Getting Played (Getting Some, #2)(16)

I zoom in on the golden stars.

“I picked these up from the dollar store at 75% off—but, if your local store doesn’t carry them, they’re a piece of cake to make.”

I move back to a tray table in the corner, where my supplies are waiting.

“You start with a simple star cut out of plain cardboard. And remember—Lifers never pay for cardboard. Your local grocery stores and shops will have some they’re willing to let you take off their hands, if you’re willing to ask. Then, because you guys already know I’m a glitter girl—” I hold up a bottle of golden glitter and a paintbrush “—you paint on your glue and sprinkle your glitter. Make sure you let one side fully dry before working on the other. Then, all you need is a string to tie at the top, and voila!” I hold up the finished shining star ornament. “Instant moving party ambience. These can also be used again for holiday decorations.”

I put the star on the table and brush off my hands. Then I stand up and hold the camera at face level.

“And now . . . do you guys want to see the lake?”

The flurry of hearts and smiley faces that slide up the screen tells me they do.

I tap a button on my computer on the chair, because mood music is important. And a moment later, the song “Learning to Fly” by Tom Petty fills the air. It’s a great song—uplifting, upbeat.

And once again, Dean’s gorgeous smile slides into my head.

“Tom Petty’s Greatest Hits . . . That’s my answer.”

A little shiver ripples through me at the memory of his rough, beautiful voice, and a longing, yearning ache echoes hollowly in my chest.

But I shake it off and refocus. Refocus, refocus, refocus. That’s my word of the day—the month—possibly the rest of my life.

I pan the camera across the lake, capturing the glittering diamonds of the sun on the water’s surface and the group of geese that glide peacefully by in a perfect triangle formation.

It’s beautiful. Serene. It already feels like a home—one that would be so damn easy to fall in love with. The awe that shadows my next whispered words comes straight from my heart.

“Can you guys believe I get to live here?”

I shake my head, laughing, and spinning in a circle as the breeze blows my hair back. Then I wink into the camera.

“Me neither.”

I turn my head back toward the water.

“It’s going to be a great year. We’re going to build a firepit and refinish the dock and turn this place into a dream house.”

From the corner of my eye, I spot Jason at the back door, waving his arm, then giving me the thumbs-up.

“Okay, Lifers, Jaybird just gave me the signal that the gang’s all here and it’s time to kick moving day into high gear.”

I talk about Jason in my videos, but I’ve never shown his face. I figure being a teenager is hard enough without having your picture strewn across social media by your mom.

I pan the camera across the party setup one last time—with the lake in the background. Then I lean over into the shot.

“The coupon code and products from this video will be waiting for you in the comments. Otherwise, I’ll see you guys for another live video on Wednesday night when we’ll start working on the kitchen—because that’s the heart of every house. Also, Wednesday is Lifer Self-Care Night—so I’m gonna show you how to mix a homemade honey and sugar foot scrub that’ll knock your socks off. Leave any questions for me in the comments—sharing this video with your friends isn’t expected, but it’s always appreciated. Bye, Lifers.”

With a wave and a smile, I stop recording. And now it’s time to get my move on.



~



I love my family. They’re nosy and noisy and feel like a hurricane of crazy when they’re all in the same room—but I love them.

My sisters and I could be a case study in nature vs. nurture. Five girls, with the same parents, same DNA makeup, born on average about two years apart, raised in the same house . . . who couldn’t be more different if we tried.

“Valentina, Ines—put your galoshes on if you’re going near the water! And don’t get your pants dirty!”

First, there’s my oldest sister, Brooke. She’s married to a perfect, handsome husband, Ronaldo, with two perfect girls. They live in a four-bedroom house, in an upper class neighborhood, where Brooke presides over school PTA meetings, drinking Chardonnay with the other moms in their tailored slacks, pearls and perfectly matching cardigan sweater sets.

Things go downhill from her.

“Where’s the alcohol? I had too much caffeine this morning—I need a shot of something to bring me down.”

Judith is my next oldest sister. She’s the shortest among us, but what she lacks in height, she makes up for in personality. Jude’s a workaholic CPA, who’s married to Michael—another workaholic CPA. Michael only shows up to the big-holiday family gatherings where he generally gets sloshed before dinnertime and when leaving, tries to kiss everyone goodbye . . . on the mouth. Judith never goes anywhere without her phone, her hair is in a perpetually messy bun and a perfume of freshly brewed coffee surrounds her, like it’s seeping from her pores.

“Already on it, Jude. The alcohol’s outside. I’ll get you a glass as soon as I finish writing this line down.”