Harly

Chapter Fourteen (Edited 08/2021)

The online community Lacey introduced me to was actually pretty fun, though I hated to admit it.

I had had a sense of embarrassment because I thought Lacey was on this website because she was lonely, and I thought I had failed her.

But even myself, out of high school and trying to go to college, I realized I was lonely too. And the internet really helps fix that problem.

A new term I learned was "catfish."

I learned this term because I was called one. After a quick Google search, I found this description: A catfish is someone who creates a false online identity. Catfishing is common on social networking and online dating sites. Sometimes a catfish's sole purpose is to engage in a fantasy. Sometimes, however, the catfish's intent is to defraud a victim, seek revenge or commit identity theft.

I was confused, to say the least. In what world did it seem I was creating a false identity? Lacey had to pull me aside from the chat and explain it.

"They find it fishy that I introduced you. Apparently it's super rare for family members to have accounts and talk to each other." She rolled her eyes. "Y'know, most of these people are adults, but I think I may be smarter than them." I was still confused, but went along with her.

Cerulean: Not that I need to defend myself, but what kind of proof do you need?

I watched in interest as several people requested a photo of us together. That didn't sound hard to do, but I was worried about putting pictures of my thirteen year old niece on the internet for any random to see. However, she crushed that theory by telling me she already had some up.

In her defense, I barely recognized her.

The filters, the gaudy fake makeup she used some app to put on her face. They were all.... terrible.

"Lacey," I began, hesitantly. She looked up with a question in her eyes. "Not to sound rude.. But these pictures...." I considered my words. I said I didn't want to be rude, but what was a nice way to tell her that they were horrible?

"Oh, I know." She said, uninterested. "I didn't really want them knowing my age so I edited them." I raised a brow. This was on purpose? I considered for a bit.

"What if I put real makeup on you?" I asked. She looked up, surprised, but I could see the attention I received upon asking her. She was interested.

"You do makeup?" She asked, obvious suspicion in her voice. It was for good reason though. I probably hadn't done makeup once since I came here.

I fidgeted in her desk chair. "You know, I just graduated high school a few months ago," I began, choosing my words carefully again. "And I'm planning on going to college... For special effects makeup." I finally mustered. It was embarrassing to say, but I was definitely a theatre nerd in school. I loved doing effect makeup. One of my favorites, in fact, being the makeup used to make people look older on stage.

Her skin was smooth and taunt, a bonus of childhood. I could definitely make her look at least like an older teen.

She seemed dubious, but let me go collect the makeup I rarely splurged on from my gas station paychecks to practice at home. I grabbed my regular makeup as well, wondering if our skin shade difference would hurt anything. She was much more tan than I was, the effect of a childhood where she most likely had to go outside for school in gym class. But I had some dark foundation of contouring purposes that I could mix with my own.

It didn't take a terribly long time. I ended up actually having a lot of fun, but wondered idly if Elle would be mad that I was painting her kid's face. I hear moms sometimes get angry about makeup. My own mom couldn't care less, but if Elle worked to be different than mom, it could be a different matter altogether.