stage and the emcee arranges them in a horizontal line. Lucky is the last on the left, and his smile is so bright that my heart can’t help but react to it.
“Alright, everyone! You know the drill.” The emcee breathes into the microphone, lowering her voice for dramatic effect. “The winner is the one who gets the most applause!”
She starts at the end of the line, pointing to each contestant one at a time. The crowd cheers and claps, but it’s clear there are favorites among the crowd, as several of the costumes get a much louder round of applause than others.
Ziven is the first of the Starlight Challenge finalists to be voted on, and while he gets a fair share of cheering and clapping from the spectators, it’s not enough to win.
I keep my face turned towards the stage, but my eyes dart over to where Evie is standing.
The smirk from earlier is gone, and she lets out a low huff and crosses her arms. She knows as well as I do that Ziven didn’t win.
Next to me, Iris stiffens as the audience prepared to vote on Sean.
I whisper good luck to her, and when Sean’s name is called, I start clapping for him.
Iris screams her teammate’s name and cheers for him as loudly as she can.
It seems like the audience really loves Sean and his costume—which makes me happy for Iris, but I’m a little nervous.
Lucky and I already knew we’d never be able to compete with Sean’s spacesuit, but I’m still hoping we might somehow pull out a win.
Even if we get third place or something, I’ll be happy.
A few more contestants receive their votes, including Skai, and then, finally, it’s Lucky’s turn.
He doesn’t wait for the emcee to call his name; instead he jumps forward and immediately starts busting out some of his dance moves from earlier.
It takes the emcee by surprise and she bursts into laughter while the crowd grows frenzied.
Once again, Lucky—I’m starting to think there really is something to that nickname of his—must have the AV guy on his side because the music gets turned up again and colored lights start flashing. Lucky’s energy intensifies, and I cannot control my laughter as he moves across the stage.
I do notice, however, that Iris has stilled beside me. Evie and Ross, too. No one’s looking directly at me, but I can feel the tension rising in the air.
It’s moments like this that remind me it’s still a competition, no matter how friendly we are to each other. And none of them look happy to see Lucky working the crowd like he is.
The camera guys must have also noticed, and several of them inch closer, narrowing their lenses on us.
On stage, Lucky is still dancing around and has managed to pull the emcee into a do-si-do. When he finally releases her, she booms into the microphone. “Lucky, ladies and gentle-aliens!”
The crowd begins to hoot and holler, clapping louder than they did for any of the other contestants, and I know that we’ve won.
I press my lips together, but it doesn’t keep my smile at bay. When the emcee calls Lucky’s name as the winner, I let out a wild cheer and start jumping up and down.
The emcee reaches into the podium and pulls out a small basket of alien-themed goodies and hands it to Lucky. With that, the contest is officially over.
I take off into the crowd, pushing my way towards the backstage area. I don’t know if I was supposed to stay put or not, but with adrenaline from our win still zipping through my veins, I can’t keep still. I have to find Lucky.
I see Tony first. Well, his camera actually. But then there’s a flash of blue, and Lucky has his arms around me and we’re spinning in a tight circle. “We did it, Holly G! We won!”
I can’t answer him because I’m equal parts laughing and holding on for dear life. When he sets me back on the ground, there’s a moment where his hands linger at my waist, and my cheeks immediately blaze.
“I can’t believe it,” I say, a little breathless. “We actually won.”
“It was your killer makeup job,” Lucky said, turning to the side so I can fully admire my work again up close.
“I don’t know,” I say, giving his shoulder a little shove. “I think it was all those dance moves. You really know how to work a crowd.”
“What can I say?” Lucky says with a wink. “These hips don’t lie.”
As if to prove it, he grabs my hand and spins me, then begins to swivel his hips. The move makes me laugh again and my heart speeds up. That same feeling I had earlier returns. I want to kiss Lucky DeLucca.
It doesn’t startle me as much this time, not with the way he’s smiling at me. “Lucky, I . . .” I start to say, but out of the corner of my eye, I see Tony step closer.
It’s as if he’s a mind reader, and he doesn’t want to miss what’s coming next. All at once, the heat drains out of me. It’s like having a bucket of cold water doused on my head. I clear my throat and take a step back. “So um . . . I don’t think the other finalists were very happy about our win.”
“Well, of course not. It’s because we’re a threat. Team Bucky is going to win the whole damn thing!” Lucky starts dancing again, and I laugh, though I do roll my eyes at the team name. I’m never going to get used to that, I think.
He finishes his little jig and then throws an arm over my shoulder as we head back over to the Starlight tent.
Tony walks backward in front of us, capturing our every move, so I pretend to be annoyed by the way Lucky has me pressed to his side.
But the hot burst of annoyance billowing in my chest isn’t directed at Lucky.
I narrow my eyes at the lens of the camera and at the one side of Tony’s face that I can see behind the camera. And as Lucky’s hand brushes up against my arm, his fingers leaving a tingling trail along my skin, I let out a breath . . . and wish that Tony would trip.