Almost Famous, a Talent Novel (5 page)

Ruby was already taking the stage.

Coco didn’t want to watch. She didn’t want to have to feel inferior again, especially not after the high of the performance she’d just given. She decided to stretch by the side of the row of seats, deliberately facing the back of the auditorium instead of the front. Still, she couldn’t help but overhear her friends.

“What in the world is Ruby
doing
?” Mac hissed.

“She looks like she’s about to eat it,” Becks said, a little too loudly.

“Oh, jeez. Did she even learn a dance?” Emily asked softly.

Coco turned around to peek at RG.

Ruby’s moves were, as always, perfect, and she’d chosen a series of incredibly difficult spirals and fan kicks. But she hesitated after each move, as if unsure of what came next. Her face was contorted in a strained expression, rather than the exuberant smile they’d always been told to wear during a performance. Suddenly Coco realized:
She was trying too hard
. Coco held her breath as Ruby brought her arms in for what Coco instantly recognized was a difficult, five-rotation spin that even Cardammon in her heyday might have missed.

Ruby opened her arms mid-spin and careened to the wood-paneled floor of the stage with a thud.

“
Ow!
” she screeched. The music stopped. The auditorium filled with hushed whispers as two hundred curious people leaned toward the stage for a better look.

“My ankle!” Ruby leaned on her back, staring at her feet, which were crisscrossed. She seemed stuck in her own body.

Vivian Kelley ran over and tried to lift Ruby to her feet.

“Don’t move me!” Ruby barked, as though Vivian were her assistant and not a school administrator. Coco automatically made her way to the stage, feeling like she should do something. She paused at the front row and watched in disbelief as Haylie escorted Ruby off the stage and out the auditorium’s back doors, practically carrying her fireman style.

The dance team huddled together in a semicircle, while Coco stood on the floor in disbelief. When the girls broke apart from their circle, Lucia Peets, a very influential seventh-grader on the dance team, whispered to Coco from her seat. “You were
phenom
,” she said. Lucia had icy blue eyes and long brown hair, and she and her twin sister, Maribel, were rumored to want to co-run for social chair next year.

“For reals,” Maribel chimed in, her blue eyes sparkling. “We totally voted for you,” she hissed confidentially as she handed a stash of dance team ballots to Vivian.

“Thanks,” Coco said sheepishly.

Vivian walked back to the center of the stage, holding the ballots in her hand. “All right, everyone, now that Miss Goldman is, uh, finished with her performance, it’s time for me to announce your new captain. I’m sure you’re all eager to get back to class. NOT!” She chuckled at her own non-joke. “Well, I’ll make this brief. The sixth- and seventh-graders have chosen a dance team captain. And that captain is . . .”

There was a pause. Coco looked around, wondering whatever had happened to Ruby, and whether the other team members would rely more on today’s dance-off or on past performances to make their decision. What if they decided Ruby had performed better for the last two years? What if they felt bad for Ruby and voted for her out of pity? Coco curled her toes in her jazz flats to stay calm.

“Drumroll, please . . . Your new BAMS dance team captain is . . .
Cordelia Kingsley
.”

Mac, Becks, and Emily stood up and cheered, and the rest of the school followed. Coco looked down at the floor, mildly embarrassed that the Inner Circle was shrieking so loudly—she heard Becks whoop like a guy, “YEAH, COCO!”—but mostly, she was proud that she had such great friends on her side. Mac held her iPhone up to take a photo. “Do a victory dance!” she cried out.

Coco grinned from ear to ear. She was maxed out on dancing for the moment. The thought of another pirouette was excruciating. Instead, she high-fived Becks and did a victory strut.

B
ecks dragged her favorite surfboard, her Al Merrick daisy-covered beauty, down to the deserted semiprivate beach behind her house. There were few things in the world that Becks loved more than surfing in the afternoon, when the Malibu air was hot and the ocean felt perfectly breezy by comparison. The early September sky couldn’t have been bluer, and the waves were soft and slow.

Becks plopped her board onto the sand; she wanted to do some yoga poses before hitting the waves. Cat, cow, inhale, exhale. Just like she’d practiced with her father and their yoga guru, Vikram, every morning in Hawaii this summer. Becks had always thought yoga was ooky-spooky, but one day, after a lesson, she’d seen Vikram surf the North Shore in a series of fearless, loose lines, like he was weightless on his board. Becks had promptly rethought her stance.

From the downward dog position, she could see Steven Spielberg’s house in the distance. She inhaled and shifted her gaze to take in her own giant stucco house with its enormous glass windows. Becks’s mother had died when she was a baby, and it had been just Becks and her dad, Clutch, living in that house for as long as she could remember. Her father had put her on a board when she was just three years old, meaning Becks had surfed before she’d learned to ride a bike. But that was natural for someone related to Clutch Becks, who had been the star of his own prank show,
That Was Clutch.
He’d made MTV so much money that they’d designed him a special house out of gratitude (and, of course, to use for reunion movies). While Clutch was retired now, his prank-show buddies still came over all the time, often attempting stunts that were both death- and logic-defying.

Becks took out her piña colada-scented surf wax and began waxing her board. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a familiar goldendoodle bounding toward her—
Boone
. And if Boone was nearby, that meant his owner, Austin Holloway, was not far behind. Austin was one year older than Becks and was starting freshman year at Bel-Air Preparatory School, aka BAPS. Becks scanned the sand and spotted her crush jogging toward her, holding a dog treat shaped like a cupcake.

Becks and Austin had grown up together, and for years she’d treated him like a brother
.
They gave each other wedgies and had veggie dog-eating contests (Becks usually won). Their hangouts were always some version of surf/eat/make fun of each other.

Until last week. When Becks saw Austin for the first time after being apart all summer, something had changed between them. Now, every time she saw Austin, with his new arm muscles and longer hair, she wasn’t sure how to behave around him. The one thing she
did
know was that she couldn’t stand how discombobulated he made her feel. Like now, her body felt as wobbly as Jell-O, and her heart was fired up like the time she’d tried one of Mac’s Red Bulls.

Austin’s shaggy brown hair was flopping over his eyes and down his nose. He wore a long-sleeved Rusty tee that was now too tight in the sleeves, and cargo shorts with big pockets down the legs. He looked boyish but adorable—too adorable, actually. Becks wanted to hide.

“What happened to you the other day?” Austin asked, swatting Becks with his ratty blue towel as he reached her side. “You ditch me for the
ick
?” he teased, referring to his nickname for the Inner Circle. He pretended to throw up
.

“Could you not talk about my friends that way?” Becks said, putting her hands on her hips defiantly, pretending to be annoyed. But inside she was buzzing at being so close to Austin, even if he was making retching noises.

“Dude, you just, like, took off. Why were you MIA?” He stopped fake-vomiting and looked at her, patiently expecting an answer.

Becks pretended to be really focused on slathering her right arm with Coppertone SPF 45. The last time she’d seen Austin, he’d been flirting with big-boobed Ellie Parker, even carrying her board for her, as he taught her to surf on
their
beach. Ellie was one of Ruby’s newest minions, a bubbly blonde with a tiny body everywhere except for her naturally big chest. Becks had bailed because watching Austin act stupid just to please some annoying girl made her heart ache.

She looked down at the sand, digging a hole with her right big toe. “I figured you two wanted to be alone.”

“Me and Ellie?” Austin asked incredulously, running his fingers through his hair with both hands. He sounded so sincere that Becks actually dared to look up into his blue-gray eyes. He looked off at the ocean, as if he’d already forgotten the day and was trying to remember. “Nah . . . Ellie just wanted me to show her how to surf.” Austin shrugged. “I’m always willing to teach a newbie.”

“That was it?” Becks asked. Boone rubbed against her bare leg and she ruffled the shaggy fur on his golden head.

“Dude, Ellie can’t surf. She can’t even get on her board.” He made a face that indicated he found not being good surfer as unattractive as having warts all over your body. A sunbeam landed on his messy hair, making him look even more golden. “You ding-dong! You know I couldn’t hang with a girl who can’t surf.” He mussed Becks’s hair, giving her noogies.

Becks knew from the heat in her cheeks that she was full-on blushing. She bent down to nuzzle her face into Boone’s soft fur just to hide her rosy glow.

“Hey, I gotta meet with a surf coach tomorrow, but we should hang Wednesday,” Austin said. “You around?” He swatted her again with his towel.

Becks felt a surge of excitement wash over her.
We. Should. Hang.
The greatest three words ever.

She counted to two in her head so that she didn’t sound overeager, then stood slowly.
Pretend like you’re talking to Mac
.
Pretend like you’re talking to Mac.
Her heart was pounding. “Sure, I’m around.”

“Great.
Hasta miércoles
,” Austin said, punching her in the shoulder.

“Yeah, see you Wednesday,” Becks chimed back. She smiled into his eyes for a second, before realizing he was leaving without hopping in the water. “Wait. Aren’t you going to surf?” Becks asked.

“Nah. I just came by to say hi.” Austin grinned and took a few steps backward toward his house.

As she caught his blue-gray eyes with her gaze, all Becks could think was: She had a date. With Austin. It didn’t get any better than this.

M
ac walked down Main Hall en route to Mr. Anderson’s homeroom. She was wearing the Inner Circle’s campaign outfit: Hudson jeans and the
pièce de résistance:
the “Team Mac” T-shirt, designed expressly by Cardammon. It was a plain navy tee with a snug rocker fit that said TEAM MAC in all caps across the chest. It was simple, understated, and cool. Coco, Becks, and Emily had distributed the tees that morning in the BAMS driveway. Her hips swiveled as she stepped: She was working it. She smiled slyly when she realized that she had definitely been noticed by the two cutest boys at BAMS: Lukas Gregory and Hunter Crowe. They were standing under an archway checking their BlackBerries. Lukas had brown hair, dark eyes, and a chiseled face, and Hunter looked like a junior version of Matt Damon.

Mac’s Jimmy Choo Mary Janes clicked as she walked down the red-tiled hall, her eyes deliberately hidden behind her Gucci aviators so no one could tell she was really performing a status check. What she noticed, in this order, was:

If Mac had not decided to stop smiling in public because pouting was way cooler, she would have cracked a
très
goofy grin right then.

“Good luck!” A brunette in a Team Mac tee came up to her. The girl had a sweet face and brown eyes. Mac tried to remember her name but drew a blank.

“Thanks,” Mac said, blowing a Chanel lip-glossed kiss. “That means a lot.” With a final nod of appreciation, she clicked down the hallway toward her locker.

Mac knew she sometimes got ahead of herself, and she couldn’t get too excited about social chair, because she hadn’t won.
At least not yet
.

The lockers at BAMS were bright red, had digital combinations, and were nearly four feet high, in case long coats came into style. Mac had petitioned for locker number 622, which spelled out M-A-C on the buttons of her iPhone. As she started to punch in the combination, she spotted a pink blur out of the corner of her eye.

It was Kimmie Tachman, wearing a pink Abercrombie hoodie with a Team Mac T-shirt underneath. She slunk over to Mac’s locker and looked over both shoulders like a spy.

“Nice shirt,” Mac noted, stunned that Kimmie was being so bold about supporting Mac. “Where’s your boss?”

“Look, I can’t hate on Ruby,” Kimmie whispered. “I already invited her to come to Maui.”

“So why are you talking to me?” Mac asked nonchalantly, checking her perfectly glossed pout in the compact she always stored in her locker. She kept triplicates of all her beauty products so she didn’t have to worry about transferring from home to Prius to school.

“I thought you’d like to know—Ruby’s ankle is broken with a capital
B
,” Kimmie hissed, looking over her shoulder again. “Her deal with Brigham fell through! According to very informed sources, you’re leading social chair polls ninety to ten.”