Almost Famous, a Talent Novel (4 page)

Emily scoured the school grounds for some way to escape this inevitably awkward meeting, and then realized . . . she didn’t know where anything was. Before she could stammer,
Maybe some other time
, Elliot Tachman himself emerged from the black Phantom. With his bulky frame and wild, curly hair, he looked like the giant wolverine on his navy blue Michigan sweatshirt.

“Hello, Emily,” Elliot said, smiling. “I hear we get to keep
you
in Los Angeles for a little while.”

Emily nodded. She’d heard that word traveled fast in this town, but this was
reallyfast
. She’d only moved in with the Armstrongs twelve hours ago. She hadn’t even slept there yet!

Around her, a crowd of BAMS students headed toward the entrance seemed to slow, as if impressed to see some random girl talking to the multiple-Oscar winner. Emily blushed. Strutting across the campus with the Inner Circle was one thing, but getting attention on her own felt weird.

“Glad to hear it.” Elliot nodded. “You know, everyone was so moved by your audition. We want to find a part for you no matter what. My office will call your agency, but I wanted to tell you myself. I do hope you’ll consider working with me.”

Emily looked around her, as if he’d started speaking to someone else. She felt her throat go dry. Her right leg began trembling, then her left leg. She felt weak and excited at the same time: Elliot Tachman had just offered her, Emily Skyler Mungler, a role.
In a Hollywood movie.

“Thanks,” Emily said calmly, but inside she was buzzing. She wished Mac were there to say the perfect thing, because Emily had no idea what you were supposed to say when the biggest producer in America offered you a job. “That sounds like fun.”

“Great. We’ll be in touch.” Elliot waved. Then, looking right at Kimmie, he said, “And you. Behave. Or else.” He made a “grrrrr” sound like a bear.

“Duh, Da-dee!” Kimmie said, giggling and making a bear paw back. Elliot disappeared into the Phantom, and it drove off immediately.

Turning to Emily, Kimmie cried, “I can’t wait to tell
eh-ver-eee-one
your news!” Emily was still too stunned to say anything. “Are you in homeroom with me and Mac?” Kimmie asked slowly, as though she were talking to a small child.

Emily nodded weakly. Her brain had shut down.

“All righty, then. We should go,” Kimmie said. Emily was so excited she barely noticed Kimmie grabbing her hand and leading her to homeroom.

Emily took one last look at the BAMS grounds, smiling. What had she been so worried about before? She
belonged
. Not only that, she was going to be Bel-Air ’s newest starlet-in-residence.

C
oco’s heart skipped a beat as she opened the blue double doors to the BAMS auditorium. The stadium-style leather seats were packed. True to BAMS policy, the whole school was invited to the captain auditions for the Bam-Bams, the dance team. Anyone could walk in and watch.

Or snicker
.

Coco was always a little afraid that kids would make fun of her behind her back because her mother was Cardammon—and she
wasn’t
. Having a living legend for a mom made it difficult to feel accomplished.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted Mac, Becks, and Emily sitting in the third row, two rows behind the Bam-Bams, taking pictures of themselves with their iPhones. Mac had brought bento boxes for them all for lunch. Becks looked up from a dragon roll to wave hello.

“You ready?” Mac whispered, turning her phone to snap a picture of Coco.

“I guess so.” Coco shrugged and began her stretches in the area to the side of their seats. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves. This audition was about so much more than just
dancing
. Earlier that week, Coco had tried out for Brigham Powell, the most powerful music producer in the world—along with her Bam-Bams teammate Ruby Goldman. But Brigham had passed on Coco and had instead signed
Ruby
up for a record deal. Apparently, Coco needed more work. Unfortunately, today was Coco/Ruby showdown number two, as Ruby was up for captain as well. Ruby had always been an amazing dancer, but ever since she’d lost forty pounds over the summer, she’d had a sparkling confidence that gave her an extra edge. Coco was dreading the idea of losing to Ruby again, especially since she’d wanted to be captain for years. It was the ultimate leadership position, because the Bam-Bams didn’t have a coach, just a “faculty advisor.” The captain chose all the routines, scheduled the practices, and was even in charge of booking all the group’s shows.

Coco took a sip of her citrus-flavored Vitamin Water just as she spotted Ruby entering the auditorium. One of Ruby’s minions, Haylie Fowler, stood to her side with her arms crossed, more bodyguard than friend. Since Ruby had lost all that weight, Haylie was now the only truly fat girl in their grade. She was also an alternate on the dance team, but had never actually gotten to perform. Coco almost felt sorry for Haylie: Everyone knew that the only reason she was still on the team was because her father owned the Grove, the best outdoor shopping mall in L.A., and she hooked the team up with their prestigious holiday show every year. Haylie was untouchable.

Ruby was dressed in stretchy gold lamé pants and a black T-shirt that hung off one shoulder and exposed her shiny gold sports bra. Her yellow-blond hair was teased in a side pony. She looked like she was an extra in the 1980s movie
Flashdance.
Mac jabbed Coco in the ribs, making sure she’d seen Ruby’s outfit choice. But the gold and black getup didn’t make Coco scoff; instead she felt silly for having chosen so conservatively—she was wearing black leggings and a black American Apparel tee. She looked like a nerdy grad student compared to her nemesis.

Ruby and Haylie walked slowly across the auditorium and squeezed themselves into the second row, right in front of the Inner Circle and right behind the dance team. Technically anyone could be on the team, even boys, but in reality the Bam-Bams was an exclusive club for some of the cutest, most connected girls at school.

Mac, Emily, and Becks stopped playing with their cell phones long enough to give Ruby and Haylie a
you’re not welcome here
stare. If Ruby noticed, she didn’t let on. She dropped her coffee-colored leather Club Monaco duffel on the floor and sat down to face the stage, her back to the Inner Circle.

Snippets of Ruby’s conversation and her oh-so-annoying baby voice floated back to Coco. “And then I said to Brigs, ‘I’m only thirteen, I can’t drive!’” Haylie laughed like that was the funniest thing she’d ever heard in her entire life. “And then he asked me if I was
rehearsing
for dance captain auditions. And I was like, ‘Um, hellooo, are you crazy?’ That’s, like, an insult to my level. Can you
imagine
?”

Coco looked down at the ground, hoping that none of her friends had heard Ruby’s comment, because Coco had spent
hours
choreographing a dance to Rihanna’s “Umbrella.” She’d taped herself from every angle, changed the dance four times, and repeatedly asked her mother’s opinion.

Ruby and Coco had each been given two days to devise a routine that, in theory, the dance team could perform. Coco desperately wanted to impress the younger members of the team, who voted on a captain based on choreography, dance skills, and of course the unspoken x-factor: popularity. But Coco also wanted to impress herself. She wanted to be proud of her dancing again. She’d been so depressed after her Brigham audition that she’d almost quit.

Coco pressed her Stila-glossed lips together, wishing the din of the noisy room were even louder so that she couldn’t hear their voices. She was imagining how stupid she would feel when she did her very practiced, very coached dance, and then Ruby blew her away with something effortless. It was so unfair how some people were born with Talent, and Coco had to get by with Hard Work. She kicked her foot up on the chair in front of her—Ruby’s seat—and tied the laces of her black jazz shoes a little tighter.

Ruby turned around, very slowly, when Coco’s shoe tapped her chair. “Oh, hi, Coco! I didn’t see you!” she said with fake surprise. “Hey, Mac, Becks, New Girl . . .”

“Hi,” Coco replied evenly, slowly removing her foot from Ruby’s chair. She could feel Mac tense beside her.

“I’ve been soooo busy with Brigs and career-planning, I haven’t had time to check in. How
are
you?” Ruby asked fake-sweetly, teasing some blond hairs in her side pony.

“Fine,” Coco said through gritted teeth.

“Ruby, why didn’t you tell me it was Back to the ’80s Day!” Mac jumped in, eyeing Ruby’s ensemble. “I wish I’d known. I would have worn something . . . ugly.”

Ruby laughed like this was a joke instead of an insult. A beat too late, Haylie followed along, letting out her screechy laugh. She sounded like a horse. Coco felt bad for Haylie, who, in addition to being large, was knock-kneed. Behind her back, people called her SSD (Seven-Second Delay) because she was so slow. “Oh, Macdaddy,” Ruby sighed. “You’re so funny.”

“You know what’s funny?” Mac replied instantly. “Your outfit.”

“You know what’s sad?” Ruby asked sweetly. “How you’re gonna lose social chair.” Her tone was so Splenda-sweet the words sounded like a compliment.

“Snore.” Mac threw her arms up to fake-yawn, her wooden bracelets clunking. “Wake me up when Ruby stops talking.” Emily and Becks giggled. More than anyone they’d ever met, Mac was
so
not afraid of confrontation. Maybe it came from having a no-nonsense agent mother.

“Don’t sleep too long or you’ll miss my social chair victory speech.” Ruby flashed a coy, Paris Hilton smile.

Coco glared at Ruby, about to say something. And then she realized . . .
it was all a total waste of energy.
Instead, Coco decided to spend her energy on herself. She put on her Bose noise-canceling headphones and listened to the
Dreamgirls
sound track, tuning out everyone. She imagined performing the best she could. She mentally ran through her routine: double pirouette, barrel turn, hip walk, hip fall. She envisioned stretching her arms out vigorously, nailing her turns, and smiling all the way.

Coco had spent the summer training with the most revolutionary dance teacher in London (arguably the world)—Marcel Marcel, the man who had made her mother a pop star. He’d taught Coco to let go and “feel” the music. It had taken all summer, many failed moves, and much sharp-tongued criticism, but eventually his staccato commands had become fewer and fewer, until Coco could dance his style without Marcel having to whisper a word.

Vivian Kelley, the school’s athletic director, walked to the front of the stage. She had broad shoulders, and was shaped like a rectangle. Today she wore a navy blue tracksuit, her thick brown hair hanging down like drapes. She looked like a man wearing a wig. “All righty, everyone, let’s get this party started,” Vivian called out, clapping her meaty hands together. “As a reminder, we will be having a dance-off for the role of Bam-Bams captain, between two of the eighth-graders on the team: Ruby Goldman and Cordelia Kingsley.”

The Inner Circle applauded furiously at the sound of Coco’s name, and, in front of them, Haylie whooped for Ruby. The Bam-Bams in the front row remained quietly nonpartisan.

“One lucky girl will be chosen to choreograph the routines of the world famous Bam-Bams!” Vivian continued. “I’m going to call one of the names at random, and each of our dancers will perform a quick two-minute routine. Of course, you can all cheer, but only the Bam-Bams can vote.” She eyed the front row, where the seven other members of the dance team were sitting holding ballots: the twins, Lucia and Maribel Peets; Alexa Harris, whose father owned Harris jeans; Eden Singer, whose mother, Anabelle, was a former reality TV star and supposedly cuckoo; and the sixth-graders—Anais Lindly, Taylor White, and Ames Evershod. They were all dressed in their black Lululemon workout pants with a hot pink waistband, because the clothing company had recently decided to sponsor the team in a bid to win over young tastemakers.

Onstage, Vivian was still talking. “I want you all to show your support for our amazing dancers and all the hard work they’ve put into the team for the past two years. It’s gonna be off the hook!” She pulled a slip of paper out of her tracksuit pocket. “Cordelia, you’re up first!” she announced, and man-walked off the stage.

Coco realized Mac was nudging her to go. She removed her headphones, dropped them into Mac’s open palm, and walked confidently down to the stage.

Coco assumed her first position: head bent, arms behind her back. She’d decided not to use an actual umbrella, because that seemed too cheesy. But she was trying to invoke the idea with her arms. The opening beats of “Umbrella” began to play over the auditorium’s powerful sound system, and Coco took two deep breaths, let out the air, and then went for it. She turned her leg in a half circle, leapt forward, and then actually landed her first double pirouette. Very easily. And the rest of the dance only got easier, even though the moves were technically more difficult. Her barrel turns felt as natural as walking.
I love dancing
, she remembered. She didn’t think about Ruby, or her pop star mother, or the Inner Circle. She didn’t look out at the other dance team members, wondering what they thought of her. She didn’t even think about the crowd.

At the end of the dance, Coco pulled her foot in and spun around four times in a row. It was a turn she’d missed often in practice, but this time, she held on to the ending.

Coco’s breaths slowed, and she let her focus return to BAMS. She looked out into the auditorium and saw rows of smiling—not snickering—faces. Coco beamed proudly and walked back to join her friends, who were jumping up and down as though she’d just won an Olympic gold medal.