The Secret Singer

Chapter 29- Part 1

This chapter is dedicated to @HoneyClumsyFudge_x for winning third place in my cover contest! Great job girl!

Stephanie's POV

"Let's get waxed ladies."

Never before in the history of human kind have had words inspired such fear in my heart. You see, men, like my boyfriend, have it quite easy. He can go to the masquerade ball tonight by just slapping on a tux and passing a brush through his hair. Heck, he can even forego brushing his hair since he somehow manages to look even hotter with his messy brown locks. I, on the other hand, have to wax my legs, my under arms, and various other parts of my body that in the end make me look like a bright red, plucked chicken with baby oil put all over.

The glamorous life of a female ladies and gentlemen.

Anyway, here I am, getting a full body shiatsu massage from a surprisingly strong old woman at a luxurious spa with Amy, Jess, and get this... Liz.

Liz had woken me up at seven in the morning with a call telling me to "get my bunions up and ready to go in thirty minutes to get ready for the ball tonight." I'd gone outside once I was ready to find an idling limo with my excited friends, Liz, and Helga waiting inside. Helga had immediately pulled me into a tight hug, and then chastised me for letting my eyebrows and dead ends grow out. Because, you know, that's the most important thing on my to-do list right now.

Whatever the case, we pulled into the aforementioned luxurious spa on the outskirts of Sand Diego and were met by a woman whom, I kid you not, asked us to call her "moonstar". Moonstar brought us to a room that looks like it came straight out of a surgeons dream with various pointy instruments of torture and, of course, Liz' special treat for the evening: Waxing stations. Once we'd stripped down to our undergarments, each of the beauticians sat us down on the lounges sprinkled around the room and they immediately got to work on their diabolical rituals of putting warm wax over our limbs and ripping out each individual hair from its follicle with little strips of cloth. Once the excruciating process was over, they spread baby oil and anti inflammatory oil everywhere, and then moved us to the massaging chairs where we are now.

Cucumbers cover my eyes, green goop that smells like citrus and grass is on my face courtesy of Helga (exfoliate, luminate, and shine, love!), and the nails on my hands and feet are all being buffed and painted a rose gold to match the gorgeous dress and mask I bought for the masquerade ball two days ago. Jess gets a salmon color to match hers, and Amy receives a deep violet base with a black and blue stripe running diagonally on each one. Liz and Helga join us in the mani-pedis and decide on a metallic grey and blinding white respectively.

Sitting on the lounge chair while waiting for the paint to dry, I let my mind wander to the letters hidden tightly in my nightstand. I used to have it planned out to move to Duke University if I got accepted, and I used to believe firmly that nothing would change my decision on that. But now, I have a dad who does everything he can to mend his relationship with me, a stepmother and stepsister I'm just now getting to know, friends that I know will last a lifetime, and a new relationship with a guy whom I know will spend a lot of time here in the west coast as his superstardom reaches new heights. Our love is so fragile, and though I trust him with all of my heart, I hesitate at the thought of leaving to the other side of the country when I don't have any reason to anymore. It turns out UCLA had accepted Amy and Jess as well, and they had both accepted already to be close to their families but still have a chance to shine.

UCLA was just an impulse application. I never thought I'd actually want it, especially not with the yearning that grows every day. And as the deadline for accepting approaches, I find myself thinking, what if?