Nothing To Prove

26 I'm Awake, People!

Samantha

"And that's when I learned: my self-worth came from within. Not from seeking validation from others," the tall woman on stage concluded, earning a round of applause. She oozed grace and confidence, the peach dress flowing over her toned legs. 

When I received the invitation card from Social Bubble, I had bawled from excitement. An interview at their Mental Health panel? Apparently, many organizations had taken my webcam disaster as a serious matter, (especially after the reason why I was afraid of the dark had come out). So, they wanted to hear my story. I was given a chance to finally be seen.  

The last two weeks, I'd rehearsed and rehearsed in front of the mirror. So many people would be watching. Filming live. My story would be up online for all of eternity. 

This. Could change. My life. 

I spent my last couple of hundred bucks on a yellow summer dress. Brown, high-heel sandals. Hip pads, of course. The skirt was a little too tight to go without curves. I even got honey highlights in my hair and powdered a peachy blush on my cheeks. To look lively. 

The convention hall was made of glass, reaching the clear blue sky. Thousands of chatters echoed up the high ceiling. My skin buzzed with nerves. At least the massive size of the building would lower my chances of running into Ashton. He'd be here for Luka, after all.

Thankfully, Luka's dance studio was on the other end and we were supposed to start at the same time. His class was meant to last an hour, my interview only fifteen minutes. So, Cara would be at my interview, then the two of us would go support Luka.

And in the event I ran into Ashton, I'd just say... hello. Very civil. You know, nonchalant. 

While I was dreading and wishing to see him again, the makeup studio was chaos. Every influencer soon to be on stage was seated in front of a vanity mirror, being perfected. Luka was mouthing the choreography steps while a lady sprayed his blonde hair. Cara, the intimidating woman in a sleeveless turtleneck and chained cargo pants, was glaring at her. Luka being Luka, poked her waist and winked knowingly. Which made Cara melt, though she'd never admit it. 

"What do you need, hon?" A makeup artist asked me.

"Oh! Um..." I glanced at myself. "I'm really... not sure? What do you recommend?"

She gave me a warm smile and grabbed my arm, pulling me onto an empty stool. She observed my hair and makeup, concluded I only needed a brief touchup, and started to powder my nose. In the midst of it, the last voice I'd ever wanted to hear now, broke out behind me. 

"Please, I'm like the most popular influencer here. Why would you doubt me?" 

Stacy. I'd recognize that snarky tone everywhere. 

"Because you look like one of those hookers at cheap gas stations who sell their body for meth." An even more snarky, older woman's voice made my eyes bulge. "You're so dehydrated. Come on, your skin is all saggy. Don't you know people here know you're my daughter?"

Oh my God. Stacy's mother. 

"That's our host..." The makeup artist chuckled sarcastically, rubbing my nose faster. "Don't be scared, sweetie. She only talks like that to her."

"What?" I whispered. "But that's so mean..." 

"Sam?" Stacy called behind me, making me dreadfully turn. Oh, crap. She looked stunning in a red, floor-length dress. I felt like a caked up lemon now. 

"Hi, Stacy." Maybe if I smiled politely, she'd mirror it back.

"Are you here to promote your webcam business or something?"