Page 19 of Heartbeats and Hashtags
Everly motions for me to join her, and I obediently follow. We arrive in a spacious room lined with mirrors and bright lights like a mini beauty salon.
There’s a giggling group of teenage girls in the corner, I note, instinctively assessing for threats. But there are no dangers here, just youthful excitement at Everly's appearance. A few girls greet her with confidence, and others shyly smile or say a quiet hello. Everly impressively greets each girl by name, except for one in the corner, who I watch her go up to, kneel down, and whisper a few words.
Everly holds their attention masterfully. “Hey, everyone! Please take whatever you’d like. Makeup, accessories galore just for you...” Cue enthralled gasps. I smother a smile watching her work the room so effortlessly. I have to respect the smooth passion for leaving people feeling uniquely special. The girl's got talent.
Before this, I viewed Everly's beauty-guru content as shallow fluff. But seeing shy teens flock eagerly for makeup tips, I understand why she does it now.
Sure, I can't relate to lipstick struggles as a guy. But the glow lighting up these girls' faces when Everly reassures them of their unseen beauty? That universal affirmation I understand.
In this noisy hive of happy bonding, Everly catches my gaze a few times before looking quickly away.
“Right, who wants to show us how to apply the foundation? What about you, Hannah?” She points to one of the older, confident girls. Hannah eagerly jumps up.
“My talent is in squats, not mascara.” The room erupts with laughter.
The room continues to buzz with laughter and chatter as Everly bonds with the girls. At this moment, she isn’t just a fitness influencer but a friend, an inspiration, and someone who genuinely cares. She doesn’t film a second of it. I wonder if she ever posted about this, which would surely go down well with the public. It is curious that she seems to exploit every other aspect of her life except this.
“Alright, girls. I’ll be back soon! Bye!” she calls out to the room, inclining her head toward the door at me. A chorus of goodbyes follow us into the hallway. Everly bumps into some director, and the two begin chatting animatedly about an upcoming fundraiser.
A group of teenage boys catch my eye through a window. Half-heartedly tossing a basketball without any real game or purpose, their bored disinterest is palpable even from a distance.
I pause to observe them. While Everly speaks, the boys lope around lackadaisically, expressions ranging from mildly sullen to openly resentful each time the ball thumps off their hands.
The window is cracked open a little. I catch snippets about hated school obligations and then hear one say, “…nothing fun to freaking do in this dead-end town.” Tuning out Everly and the director's chatter, I approach Lisa, the woman who greeted us, who is monitoring a snack table.
“What's the deal with them?” I tip my head discretely toward where the boys slouch against the wall, now scrolling on phones with glazed eyes.
The weary woman sighs, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Honestly? We're at a loss with that bunch. They won't participate in any activities we plan, just complain and cause occasional minor trouble.” She looks around, making sure nobody is in earshot, and whispers, “Some even started dabbling in shoplifting and vandalism from sheer boredom.”
I frown, arms reflexively crossing my chest. “And the only outlet you've provided is a single basketball? Isn't there programming that’s more...engaging for them?”
“We've tried!” she exclaims, throwing up her hands. “Music lessons, crafting, even cooking classes, which we thought might tempt them. But they just won't engage in structured activities. We care but can't seem to connect.”
As she bustles off to tend to another issue, I watch the boys a moment longer. Their dynamic sparks half-forgotten memories in me — directionless energy seeking purpose, loyalty begging bonds that strengthen rather than diminish. I remember being that age with testosterone coursing through me. A cooking class wouldn’t have been my idea of fun either.
“You ready?” Everly surprises me, creeping up beside me.
“Yeah”
“Good. I’m all done here.” She exchanges more goodbyes then jump-runs toward the car.
“Ready to get back into Betsy?” She smirks.
Even though I may have a newfound respect for her after that visit, I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for Betsy.Orbe able to predict the next move of her spirited driver. That scares me more than getting in this death trap.
About thirty minutes from Everly’s place, My phone pings, and I my body tenses while reading the alert.
“Pull over,” I say calmly so I can assess the situation and figure out our next move.
“Look, I know I can sometimes break a little rough, but seriously?—”
“This isn’t about your driving, Everly,” I interrupt her. She must sense the seriousness in my tone, because her eyes widen and her annoyance gives way to concern. I shift in my seat.
“The new security camera outside your house has paid off,” I mutter. “It caught someone lurking there about five minutes ago trying to peek inside while hanging around the windows. They’re dressed all in black sweats, so we can’t say anything about them really.” Everly sucks in a sharp breath.
I haven’t even told her the weirdest part.
“And I think I’ve figured out why they use the name EvBear.”
