A tear gets away despite my efforts. I quickly pluck up another swab and catch the fat drop, thankful I saved doing my eye makeup for last.
I quickly reroute all my focus back to applying my mask; today calls for a clean but dramatic smoky halo, using a dark brown color palette and liner.
Apply. Apply. Apply.
Smudge.
Diffuse.
Annnnd time for lashes.
I swap the liner for mascara, untwist the cap, swirl on the tacky goo, and lift it up to the roots of my upper lashes just in time for the swinging doors to burst open, causing me to jolt and drop the wand.
Two new girls file in, both greeting me with a friendly, “Hey Lace,” on the way to their lockers.
Wondering if time moved in hyper-speed, I brighten the screen on my phone. Sure enough, no one should be arriving for their opening shift for another hour or so. “Here so early? How did you get in?” I ask.
Another dancer pushes through the double doors as one of the first to arrive supplies me with an answer: “Kal texted saying we could open an hour early if enough of us showed up to fill the floor. First come, first served. Some new manager — Jude? — let us in.”
While she dumps out the contents of her duffle bag and starts organizing her locker for the day, the girl who walked in with her lets out a low whistle and says, “Sexy as hell. Heard he is available, too.”
Jude. Jude. Jude. Takes me a few heartbeats, but I finally put a face to the name. Jude Delancey. Big brother to my girl Remi and president of the Midnight Runners, the new competitor challenging Crow and his club, Revelry, in the local street racing scene.
The quick brain puzzle serves as a reminder that there is another, much bigger, mystery to solve, and I switch gears: Which road should this aspiring traveler take?
After picking up the mascara wand and dipping it back into the tube, I bring it to my lashes again and start applying while agonizing over making the right choice. Each paired black coat is like plucking off two flower petals while pondering whether “he loves me” or “he loves me not” but with a much more dour twist.
The parting words Kal left me with echo in my head. “You have twenty-four hours.”
As though the Universe decides to send me one final nudge, the familiar braps of bike engines turning over follow those words, and the resulting sounds of their exhausts growling rumble through my inner dialog.
Shit. I have twenty-four hours, and all of my suspects are leaving. Working a shift would be a stupid waste of time. I swipe up my phone, shove it into my pocket, and jump to my feet. When I turn to rush away, my fingers brush against the discarded lipstick.
Bending over and lining up the reflection of my mouth in a mirror fragment only just big enough to get the job done, I pick up the applicator, and firmly swipe the smushed and crumbled mauve wax over my lips.
With what little substance the applicator has left, I then quickly finish writing the poem, drop the lipstick, and scramble to get my helmet and clutch from my locker before sprinting through the swinging doors.
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
xoxo Lace
One day I will traverse the road less traveled.
Unfortunately, today is not that day.