7
RAVEN
I’ve never enjoyed having my picture taken. My mom used to tell me I had an‘unnatural camera smile.’Too stiff and forced. She said it looked like I was eating a lemon. It’s no wonder I’m self-conscious about it now. No matter how much practice I’ve gotten over the past few months, I still feel nervous before every photoshoot.
“Hey! What does everyone think of this lip color?” a dark-haired omega calls out. I didn’t catch her name, but I’m pretty sure she’s on the Norwegian speed skating team.
We’re all squished into a small room with mirrors lining one wall, submitting to whatever torture the hair and makeup artists think will look best for this shoot. We’re athletes. Why should we have to get dolled up like we’re getting married? As a figure skater, I’m no stranger to stage makeup and even enjoy it from time-to-time, but the omegas from other sports clearly aren’t as comfortable with it. The whole thing seems a little excessive. You don’t see any of the alphas or betas going through this rigamarole.
A petite omega, who I think is named Min-ji, squintsto look at the one who asked the question. “Nope. Too pink. You want to look fierce, not like a Barbie doll someone’s kid decided needed a makeover.”
The whole room erupts into giggles, and the makeup artist carefully wipes off the omega's bright pink color to replace it with a mauve. It really was an atrocious color. Not that I’d ever tell someone that out loud.
“Did I hear your publicist say you’re going to Cortina after you finish your events?” The omega from the Canadian skiing team, Maryann, asks. She arrived about the same time I did, before everyone else, so we had a little more time to talk and introduce ourselves.
“Yeah,” I reply. “My great-grandmother competed in the 1956 Olympics there. She was a beta and brought home a silver medal in figure skating.”
“That’s quite the legacy to live up to,” Min-ji says.
Yet another reason my hands are shaking in my lap. My parents, grandparents, and Coach Ana all keep reminding me that Gran Elizabeth took home silver and was always disappointed that she didn’t get gold. I’m expected to do better, to show the world that omegas have every right to be here, to live up to all of their expectations of me. Even though the rink that Gran performed on is now hosting curling rather than figure skating—and I know nothing about curling—I’m expected to go with them to the final curling events as a way to honor Gran’s memory.
“Well you should definitely go skiing one day.” Maryann fluffs her hair in the mirror. “The slopes are some of the best I’ve ever been on. If nothing else, go up to the lodge at the top of the hill for their chocolate gelato. It’s amazing.”
“I’m not much of a skier, but I love gelato. I’ll have to give it a try. Thanks.”
We lapse into a comfortable silence as we keep getting ready. Makeup clatters onto the table. Lips are smacked and blotted. The room smells of hairspray and deodorant.
“Is anyone else nervous?” the omega next to me, Lucy, asks, her voice quiet. She’s from Poland and looks like she can’t be much over sixteen. Her overwhelmed expression kind of makes me want to give her a hug, but not everyone appreciates that, and some omegas are especially opposed to being touched by other omegas.
The energy in the room drops a few levels as everyone remembers where we are and what’s expected of us.
“Yeah,cher, I think we’re all nervous,” a gorgeous Haitian omega answers, the creole endearment making Lucy blush.
Min-ji sighs deeply, carding her fingers through her long dark strands. “I don’t think it’ll ever stop being nerve wracking, no matter how many times we do this. Each time I do an interview, or photoshoot, it's like the whole world is just waiting for me to make a mistake so they can write me off. Writeusoff.” Her fingers move down, tracing the little South Korean flag on her turtleneck.
Murmurs of agreement flutter throughout the small space.
“The last photoshoot I did was the worst because it was with all the Norwegian athletes—most of whom are alphas. The pheromones coming off of them…whew. Let’s just hope this crew doesn’t smell too good today, right ladies?” The Norwegian athlete waggles her eyebrows suggestively after her comment.
Just like that, the tension breaks. Perfect timing, too, since the next moment the door swings open.
“We’re ready for you,” a man says, peeking his head in. He’s got more tattoos than anyone I’ve ever seen—even some on his face—and nearly as many piercings.
“Who’s up first?” the makeup artist who just finished with me asks him.
“Whoever’s done,” the man replies.
“I guess that’s me.” I stand up, legs shaking nearly as much as my hands. This isn’t the first photoshoot I’ve had to do for the Olympics, but this one feels special to me. I care about The Hart Foundation and what they’re doing for omegas.
I follow the man into the other room. There’s a smooth, solid white roll of backdrop paper hanging from the top of one wall that wraps all the way down to stretch out over the floor. Various lights are positioned on stands facing the pristine backdrop. There’s even a fan off to the side. I wonder if we’ll actually use it.
“Raven?” A woman steps toward me wearing a kind smile. I’d recognize her anywhere, even though we’ve never met.
“Meggie Hart,” I breathe out the name with awe in my voice. Meggie Hart is a legend to omegas. She was the first omega to confess to secretly competing in the Olympics. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
Meggie runs The Hart Foundation with her mother-in-law, Charlotte Kay Hart, a famous journalist and another legend for omega rights.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Meggie says, offering her hand. “It’s an honor tomeet you.”
