Overnight Sensation(16)
That one hurt because I am a hard worker. I always have been. Just not at Bryn Mawr.
“You won’t fire me, right?” I ask Becca. “I mean—I work for free right now.” My father has been paying me a stipend out of his own pocket.
“Best deal ever.” She beams at me. “I’m not sure what your father wants, and I thought you might know. But if not, we’ll reconvene after I speak to him tonight.”
“Well…” I clear my throat. “If he stops funding my time in Brooklyn, I’ll have to find a paying job. I’m still hoping to work for you after you transition into the owner’s office.”
“Let’s just see how it goes,” Becca says, pushing her chair back from the table.
“All right,” I agree. “I’d better check in so I can make it to the bus on time. What do you need from me this afternoon?”
When I stand, Becca hooks her arm in mine, then leads me toward the checkin desk. “I need you to help Georgia and Tommy with the swag,” she says. “They have goody bags for the guests tonight, and something like keychains and game schedules for the people who watch the scrimmage this afternoon.”
“Okay. What else?”
“When we all get to the practice space, there will be something to fix or untangle. There always is.”
“Sounds like my life.” I sigh. “I’ll see you in a jif.”
“And Heidi Jo?”
I turn back. “Yes?”
“Don’t get your picture taken with Castro tonight.”
I feel a new flutter of panic run through my body. “Don’t worry about that.” I don’t even want to see Jason Castro again. I’m so embarrassed. The things I asked him for…
Becca walks away, and I pull out my phone and finally answer his text. I’m fine! And I’m SO sorry I made your evening harder than necessary. And sorry about that awful photo, too.
His response comes almost immediately. Glad to hear it, kiddo.
Kiddo?
Once more, my cheeks flush with shame. Only children get stumbling drunk. And there goes my shot at seducing him. I’ve just been demoted from hot-girl-in-a-bar to drunken idiot.
It’s almost more depressing than having my blotto face on a sports blog.
Almost.
6
Heidi
It’s a long day of running around at the Hamptons practice rink and trying to look like I don’t feel nauseated.
When lunchtime comes, I help the caterer set up a buffet in the hallway at the practice facility. Instead of eating with the players, though, I grab a sandwich and two Diet Cokes and disappear to a bench outside.
The food and the fresh air do me some good, too. But I’m not out here to admire the hydrangeas. I’m hiding in shame. And that’s not something that the Pepper family ever does.
It’s time for a consult.
I pull out my phone. Ignoring a dozen waiting text messages from people who saw that photo, I dial my sister. “I need help,” I tell her. She loves it when I ask for help. She’s two years older than me and super bossy.
“I’ll say you do,” she says immediately. “You need to examine your life choices if you’re too drunk to focus on that hottie in the picture.”
“You saw it, too?” I squeak. That’s bad news, because my sister does not follow hockey. If the photo made it all the way to Jana, things are worse than I thought.
“I hope Mama doesn’t see it. She’ll have a conniption. Did she call you?”
“Not sure. I’ve been avoiding my phone. But I made an exception for you, because I need some advice.”
“About men?” she asks hopefully. “Did you catch yourself a new hockey player?”
“Negative.” But not for lack of trying. “My question is about something simpler than men. Eye makeup.”
“Oh, precious one.” My sister lets out a dramatic sigh. “There is nothing simpler than men.”
That may be true for Jana, who always seems to have men falling at her feet. But Jana and I are not the same kind of girl. She likes nice boys that she can control. And I’m just the opposite.
Just once, I want a bad boy to be interested in me. How will I ever take a walk on the wild side if the wild side is put off by Daddy?
Or put off by me.
“So what is this makeup emergency?” she asks.
“My eyes are red. As red as Uncle Wyatt’s face after Aunt Dorothy runs up his credit card.”
“Ouch.”
“I know. And my dress is pink.”
“Hmm,” my sister muses. “What shade of pink?”
“Shell.”
“Oh! That’s not so bad. I was afraid you were going to say coral. And there’d be nothing I could do. Almost nothing.”
“So? Tell me what to do. I have the Dior palette in cool shades.”
“Okay—write this down. Dark navy eyeliner on the upper lids, but not the bottoms,” my sister says, her voice ringing with authority. “That will help with brightness. Do you have a white or shimmery liner?”
“Maybe?” I didn’t look carefully at my cosmetic bag this morning. I was too busy trying not to puke.
“Use it for the lower lids if you have it. And then try the grayest color on the shadow palette. That purple in the corner. A silver highlight wouldn’t go amiss.”