Can it last?
We’re about to find out.
24
Gwen
“Micha, you have to eat
!” My mom looks down at Micha pleadingly, but the day of any show with him is always a chaotic mess.
He flaps a frantic, dismissive hand at her. “You know I don’t eat the morning of a show!” He and Michaela are sitting at the counter, a whole variety of makeup and supplies spread out before them. He says matter-of-factly, “Two hours before curtain call, I’ll eat—”
We all chime in a tired unison, “Seven crackers, six slices of Swiss cheese, five slices of pepperoni, four grapes, three peanuts, two M&Ms, and a Capri Sun.” We all pause, and then add, “Strawberry-Kiwi flavor.”
Micha’s pre-show superstitions are a thing of legend.
He straightens his back primly. “It’s all my stomach can handle.”
None of us were able to sleep in today, as it’s all hands on deck, despite him being packed and ready to go the night before.
“I’ve got this.” Brayden, awake much too early to witness both the standoff itself and anything greasy going to waste, picks up Micha’s plate and dumps it onto his own. “Problem solved.”
Michaela’s plate is already empty, and at the moment, pushed aside in favor of an eyeshadow palette. “I think green and purple.”
Micha scoffs. “No way. Purple and turquoise, silver highlights, glitter in the corners.”
Michaela tilts her head, eyebrows pulled together in deep thought. She ultimately nods. “Yeah, that could work.”
Micha had probably had his look chosen and perfected weeks ago, but nobody says so.
An hour later, after we’ve all had the appropriate amount of caffeine, Micha’s face is in fine form. I know that he’ll just end up re-doing it all prior to the show, but no pre-show look can be tolerated if it hasn’t withstood his afternoon test.
Micha studies his face in a hand mirror, tilting his head from side to side. “What do you think, Gwen?”
This is a trick question. I know for certain there is never too much for Micha. If I tell him it’s too much, he’ll apply more. If I tell him it’s too little, he’ll apply more. If I refuse to answer, he’ll apply more. I venture, “I think you look fantastic.”
He narrows his eyes at the mirror and purses his lips. He declares. “More gloss, I think.”
I roll my eyes and add all the necessary pre-show snacks to his bag. Ten minutes later, my mom and dad are shuffling the twins out the door.
“We’ll meet you there,” I call, waving as they pull out of the driveway. I walk back into the house and collapse heavily onto the couch next to Brayden. “Wow. Is it just me or does that get crazier every time? I need a nap.”
Brayden holds an orange in one hand and flips through the TV channels with the remote in the other, stopping on some kind of sports ball. “It could be the fact you got home so late last night.”
I glance over at my brother and despite willing otherwise, heat creeps up my cheeks. “It wasn’t that late.”
“For anyone else? No.” He lifts an eyebrow. “For you? Definitely late.”
I’d gotten home after midnight and the house was quiet. We don’t have curfews. Mom and Dad feel like we should be responsible for our own time. In general, it’s not a big deal. But like Brayden said, staying out late isn’t something I do.
I shrug as casually as I can. “I went out with a friend from the swim team.”
Brayden leans over to put the remote on the coffee table. “A guy?”
“Yes,” I say slowly, eyes narrowing. “But his girlfriend was with us.”
“Hmm.” He starts to peel the orange, eyes trained on the task. “Michaela says some guy has been asking about you at school.”