Page 181 of Unexpected Hero

“Always a lady, Stella Bella,” I chide her.

She drops her middle finger, her face filling the frame. I try to hide my gasp of shock but don’t come close to succeeding. “Stella Jean! What in the world happened to your face?”

Black streaks coat her cheeks, and blue and red smudges shoot in all directions.

She pulls the phone close to her face, probably to see her own reflection. “Well, fuck. It’s only makeup. Calm your biscuits, woman.”

“You look like you been rode hard and put away wet. Have you been crying?”

“Lettie, it’s what... nine in the morning? You know I don’t cry until after ten.”

She must not be upset if she can still joke.

My nose twitches as teasing thoughts begin stacking up, just itching to fly out of my mouth. “Well, if you haven’t been crying, then did you get abducted by a clown posse on a bender last night? Or is there an open casting call for the circus?”

She purses her lips at me, narrowing her eyes to slits. “Ha ha. You’re hilarious.”She props her phone up on her nightstand and rolls onto her side. “I feel likea can of mashed assholes, Lettie bear.”

“Was it margaritas or moonshine?”

“I plead the fifth.”

“If I told ya once, I’ve told ya thrice. Miss Paula don’t play with that stuff. If she’s pouring, you best be careful. Otherwise, you’ll wake up lookin’ like a toddler did your makeup and set you out in the rain to dry.”

She grins through a yawn, rubbing her eyes, which spreads more makeup all over her tragic excuse for a face. “What is this ultra mega important question you couldn’t text?”

My knee bobs with excitement. I raise my chin, showing her my profile. “Do I look different?”

“Nope. Same ol’ idiot.”

I turn my head to the other side. “What about now?”

“Did you cut your hair or something?”

“Nope.” I bring my face right up to the camera and smile like a serial killer pulling over to pick up a hitchhiker. “Look closer.”

“Violet, I do not have the time, patience, or head space for a fucking quiz. You look beautiful. Same as always.”

Feigning confusion, I rap my fingertips over my chin. “Hmm. That’s odd. I thought it’d be obvious. Huh.”

She puts her hands in a prayer position and mumbles, “Sweet baby Jesus in the manger. Please give me the strength to get through this phone call without jabbing a fork in the electrical outlet. Amen. Oh, and thanks for the gift of a working clitoris.”

When she opens her eyes, I’m flat on my back on my bed, legs akimbo, with the camera pointed toward my penis fly trap, which has finally had its first meal. “How about now?”

Don’t worry. I’m wearing yoga pants. She didn’t get a full cam girl show.

“Violet Beauregard Cornelius Winslow Guthrie, why are you pointing your phone at a camel’s lower extremity?”

I bring the phone up to my face, cackling like a hen laying a dozen eggs. “A camel’s what now?” As soon as the question is out, her meaning hits me, and we bust out laughing.

The bitch just said I had a camel toe.

Once we’ve stopped behaving like classy, mature ladies of high society, she asks, “Why are you flashing me your vagina, Lettie? Are you that lonely that you’re finally trying to get your bisexual BFF to notice you in that way?”

“I was just wondering if it looked any different.” I waggle my brows suggestively.

It takes somewhere between eight and twelve seconds before she starts connecting the dots. I blame Miss Paula's watermelon moonshine for Stella’s processing delay. She’s usually much faster on the uptake.

She jerks upright, grabs the phone, and holds it way too close to her face. “Shut up, Violet. You didn’t. You. Did. Not.”

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