1
Leo
Sweat gathers beneath my black baseball hat that’s containing my thick ebon hair. It’s hot outside. I have on too many layers and I don’t think my face mask is helping things.
I couldn’t risk being found out. Seen. The curse of being tall and muscular. Even though my muscles are lean, everyone still thinks of me as manly.
A goddamn curse.
If I’m wanting to keep my secret, I suppose participating in Lavender’s Makeup contest wasn’t a good idea.
The prize is too good to pass up. I had to risk it. Risk having my man card pulled from me. It seems dumb to care what other people think, but all I have is my aunt. She’s amazing, but I like my friends.
Maybe I’m misjudging them. They might not care about what I like to do in private. What I’d love to have a career in. I’m just not ready.
I don’t want to share that part of myself with anyone. Not yet. As long as the dream stays in my head, no one can rip it away from me.
My aunt Mars is to blame for this. It’s one hundred percent her fault that I’m standing in August heat and humidity. I’ve been standing on the sidewalk, left hand firmly planted on the rough, hot cement wall of the Lavender building.
It’s the grand opening, and whoever wins this contest gets Betty Paige’s exclusive makeup line. I’ve had my eyes on that since it came out a month ago. My job at the Mega Manga bookstore doesn’t pay enough. I’ve been saving up for it. Then it sold out. If the makeup line wasn’t enough incentive, then the thousand-dollar gift card was.
My aunt had me do her makeup one time for a party. She had broken her wrist on a job. Mars works for a contractor. She’s badass and remodels houses from the inside out.
Anyway, I helped her, and I watched a few tutorials first. Turns out I was super fucking good at it.
I loved doing it, and my aunt kept saying how pretty she felt. She never wore a lot of makeup. Mars had a crush on someone at work, though, and he was going to be at this party, so it was important she looked good.
The way I made her feel made the fact that I was good at it even better. I made her feel pretty, and suddenly, I wanted to make everyone feel that way.
Only who else could I practice on? My friends were all guys, and I don’t trust the girls at my school for shit.
They’re always bumping gums. That’s what my aunt and I call gossiping. I tried doing my own makeup, and I didn’t like it.
It’s not for me, but I fucking love applying it. So, for now, it’s just my aunt. Maybe one day I’ll get lucky.
“Looking sweaty, pig. Maybe you should give up. Tell your sister you lost.” The girl with a bob and short bangs taunts me.
I roll my eyes behind my sunglasses. Yeah, see. It’s unbelievable I’d be doing this for myself. Little does she know I don’t have a sister. She assumes because I look manly. I don’t hate my looks. I only hate being judged by them.
The girl only stokes my fire. Making me determined to win and endure the fire trapped beneath my jacket. She was dropped off in a Mercedes Benz. This child probably has money to just buy expensive makeup.
Maybe I shouldn’t judge her by her looks since I don’t want to be judged by mine. I don’t think she’s actually a child, maybe sixteen-ish. Closer to my age. She acts like one, though.
I opt to stay quiet. People are filming. It’s the other reason I’m sweating profusely. This is where shit could go sideways for me. It’s crucial I don’t do anything to blow my cover.
Cleverly, the girl starts to fall forward. If she wasn’t smirking, I might think she was going to hit the ground. I see through her conniving gray eyes she’s trying to trick me.
Unlucky for her, halfway through her charade, she loses her balance falling straight on her ass. I breathe a sigh of relief.
“We have a winner.” Gus from WBXD radio station announces.
Everyone crowds me, asking me to take my mask off and snapping pictures without my permission. I keep quiet, and after a few unbearable minutes, a lady grabs my hand and takes me away from the crowd.
On my way inside, I spot the girl from the wall. She’s talking to a boy. He looks feminine and similar enough to the girl that I’d guess they were twins.
“Sorry.” I hear her tell him. His sullen face is hidden behind a fake smile. “That’s okay, sis. Thanks for trying. It’s not your fault I should have been braver.”
That interaction haunts me. It haunts me as I gather my prizes, even still when I come outside and get in my car with bags full to the brim with makeup that I’ve had my eyes on for months.
I look for them in the parking lot, but the twins are long gone. The conversation plays in my head well into the night.
At dinner, my aunt told me I should look happier. I just won. Maybe I’d be happier if that kid hadn’t looked so sad. He said something like he should have been braver.
Was he wanting the makeup? I know what it’s like not to be brave. It’s why I was standing up there layered up with my face hidden, sweating my balls off.
I check my phone and see it’s already two a.m. School’s at eight, meaning I have to get up in less than five hours.
This is dumb. I don’t know those people and will never see them again. I need to go to sleep.
