As I step out of the fountain, I tug the towel tighter around me, feeling water drip down my legs, all the while thinking about how many people saw my nipples on display today. “Come on,” Lyss says, already taking my elbow gently and steering me toward the dorms. “Let’s leave the exhibitionists to their… rituals.”
We start walking, and I don’t look back, or forward, for that matter. I keep my gaze glued to the ground, too embarrassed to make eye contact with anyone.
“You know that was Scotty Hendricks, right?” Lyss says, keeping her voice low. “Like… the Scotty Hendricks.”
I shake my head. “He said his name. Means nothing to me.” She side-eyes me. “Hockey royalty. Reality TV star. Very famous abs.”
“I don't watch hockey or reality TV.”
Still wrapped in the towel, soaked to the bone, and squeaking like a rubber duck with every step I take, I thank the universe that we live five minutes from campus—and that it's a Saturday, so there are fewer people to witness my shame. I squelch the entire way home, avoiding eye contact with everyone, knowing the minute they see me, I’ll be known as the girl who showed her nipples off on campus, or worse, the girl who got dick-slapped by some random hockey player.
Exactly how I wanted to make a name for myself here.
By the time we make it through our front door and into the kitchen, I glance at the clock.
“Shit!”
“What's wrong?” Lyss asks as I pull my phone out of my dress, pissed that it's not working. “Rice!” she says. “I'll stick it in rice for you.”
She runs to the pantry and grabs a box.
“That's not important right now. I need to call my boss.”
“Here,” she says before tossing her phone my way. “Use this.”
Iquickly call my boss, knowing her number by heart. “Claire! Hi! Hello! I’m so sorry, I’m going to be five minutes late.”
“Five minutes?” Claire says, unimpressed. “Laura, unless you've been hit by a bus, I need to know that you are going to be here. Otherwise, I need to call someone—”
I don't let her finish that sentence.
“No, please don’t call anyone else. You know what? Pretend this call didn’t happen. I’ll be there on time. I’m already on my way.”
I can't afford to lose this gig. She's paying me two hundred and fifty dollars to pretend to be Princess Blanca for two hours. It's the best gig I'm going to get.
“Okay,” she says, and I hear the disbelief in her voice, but I ignore it. I just hang up.
“I'll drive you,” Lyss offers as she places my phone in a bag of rice.
I nod, thanking her as I hurry to my room where I peel off my wet clothes and change into my costume, which just so happens to be a giant, blue, sparkling ball gown.
Grabbing the tiara and my makeup bag, I head straight to the car where Lyss is already waiting with the engine running.
“Thank you. Thank you,” I say breathlessly as I shut the door.
Lyss drives as I apply my makeup and fix my hair. Miraculously, we arrive at the venue with five minutes to spare, which means I won’t get fired today.
“Thank you!” I call to Lyss as I run up the steps toward the venue in my nearly broken glass slippers. When I’m through the entrance and at the party hall, I take a deep breath, centering myself.
I am Princess Blanca. I am running from an Ice Troll, and my best friend is a fox named Mr. Nibbles.
With one more deep breath, I push open the doors, raise my hands into the air, and launch into full Princess Mode.
“Hi, everyone!” I chirp in my highest, most sparkly voice. “Has anyone seen my petsnow fox, Nibbles?”
I lift my gloved hand to my forehead, scanning the crowd of children, who scream and giggle, before dramatically glancing at my wrist, where there is absolutely no watch, and gasping.
“Oh, you know what? I think he’s taking his afternoon nap! I guess it’ll just be me hanging out with you all today. Is that okay?”
