Chapter Twenty-Nine - Becca
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
My eyes flutter open. With the curtains drawn, my hotel room is still pretty dark, though a tiny sliver of golden morning light peeks through.
It seems too early to be awake, and the desire to roll over and go back to sleep makes me reach for Lucky, even though I know he’s not there.
He snuck out of my room a few hours ago, not wanting to risk our cover.
My face flushes, and my heart starts pounding as my brain all too helpfully supplies me with a highlight reel.
I can practically feel his hands on my skin, his fingers in my hair, hear his low voice murmuring in my ear as he pulls me even closer.
His kiss, the breathy sounds he makes, the way he calls me beautiful.
The way my entire body comes alive when he looks at me.
Yep, I definitely want to go back to sleep and re-live every moment in my dreams.
But then I hear it. The buzzing that must have woken me in the first place.
My phone sits on the bedside table, charging. The screen is already lit up, and every few seconds, it vibrates. Yawning, I sit and scoop it up, blinking rapidly as my eyes work extra hard to wake up and focus.
When they do, my stomach flips over. Dozens of notification alerts show on my home screen with more and more appearing every second. They’re popping up so fast, I can’t even read what one says before it’s replaced by another one.
“Whoa.” I swipe at my screen to unlock it. “What the hell?”
My mind drifts to the standings, and I aim for the first social media icon on my home screen.
Since Lucky and I won the challenge, I know there’s probably a lot of buzz, especially with only one challenge left to go before the end of the competition, but this seems like more than that.
I didn’t get this many notifications when our hashtag was trending, so I honestly have no clue what’s going on.
But as soon as I open up to the main feed, all of the warmth leeches from my skin. “No,” I breathe out, as my body begins to shake all over. “No, no, no.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Wake up, Bex, I tell myself because there’s no way that what I’m seeing is real. It has to be some kind of twisted nightmare. But when I open my eyes, it’s still there and bile, hot and burning, rises in my throat.
I exit the app, switching to another. And another. And another.
It’s everywhere.
Throwing back the covers, I leap from the bed, pacing back and forth with my phone clutched in my hand. I feel like I’m going to throw up and my chest is tightening. I don’t know what to do.
“This can’t be happening,” I moan, yanking a hand through my tangled hair. “Oh my god.”
My phone continues to rapidly vibrate.
I pull up my contacts, stabbing at Lucky’s name with such force that it breaks the nail on my index finger.
“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” I murmur, resuming my pacing, as the phone rings and rings and rings.
On the last ring, Lucky answers. “Hello?” His voice is groggy. I’ve clearly woken him up.
“It’s me.” My voice cracks on the last word.
“Holly G? Are you okay?”
Tears are welling up in my eyes, and the lump in my throat is making it hard to speak. “Just come to my room, okay?”
“I’ll be right there.”
Grabbing a hoodie from my suitcase, I throw it over my nightclothes and hurry towards the door, already unlocking it when there’s a rough knock on the other side.
I throw the door open and step aside as Lucky rushes in. He’s wearing a t-shirt and gym shorts, his hair sticking in all directions from sleep. His eyes, wide and full of worry, land on me as I shut the door, leaning back against it for support.
“What happened? What’s wrong?”
The words are stuck in my throat, and I know if I open my mouth, I’m going to burst into tears, so I just hand him my phone.
It only takes him a second before he sees it. “Oh shit,” Lucky’s hand flies to the back of his neck, gripping the skin there as if it were some kind of safety net.
But it’s too late.
Nothing can save us from this.
Because the video that’s been posted online—the one of Lucky and me making out in the parking lot of the Neon Boneyard—and the grainy photo of Lucky kissing my forehead as he’s leaving what is clearly my hotel room are exactly like the pin of a grenade.
Once you pull it out, you can’t put it back in. There is only devastation.
“How did this happen?” Lucky’s face is pale.
“Obviously, someone saw us sneak away. Someone with a camera. They must have posted it last night after we got back to the hotel. And I have no idea how they got the photo, how they knew we’d . . . I don’t know, I . . .” I suck in a ragged breath. “The comments are awful.”
Lucky swallows and looks back down at the phone, sliding his finger across the screen as he reads the threads.
“Shit,” he murmurs again, wincing as he reads. I sink down on the edge of the bed, my temple pounding with the beginnings of a tension headache.
Lucky keeps reading for a few more moments before tossing my phone on the bed behind me and plopping down next to me. “Maybe this isn’t such a big deal.”
“Not a big deal? Lucky, they’re calling us liars. Cheaters. What if the Starlight people see it and decide to disqualify us or something?”
“They won’t do that.”
“You don’t know that. They could send us packing today.”
Lucky shakes his head. “I doubt that. We didn’t break any rules.
In all that paperwork they gave us to sign at the beginning there was nothing specifically stated about how we chose to present ourselves or our team dynamic.
Besides, for as many people that are pissed at us, there are just as many who are absolutely loving this.
I mean, look.” He reaches for my phone and quickly pulls up a mention with a gif of Kermit the Frog flailing about wildly.
The caption reads, “#TeamBucky are together? OMG!!!!! #Ishipit.”
“Okay, yeah, but then there’s stuff like this,” I point to the comment directly below Kermit.
It’s a gif of the Hulk screaming with the hashtag #CancelTeamBucky.
“And look,” I tap on a thread of comments.
“Look what they’re saying about me.” I point to one.
“I’ve never really liked her videos,” I read out loud.
“She always seems so fake. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. ”
I point to another comment. “Doesn’t make sense why he’d go for her. She’s not even that pretty.” The words dig into my chest like a dozen daggers, slicing through the layers until they reach my heart. I read one more. “Wow, what a slut!!!”
That last word feels like a physical blow, like the stranger behind the screen meant to inflict harm, punctuating their words with three exclamation points just to make sure I understand what an awful person I am.
I suck in a ragged breath to keep the hysteria that’s welling up in me from exploding.
The more I scroll, the more comments appear. There are comments about Lucky too, but not as many, and they’re hardly as cruel. No one seems to be attacking him the way they are me—if anything, they seem to be congratulatory.
“They don’t even know me,” I whisper, each comment slicing me open. There are hundreds of them. More even.
“Holly G . . .” Lucky trails off. We both know there’s nothing he can say to make it better.
“I don’t like it.” I jump to my feet, unable to keep still, and start pacing again. My heart is racing and my whole body feels like it’s out of sorts. I can’t seem to get enough breath, and there’s a deep ache in the back of my throat. “How did this happen?”
Heat rushes through me, and my cheeks blaze hot.
That moment between us last night was absolutely perfect.
It was real and raw, and it was supposed to belong to us only.
I may have no problem getting in front of the camera to talk about foundation or contouring, but having something so personal out there for the world to comment and speculate on isn’t okay with me.
And for it to turn into open season on my character and who I am as a human being is just beyond what I can comprehend.
I feel exposed, and vulnerable, and embarrassed, and so, so, so stupid.
“There’s got to be some way we can spin this, some way we can play this to our advantage.” Lucky says it with confidence, but worry and uncertainty blaze in his eyes like roman candles.
I know he’s probably just grasping at straws, but still the words grate against me like fork tines on ceramic.
“There is no advantage, Lucky. That kiss was . . . it was special to me. Now, it belongs to everyone else. I can’t stand it, can’t stand the thought of them using it to weigh and measure us. And the things they’re saying about us? It’s not okay.”
“Holly G, I wasn’t—” Lucky starts, but I don’t let him finish.
“But that doesn’t stop them from saying them.
I don’t even know if I can blame them. On some level, they’re right.
We did manipulate the situation for votes.
We intentionally misled everybody so that we could win the popular votes.
I was so desperate to win the competition so that I could save my mom that I justified it.
I let myself lie to play this stupid game, and now look what’s happened.
Not only could this jeopardize our standing in the competition, but we could get cancelled as well. Look!”
I point to my phone. “My follower number has already dipped, and it’s only going to keep dropping.
I rely on the monetization of my channel to keep me and my mom afloat.
You know that. If I lose that or if sponsors decide they don’t want to work with me anymore, I’m screwed.
” I press my hands to my face, wishing I could block it all out.
This is the absolute worst-case scenario for an influencer, for anyone in the public eye. The court of public opinion is brutal, and once people decide they’re against you, there’s really no coming back from that.
It’s bad enough that my livelihood could suffer from this and that my incredibly personal moment with Lucky has now gone viral.
But those awful things people have posted about us, the hateful words that they’ve minted into online permanence slice me deep.
It’s like a thousand cuts all over my body, and I hate the way they make me ache, make me want to crumble.
These people are strangers. They don’t know me, don’t know anything about me, but yet their words still have sway.
Their opinion of me still matters and the weight of that is crushing.
Lucky sighs deeply. “I know this whole thing is a mess, and trust me, I don’t like it either.
But I keep going back to the fact that we didn’t technically break the rules.
We’re content creators. We can be anybody we want to be in front of the cameras.
We gave the people what they wanted. Even if it wasn’t real, it’s what they wanted to see.
Their votes prove that. There has to be some way to salvage the whole situation.
I mean look at how many views this video is getting. ”
Something inside me snaps. I’m falling for you, Becca. Lucky’s words from the night before, so absolutely perfect, turn sour in my mind. Were they even real?
“That’s what you’re focused on? The number of views? Dammit, Lucky, did you tell the camera guy where to stand so our kiss would be in focus, too?”
There’s a roaring in my head as I stare him down, but Lucky has gone still, his eyes darkening.
“You think I had something to do with this?”
“Well . . .” I prop my hand on my hip, chest heaving. “Did you?”