CHAPTER SIX
You know that part inmovies where the main character wakes up thinking about the exact same thing they were obsessing over the night before? I used to watch scenes like that and think they were totally unrealistic. Welp, I was wrong. By the time we went to bed, BamBam had already said no to half of my arguments for entering the contest, but I’d stayed up most of the night dreaming up more of them, and I’d be damned if I didn’t attempt those, too.
“Good morning, BamBam,” I said as soon as she opened the bathroom door.
“Bah!” BamBam shouted, and clutched her chest in surprise, then blinked at me until she gathered her composure. “You scared me. Why are you up? It’s seven a.m. Don’t you need to sleep through lunch?” BamBam laughed at her own Jamie-always-sleeps-in joke as she walked toward her bedside table, where her phone was plugged in.
“Ha. Ha. Cinematic genius needs rest,” I said, rearranging myself on my pillows.
“Considering how much you sleep, it seems a lot less like genius at rest and more like genius in its final resting place.” BamBam started laughing at herself again, then added, “You could sleep through a train on the Blue Line rolling past your window.”
I snorted. In reviewing my failure last night, it occurred to me that begging BamBam to please, please,pleaseparticipate in the TrendCon video challenge right after the thirty-seventh person that evening told her that she and Buzzy were wearing the same outfit was probably not the best way to set myself up for success. But today was a new day.
“Speaking of cinematic genius, I know I mentioned the TrendCon video to you last night—”
“You call that mentioning? I’d have called it badgering.” BamBam raised a skeptical eyebrow at me.
“Tomato, tom-ah-to.” I shrugged, hoping that BamBam would find my answer charming. It worked…kind of. Okay, she half smiled, but that was enough for my desperate little mind to keep going. “Anyway, I understand what you were saying about TrendCon not getting free exposure from you—” BamBam opened her mouth to object, so I rushed on, my voice sounding artificially bright as I heaped an extra dose of positive spin on it. “And I totally understand you feeling like Mom and Dad worked hard to set aside funds for SISU, so a prize entry is unnecessary, but there are other reasons besides the money. This could be another great opportunity for us to showcase a different side of your business.”
“Baby, how would this be different than any of the other brand partnerships I actually get paid to do?” BamBam pursed her lips to the side, her tone a little less patient than it had been a few moments ago. “That Sparkles man threw a VIP party to try and trick some of the country’s biggest creators into giving TrendCon and Las Vegas free advertising. Grandma wasn’t born yesterday. Besides, a contest entry at my level just cheapens the brand. That’s something creators who are just getting started do, not veterans like me.”
Grasping around for something that made an unpaid advertisement sound like a good idea, I cleared my throat. “Maybe they would want you to become the new face of TrendCon.”
“Because Kelly Sparkles is eager to retire all of a sudden?” BamBam didn’t even try to sound like she was humoring the idea.
“Maybe not TrendCon Las Vegas, but maybe the Chicago regional creator’s network could—”
“Jamie.” BamBam tilted her head at me as if she couldn’t believe that she had to point out how obviously ridiculous that idea was. “I love that you are always looking for new ways to grow my platform, but honestly, we already have a good plan. And I don’t want to be the face of a con, not even TrendCon. Just yesterday you pitched me on a much more reasonable way to branch out. I’m not cut out to be the face of an event or a whole city, but a makeup brand? The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that you are onto something with that.”
“But—”
“Baby, if you really want to enter, why don’t you and one of your little friends do it?” BamBam’s voice sounded exactly likeit had when she would watch my siblings and me after school and we got too rowdy. If I didn’t give up now, there was a real chance she’d send me to go play in the yard or give me a chore to shut me up.
“Okay. Fine. I’ll ask Nittha.”
“There you go.” BamBam gestured at me and grinned. “Speaking of Nittha, did you get what you needed from her for the video? We should probably start setting up soon, since the panel starts at ten.”
“I forgot to ask last night. I’ll text her now.” My heart sank even though I tried to keep my face neutral as I picked up my phone to text my friends for an emergency coffee. Getting the equipment had slipped my mind because I was excited about the TrendCon prize.
A hint of desperation started to creep through me, and I pushed it back. Maybe Nittha and Cricket would want to partner? I’d never collaborated with anyone other than BamBam. Nittha and I had totally different styles, but this could be a good learning experience. Plus, filming a dog would be a new directorial challenge for me to add to my résumé along with TrendCon prizewinner. Shoving the covers away, I popped out of bed and rushed over to my suitcase so I could get ready for the day. BamBam saying no was only a minor setback.
“Jamie, your phone is ringing,” BamBam called, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Coming,” I called back, still surveying the contents of my suitcase.
“It’s your mom. I’m gonna answer,” BamBam said, this timetruly getting my attention. I turned to sprint back toward my nightstand, trying to catch BamBam before she picked up the phone. I did not want to talk to my mom right now, or almost any other time, for that matter.
“Bam—”
“Hello, June.” BamBam’s voice sounded too animated to be genuinely excited, but she smiled all the same. “Uh-huh. Jamie is just coming out of the bathroom. You know it’s early here.” BamBam raised one eyebrow at me in an are-you-ready-to-talk gesture, then said, “Yes, we are really having a blast. And she’s already so excited for those college tours. Oh, here she is. We’ll catch up later. Yup. Bye-bye.”
Holding the phone out to me, BamBam mouthedS-A-T. While I appreciated the warning, I would have appreciated her ignoring the call more. Holding my breath, I pulled my shoulders back and took the phone from her.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, Messy.”
I cringed at the nickname. I was Mom and Dad’s messy third child—the one who seemed to constantly need correcting. Then again, they called my older sister Buffie—short for buffalo—because she was big as a kid, so it could be worse. Kindof.
