Freaky in Fresno

by Laurie Boyle Crompton

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I picture Jamie Lee shooting Michael Myers between the eyes in Halloween II and begin to relax. I remind myself, None of this really matters.

  Her Highness has finished nuzzling the guards and pats one on the bum dismissively. “Go wait in the car, boys.” Everyone cheers, and Her Highness puckers her lips and adjusts her tiara.

  Turning her attention back to me, she doesn’t break eye contact while unloading the shopping bags. They’re filled with compacts of all different sizes, and she places each of the black plastic ones in front of me, and all of the shiny silver ones in front of herself.

  “You like challenges so much, I have one for you.” She starts opening each compact and showing them to me one at a time. “These are all eye shadows.” She holds one up very close to my face. “Eye shadow. Eye shadow. Eye shadow.”

  I say, “So, you’re saying they’re mostly eye shadows.”

  “All eye shadows. Go ahead and look at yours.” She points to the compacts piled in front of me.

  I obediently begin opening each one, confirming they’re eye shadows of every shade imaginable. “Yup,” I say. “These sure are eye shadows.”

  “Our challenge is this,” she says. “You and I are going to do our entire faces using only eye shadows from our preferred brand. The audience here will judge a winner and the loser must officially apologize.”

  “I apologize,” I say. “Can we go home now?” I look around. “Really. I am officially sorry.”

  “Nice try.” Her Highness takes two table mirrors from the bags, sets them in front of us, and hands me a package of wipes. “Get cleaning now—no cheating.”

  She drags a wipe down one whole side of her face. The smear it creates makes her look insane. So insane, in fact, that when she turns her wild eyes to me, I obediently grab a wipe and start scrubbing at my own face.

  The crowd begins clapping in time like a chant and I give a look of desperation to Aunt April, who’s still standing behind the last row of chairs. She has her arms crossed, but even from this distance I can read the expression on her face.

  She seems pleased.

  chapter 22

  I try to leave as much of the makeup on my face as possible so I don’t utterly disgrace Lana during the challenge. She’ll be unfairly branded a fraud if I don’t find some way to cheat. Her Highness points to my lips and says, “Nice try.”

  She grabs a wipe, puts me in a headlock, and begins cleaning my mouth. The cameraman moves in and kneels down so everyone can get a good angle on my humiliated expression up on the big screen.

  “This shot’s going to be our thumbnail,” HH whispers to me under her breath. “We’re both going to blow up.”

  The next thing I know Her Highness releases me, and with a smirk she moves back to her seat. She begins reapplying her own makeup with various brushes and sponges, opening and closing the silver compacts with confident click, click, clicks.

  She narrates as she goes. “Now this palette has a lovely peach that will work nicely for dark undereye color correction.” Obviously, she’s an expert at this.

  I stall for time, opening and closing the various Norealique compacts. They do not give smart clicks when they snap shut. They sound more like somebody clipping their toenails.

  When I glance back at Aunt April, her face is red as she gestures wildly, Do something! I give her a sheepish smile and begin opening and closing compacts faster.

  Finally, I find a dark pink that I think could work on my lips. Using the sponge applicator included in the compact, I start applying it to my lips and it looks . . . terrible. The color clumps up in the left corner of my mouth and refuses to spread.

  And now it looks like I have a sparkly pink cold sore.

  As I go back to rooting through the compacts, Her Highness narrates her own perfect makeup application. I’m trying to listen in and learn something, but this isn’t like copying someone’s math test.

  Opening another eye shadow compact, I see a bright green shade that gives me an idea. I give my aunt a big thumbs-up, but she just bares her teeth at me.

  I can practically hear her growl the whole way up here.

  While I search for the perfect shades and begin applying them, my mind wanders back to the smile on Jake’s lips as we did our galloping dance across the blacktop during the Starlight’s sound check. Was that really just yesterday?

  Everything started happening so quickly right after and I wish I’d just kissed him when he was in my arms. I can’t believe I was so stupidly stuck on waiting until we were under the stars, and now Lana better not be ruining things with him. Or, taking things a step further. I would really, really hate to miss my first kiss!

  If Jake is even interested in kissing me anymore.

  I drag my applicator through a purple shadow and begin applying it to my face. My insides churn over how much I like him. What if Jake rejects me after all of this? I think about my cousin’s theory that Zelda hates me because she senses my fear of rejection.

  For the first time, I wonder if my obsession with having a magical first kiss is related to my rejection issues. I mean, sure, it’s nice to believe in magic and all, and if today hasn’t proven that magic exists then nothing ever will.

  But when it comes to love, there’s never going to be a magic rejection-free guarantee. Not really.

  Jake and I could have the most romantic first kiss under the stars and it could be perfect and even magical, and I could still end up dealing with heartbreaking rejection someday. I can’t be so afraid of getting hurt that I’m unwilling to take a risk.

  My only choice is to take the leap.

  I pull out my phone and text Lana:

  Please, please, please don’t make Jake hate me.

  After a moment, I add:

  Also, am in a makeup war at the mall with someone named Her Highness. Send help.

  I know for a fact that Lana is constantly on her phone, but she doesn’t text me back. I picture her in the glitter-filled bouncy castle right now having the time of her life. With Erik. While Jake looks on thinking she’s me.

  Meanwhile, I’m here, stuck in some spaghetti western-style cosmetics confrontation, about to be forced to take a three-hour car ride to LA so I can sing publicly, and very badly, I might add. And on top of everything else, I will die if I miss the Starlight’s big night tonight. If Wes decides to sell, this could be the drive-in’s final fade-out.

  I realize I’m gritting my teeth while applying more and more powder in a way that is making everyone stare at me with their phones held high.

  I look around and give a small laugh. “Sorry, I was just . . . trying something.”

  Her Highness is dramatically putting the final touches of pink shadow on her cheeks with a long-handled brush and gives a snort. Her makeup looks absolutely perfect, and she expertly spins the brush before slapping it on the table.

  “Clearly, you’ve lost it, Lana,” she says. “Wait, that should be your new channel name: Loser Lana.”

  The crowd snickers in response and I look in the mirror.

  I’ve used the eye shadows to create giant bruises on my jaw and forehead, plus I’ve given myself two black eyes. Now I’m currently transforming my sparkle cold sore into the illusion of a fat lip by layering every shade of pink I can find.

  “This was supposed to be an eye shadow challenge,” Her Highness says. “And you’ve turned it into a joke. Do you really think makeup is a joke, Lana?”

  I look Her Highness directly in her icy-blue eyes, and for the first time I notice a tiny crescent of brown, visible around her iris’s edge. She’s wearing colored contacts.

  I turn and look out at the eager young faces watching us with their phones, hungry to record something juicy.

  They’re all hoping I lose my cool and cause a scene. Over makeup.

  “Sure, makeup can be applied jokingly,” I say. “I mean, isn’t it supposed to be fun?”

  “Sorry that I take my business seriously,” Her Highness says,
but her haughty tone seems a bit deflated.

  “Just because it’s a big industry worth millions of dollars—”

  “Try half a trillion,” Her Highness interrupts.

  “Really?” I shake my head, “Okay, so just because it’s a half-a-trillion-dollar industry, that doesn’t mean makeup has to be serious. In fact . . .”

  I press a clean finger into a pan of orange eye shadow and reach over to put a line right down the center of Her Highness’s nose. “Zoop,” I say.

  The entire room collectively inhales and holds its breath.

  Her Highness calmly runs a fingertip down the length of her nose and stares at the orange powder.

  “Did you just smear me with Rusty Savage shadow and say, Zoop?” she asks in disbelief.

  “Heh,” I say, and reach over to wipe the rest of the orange off her face. Except I’ve been blending my bruises with my other fingertips and so they’re carrying every shade of purple and black and yellow eye shadow ever made.

  Which I’m transferring directly onto Her Highness’s shapely nose.

  She keeps her head held high as her eyes swing to the mirror on the table in front of her. Her breath draws in sharply as she takes in the image of her face with rainbowed streaks of color running down both sides of her nose.

  “I am so sorry, Miss Highness,” I say. “Here.” I pull out a wipe and begin swiping at her stone-faced expression while the crowd greedily films us.

  Finally, she sucks air in through her perfect teeth, and after a beat bows her head. I’ve clearly crossed a line, and based on the crowd’s murmurings I’m about to suffer Her Highness’s wrath.

  I scan for an exit, but the mob has us surrounded.

  Finally, Her Highness raises her pale-blue eyes to look at me and gives an evil smirk. I feel like the fake bruises on my face have gone straight to my stomach and turned real.

  Picking up her pointed, long-handled brush, Her Highness slowly dips it into one of my pink eye shadows. She says, “Maybe you should be Loathsome Lana.” Holding the brush like a pencil, she draws something swirly on my cheek. The crowd goes completely silent as she works.

  When she’s finished, I hear a few snickers, but when I look into the mirror I see all she’s drawn is two capital letter Ls. It’s Lana’s channel logo. I give a confused look.

  Her Highness rolls her eyes and reaches for a wipe. “Revenge is not my style. These days.” She starts cleaning her nose while simultaneously poking her brush into various colors and swiping them on the back of her hand. “You’re right, Lana, makeup is supposed to be fun.”

  She squints at my face. “And I will say, those bruises look very authentic.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “Your face looks amazing. I mean, it did. I can’t believe you did all that with just eye shadow.”

  “Yes, I’m amazing, I know.” She strikes a pose with one hand on her tiara. “But don’t allow my display of mercy trick you into thinking we are friends.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I didn’t . . .”

  “Hey, sisters,” Her Highness calls out to the crowd, “it’s time to spill some tea. Let’s have your Qs! Lana and I shall give our best As.”

  She points to a preteen in the second row waving her hand in the air with so much enthusiasm her neighbors are all flinching.

  The girl leaps up. “Hi, I’m Ashley, and I have a question for both of you.” Her smile barely fits on her face. “What made you get interested in makeup?”

  “I was sort of abruptly thrown into it.” I laugh at my inside joke that nobody else gets. Clearing my throat, I think about how Lana would likely answer this question.

  I look at Her Highness, sitting beside me as she glances at her reflection in the mirror and readjusts her expression. I think about the obvious façade she’s wearing. All part of a constructed persona, and she’s rewarded for being over-the-top and wildly entertaining.

  “I think makeup can be used as a mask sometimes.” I look at the diverse crowd and smile. “Dressing up and putting on makeup is a way of pretending to be someone you’re not. And who doesn’t like to get a break from themselves now and then?”

  Her Highness scoffs but I have the herd’s attention.

  I say, “But makeup shouldn’t be used to turn us into homogenized versions of cookie-cutter beauty.” I think of Lana. “And it shouldn’t be layered on to hide our pain. Our unique traits and imperfections aren’t shortcomings and our true selves are what the people who matter want to see.”

  “Wow, that’s really deep, Lana.” Her Highness laughs. “And here I fell in love with makeup the day I experienced the thrill of shoplifting my first Chanel Rogue Allure lipstick from the cosmetics counter at Bloomies.”

  “Seriously?” My mouth drops open in shock and Her Highness uses one long fingernail underneath my chin to guide it shut.

  “Close your mouth, darling,” she says. “It was Coco’s cult classic, Pirate Red. And it was just a tester.”

  “Testers are supposed to be for everyone.” A voice comes from the back of the room, and I’m so happy to see my cousin striding toward us in her high heels. That is, until she marches right up to Her Highness and flings a handful of glitter directly into her face.

  Her Highness lets out a blood-curdling scream that echoes throughout the mall. The muscled security guards immediately spring forward as Her Highness stands up, spitting repeatedly, with glittered drool running down her chin.

  “What are you doing?” I ask Lana as I try to help Her Highness brush the glitter off her tongue.

  “I saw the livestream and was already on my way here when I got your text,” Lana says, gently touching my cheek. “I can’t believe Her Highness actually hit you! Where was my mom?”

  I touch the fake bruise on my eye with my fingertips. “Oh, no,” I say. “This was just part of a makeup challenge. Look, it comes off.” I rub the shadow with the back of my hand to show her.

  “Oh,” Lana says sheepishly. We look at each other with wide eyes and slowly turn our attention to an enraged-looking Highness spitting glitter.

  “Lookie, LANA.” Her Highness’s voice is super screechy. “Who is your attack goon?”

  “Hi there.” Lana gives a big smile. “I’m Lana’s cousin, Ricki. Sorry H. Just a misunderstanding.”

  “It’s actually a funny story,” I say. “See, she thought you’d attacked me.”

  “Not funny, and you honestly thought I would assault another makeup artist?” Her Highness says. “What kind of a monster do you think I am?”

  With that, she plants her high heels in a fighting stance and takes a full swing at Lana’s jaw.

  Thankfully catlike reflexes run in my family, because my cousin quickly ducks out of the way before she can get clobbered.

  “Hey!” I say. “You literally just said you’d never attack another makeup artist.”

  “That’s right, Lana,” Her Highness says, wiping at the glitter on her face while trying to get closer to my cousin. “But this chick here is no makeup artist.”

  Her Highness lunges again and Lana barely manages to leap out of the way. The girls in the audience are going wild and all the phones are positioned at full attention.

  “Okay, Erik!” Lana calls between heavy breaths. “Any time now.”

  A smooth voice says, “Well hello, young ladies,” and Erik steps into view from the back of the room. “Any of you pull some cool pranks lately?”

  Apparently, this crowd of girls has been holding back their enthusiasm this whole time because now they go completely berserk. Erik smiles and waves and is immediately engulfed by a flock of fangirls rushing from their seats.

  The security guards leap to Erik’s aid since now he’s the one in greatest mortal peril.

  Lana grabs my hand and starts dragging me toward the break in the crowd behind us. We’re fighting against the swarm of teenage girls heading toward her boyfriend, but Lana points to a giant, waist-high planter at the edge of the staging area.

  Before I know what’s happ
ening, Lana leaps up onto the planter so she’s standing inside the enormous six-foot fern growing from the center of it.

  All I have time to say is, “Really?” before I feel myself being dragged up and inside the fern as well.

  While we crouch down in our wild hideout together, Lana says, “I think I may have figured out why we switched places.”

  A fern frond finds its way inside my mouth and I start coughing. I really thought I would be the one to figure things out, not Lana. “Did Aunt May—cough—say something?”

  “No, she’s still glued to Wes,” Lana says. “But I found a really big clue. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  “Way ahead of you.” I jump down the other side of the planter and see the outer crowd has mostly left to close in around poor Erik.

  “Come on,” I say, reaching up to help Lana jump. I know for a fact that the body she’s inhabiting is not as spry as the one she’s used to.

  “Wait.” She ducks her head out from the fern. “Hey, Erik,” she calls.

  A tuft of his blond hair sticks out from the center of the throng, like the eye of the storm that is his teenage fans. Erik’s face whips in our direction, and when he sees me he holds a thumbs-up in the air.

  He calls out, “I love you, Lana!” like a man who’s not sure if he’ll make it home alive.

  The mob gives a collective swoony Awwwww, and Lana leaps down from the fern and elbows me hard.

  “Ow.” I rub at my ribs. “I’m delicate now. And you’re not.”

  Lana points toward Erik and hisses, “Yell, I love you too!”

  “You sure?” She nods energetically, so I raise my voice and call, “I’ve got to say, Erik . . . I love you too!”

  The girls all squeal at being a part of this very special and traditionally private moment.

  Lana and I immediately join hands and start running away from the scene like a couple of cat burglars. As we make our escape, I have to ask her, “Was that all for the cameras, or did you two just make a mutual declaration of love?”