Page 44 of Make Me Laugh

“Josette,” she barks.

“Sorry.” I chuckle, masking my genuine reaction to his note. “It just says that this is his bunk, and he promises there’s nothing weird on the sheets…”

I don’t need Frankie flipping this into a thing when it’s not. A little white lie won’t hurt her. I’ve had enough happen in the last twenty-four hours. I don’t need to add another told you so from Frankie.

I’m not sure when I’ll be ready to open any of Hex's social media or reply to the texts I’ve received from friends. I don’t know what to say, but mainly, I don’t know who to be now that people know who the real me is.

West and I have opposite issues.

“So, this dress you packed.” I need to distract Frankie from the shift in my mood. “It’s a little bright for fall, don’t you think?”

“Since when do I play by fashion’s rules?” Frankie asks, plopping down on my couch. I prop her up against my open bag, digging through to find the butter yellow sundress I never got to wear last spring. “Plus, you’ll autumn-ize it with your leather jacket and Vans.”

Don’t get me started on the whole vegetarian wearing leather thing… Leather is a byproduct of the meat industry, and I thrifted my favorite jacket fifteen years ago. It’s more ethical than buying and destroying many pleather pieces in my lifetime.

“Good one.” I smile at her made up word, stripping down to my underwear.

“Oh no.” Frankie chokes as I hold the dress up and turn around.

“What?” I look down and groan, “Frankie! You said you’d fix the button!”

The reason I didn’t wear this dress in spring is because there’s supposed to be a button that holds the dress around my neck… and that button broke off.

There’s enough fabric to tie at the top and make the dress work, but I can’t do it myself or the dress rises and ends up too high where I can’t clasp the clip under my boobs, leaving an open hole instead of cut outs that show off the tattoos on my ribcage.

“No, no we can do this. I’ll talk you through it. Turn around.” Frankie spins her finger, motioning for me to face my back to her.

For the next ten minutes I wrestle with the dress, Frankie directing in the background. “Little bit down.” I let the strap fall looser. “Up some.” Then I pull it up. “Too far.”

I drop the straps and shoot my arm around my chest to catch the dress before flashing Frankie. “I give up. My arms are sore from holding them up.” I stretch my neck, hoping it’ll help with the burning in my shoulders. “I’ll wear something else. I’m not the one going on stage.”

“Yeah, but people know who you are now too. The second they see you, there’s gonna be videos, pictures, and posts. Speaking of, have you checked your account yet? Your older videos are taking off again.”

I start to slip out of the dress when I hear the door to the camper open and then slam shut. The RV shifts under the person’s footsteps on their way towards me. I rush to the door, fumbling with the lock. Why won’t this stupid fucking thing turn?

Frankie’s still yapping even though I’m out of frame.

I feel the handle rotate and suddenly remember I can speak. “I’m chan⁠—”

It’s too late. The door’s already swinging open, and West collides into me. I manage to stay on my feet, but not while also keeping the dress up. I wrap my arms around my boobs, and thankfully the dress doesn’t fall off my waist.

“Shit, Joey. I’m sorry.” West spins around.

“Oh my god. Did West just see your tits?” Frankie asks in my ear. I can hear the grin on her face without being near my phone to see it.

West retreats down the short hallway. “West, wait,” I call after him. “Goodbye, Frankie. I’ll talk to you later.” I end the call from my earbud before she responds.

He freezes by the half-size fridge.

I puff a breath. “Can you help me with this dress?” I don’t ask the question very loudly, but I know he hears me by the way he stiffens. “It’s broken so I can’t get it on by myself right now.” I clear my throat. “You know what, I actually don’t need to wear this.” I laugh nervously, turning around to shuffle over to my bag. “I have something else. Ignore me.”

His voice is in the room with me when he responds. “No, I think you should wear that dress. You look fucking—” West stops himself. “The color is beautiful on you.”

I look over my bare shoulder, still shielding my breasts from his view like he hadn’t had my nipples in his mouth twelve hours ago.

He’s still wearing the same outfit as earlier—a black hoodie with the softest material I’ve ever felt that fits his arms too well and a pair of gym shorts with an inseam short enough to show off the woodsy thigh piece wrapping around the space above his right knee. I noticed the scars on his left knee earlier today for the first time. They’re faded, but I’ve been around enough athletes to know what the scars from an ACL surgery look like and assume that was his hockey career ender.

It makes me wonder if the few scars I remember seeing across his abdomen are from hockey too… Fuck, I don’t need to be thinking about West without a shirt on right now!