Chapter Fourteen - Lucky
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I read an article once about how a rush of adrenaline makes your blood vessels contract, which in turn, directs all the blood in your body towards the major muscle groups, including your heart. I’ve felt it before.
In fact, I’ve built my entire channel off that feeling of euphoria, that energy that electrifies your entire body and makes you feel like you’re invincible.
But as Becca and I head towards Jan’s house, I know the adrenaline from performing in the costume contest isn’t the reason my heart is racing.
Becca grips the steering wheel beside me, her hands at ten and two.
I thought I saw something flash across her face right after I won the contest. Something that, for a single moment, looked and felt exactly like the electricity that had zipped across my skin when I saw her walking towards me.
But just like that, it was gone. She’s been pretty quiet ever since.
The Starlight people gave us a break to get cleaned up and grab food, but we’re supposed to meet back up in a few hours for some kind of special announcement.
“You know,” I say, eager to get her talking. “Today was a lot of fun. I think we make one hell of a team.”
“Yeah, I think so, too.” The crease in between her brows smoothes a little as she says it, and when she glances over, giving me a half smile, that feeling that’s been pulsing through me the entire car ride intensifies.
Damn, I chew the inside of my cheek. I’m such a goner. So much for no distractions. The thought ricochets through me, and I press my lips together to stifle a laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Becca asks.
I obviously can’t tell her my actual train of thought, so I grasp for something else. “Um . . .” I point to the busted radio. “I was just thinking that this song is actually kinda growing on me.”
“Drops of Jupiter? Really?”
“Yeah,” I lie smoothly and start singing along to the chorus. “Come on, admit it. You like it, too.”
“Nope.” Becca laughs and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t get behind a song that mentions both Mozart and deep fried chicken.”
I give the rusty dashboard of the car a gentle tap. “Now, don’t you take that personally, Edna. She’ll come around.”
This elicits a huge laugh from Becca, and damn it, if my heart doesn’t feel like it’s going to beat right out of my chest at the sound. Yep. Big, big trouble.
“Edna? Is that what we’re going for now?
“Just trying it on for size.” I return her smile. “What do you think?”
“Well, it’s one of the better ones you’ve come up with. It has potential, at least.”
“Excellent.”
When we pull up to Jan’s, her car is missing from the driveway.
“Probably out enjoying the festival,” Becca says, pushing the driver’s side door open.
She hops out, but it takes me a little longer to untangle the pretzel of my legs, which only makes her giggle—and makes me actually appreciate the tiny space of the car. I could listen to her laugh all day long.
Inside, I make a beeline for the bathroom, eager to wash the makeup and sweat from my skin. I’ve just shut the bathroom door when a knock comes from the other side.
“Here,” Becca says, when I open it. She hands me a small container of face cream. “You’ll probably need something to help get that off.” She points to the right side of my face.
“Oh.” I take the cream. “I can’t just scrub it off in the shower?”
“You can, but if you scrub with just water, you’d likely be taking off an entire layer of skin with it.” She chuckles at what I’m pretty sure is a horrified expression on my face.
“Here,” she says, taking the container back from me. “Let me help.”
She directs me to sit on the closed toilet seat while she turns the tap on.
“The key to makeup removal is making sure you moisturize afterward,” Becca says, moving to stand in front of me.
“This brand is one of my favorites.” She unscrews the lid and dips her fingers inside, scooping up a dollop on her fingertips.
There’s a weird quality to her voice, a tone that sounds like her but also doesn’t sound like her.
“Depending on the type of makeup you use, you want to make sure that you clean your skin properly or you could experience breakouts,” she continues.
As she swipes the cream on my skin, I realize what it is. I’ve never watched any of Becca’s videos, but I’d bet money that this is what she sounds like.
“Where’s the camera, Holly G?” I joke. My eyes are closed, so I don’t see her face, but her fingers freeze against my cheek.
I crack open one eye and then another.
She’s staring at me, and it sorta reminds me of that one time I went hiking and stumbled upon a mother deer and her fawns. The second my boot cracked a stick, her ears were up, and her eyes were wide as if she were trying to decide whether to flee or stand her ground. Becca looks a lot like that.
“Hey.” I reach up to touch her wrist. “You okay?”
“Oh my god.” She pulls out of my reach. “I am so sorry. You just caught me off guard.”
“I wasn’t trying to, I—”
“Oh no.” She waves a hand. “It wasn’t you. Sometimes it just surprises me how easy it is to slip it on.”
I lift an eyebrow at her.
“You know, my online persona,” she clarifies. “It’s like every time I pick up a mascara wand or a tube of concealer, I automatically morph into Becca from Smoke and Makeup Mirrors. It’s like a default for me now.”
Her eyes are sad, and I don’t like the way the look in them tugs at my chest. “And that’s a bad thing?”
“No . . . I guess I just wish makeup was still just for me.” Becca shrugs. “Ever since my accounts blew up, it . . . it feels like more of a job, I guess. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for it, but I miss the early days when there weren’t so many expectations, you know?
I can’t relate to the makeup thing, obviously, but I understand what she’s saying.
Images of my accident flood my thoughts, and a layer of goosebumps pops up on my arms. “Yeah, I get it. Sometimes it doesn’t seem like you’re doing enough. It’s not big enough or dangerous enough.”
Becca swallows. “Is that what happened to you? With the accident, I mean?”
“Something like that. But um . . . if it feels like a job, why don’t you stop? Why do the competition?” I turn the focus back on her.
“I guess because the truth is, it is my job. With monetization and sponsorships, I make more than if I had some part-time job somewhere. I don’t have a college degree, and with no real marketable skills, it’s been really hard to find something full-time.
So, I make videos, and I’ve got to figure out how to take it even further.
Otherwise, we won’t make it much longer. ”