Almost Famous, a Talent Novel (8 page)

“I should get going,” Coco muttered, afraid she’d start crying if she stayed. She just couldn’t believe she had failed so quickly. What could she possibly say to her mom?

Cardammon looked down at her D&G diamond-studded wristwatch. “Right! Back to your meeting! Go, go, go!” She waved Coco out with her orange-tipped fingernails, the scent of her sugar-blossom lotion wafting through the car.

Coco covered her face with her arms, knowing the exact angle to position them so that none of the photographers could get her running back to school. Pictures of Coco were worth a lot—Cardammon had sold her baby pictures to
Hello!
for a cool million and donated the money to a pediatric AIDS foundation. The last thing Coco wanted was for the paparazzi to catch a picture of her crying. She imagined the headlines: CARDAMMON’S CRYBABY DAUGHTER: FOREVER BLUE.

Once Coco was inside the BAMS gates, she ran through Main Quad, past the awkward girls with sketchbooks, to a lonely wooden bench overlooking the Stone Canyon Reservoir. She clutched her tiny speakers, knowing she wouldn’t need
those
anymore. In the distance, a deer darted under a tree. Coco inhaled the crisp scent of the eucalyptus trees and let the tears fall.

B
ecks strolled into the BAMS food hall to cast her vote for Mac as social chair, bouncing in step to Fergie’s “Fergalicious,” which was blasting in her Bose headphones. She was wearing her blue and white nautical striped Splendid tee, Hudson jeans, a rhinestone-studded belt, and Havaiana flip-flops that showed off her cotton candy pink pedicure. The outfit had been specifically chosen in preparation for her
après
-school date that day with Austin. (T minus three hours and forty-seven minutes!) Becks had actually packed Maybelline lash expansion mascara (!), Stellar Strawberry lip shimmer (!!), and a hairbrush (!!!) so that she could
brush her hair
and
primp
before she saw Austin. All of which was a serious effort.

The food hall was designed to look like a giant alpine ski chalet, with pale wooden beams that held up the triangular roof. Becks was headed to the center, to drop off her ballot for Mac as social chair in the giant silver voting box, which was placed atop the picnic table. But she was on autopilot: All she could think about was Austin.

Social chair ballots had been distributed in homeroom earlier that morning, and voting was very simple: You ripped off one end of the ballot—the navy side to vote for Mac, and the silver portion to vote for Ruby. Becks ripped the navy half and dropped it into the box, which was guarded by the head of student council, Elsa Peters, a pale brunette girl who always asked people their grades and was already obsessed with getting into college.

As Becks turned to head back outside, she spotted some fellow surf team members: Caitlin Pressley and Fisher Maxwell. Caitlin was a tomboy who was very well liked because she always, sincerely had something nice to say about everyone. Fisher was her best friend, and everyone called him “Tailgate” because he followed Caitlin everywhere. Becks high-fived them, but she didn’t take off her headphones to chitchat.

On a normal, non-date-with-Austin day, Becks would have mingled with her teammates and spied on the voters, trying to gauge how Mac was doing. Instead she was thinking about how to greet Austin (a hug or a high five?), where they might be going (surfing or a movie?), and how she would feel (tingly and excited? Or pukey and nervous?) when she actually got to see him again. Hopefully she wouldn’t blush too much. It felt like they’d been apart forever, even though it had only been forty-two and a half hours. Not that she was counting.

Becks was so absorbed in her Austin daydreaming that she didn’t even realize Ellie Parker had been walking right beside her. Becks pushed the door to head outside, and felt a tiny hand on her arm.

“Heeey, Becks! Earth to Becks!” Ellie let go of Becks and snapped her fingers. Even Becks could tell she had very obvio-acrylic nails. How 818. Becks let go of the door and took out her headphones.

Ellie’s long blond hair was blown out in waves à la Ruby’s 1970s style, and her skin was the exact shade of a Creamsicle, just like Ruby’s. She looked like she could be Heidi Montag’s baby sister. Ellie wore a white tunic top with hip-hugger jeans and a Lance Armstrong bracelet on each tiny wrist. Ruby and her friends were starting to look, dress, and talk exactly the same:
Rubybots
. Becks imagined a Rubybot factory, complete with assembly line and conveyor belt, churning out fake girls with fake blond hair and fake tans.

“How are you!” Ellie said. It was not a question.

“Hey Ellie,” Becks muttered, wondering why Ellie was even talking to her. Something about Ellie’s girly-girliness always made Becks feel like a dude. “What’s up?”

“Actually, I was thinking. . . .” Ellie twirled a bleached blond lock of hair around her finger. She used the same baby-talk voice as Ruby. “Maybe we could hang out later? Grab some Pinkberry?”

Becks scanned Ellie’s angelic face, searching for clues as to why Ellie would suddenly want to spend time with her. She flashed back to the last time they’d “hung out”—when Ellie had flirted like crazy with Austin on the beach. Becks couldn’t stop a smug smile from spreading across her face. Or from blurting out, “Actually, I’m busy today. I’m hanging out with
Austin
.” She looked right at Ellie challengingly
.

If Ellie was the tiniest bit jealous, she didn’t show it. In fact, she seemed amused. “Booooo,” Ellie said. “But yummeee for you!”

“I guess so.” Becks shrugged. Ellie was so weird. Trying to understand her was like trying to understand Nicole Richie’s fame: pointless. Becks threw her orange and black North Face backpack over her right shoulder and headed outside.

“Maybe some other time!” Ellie called after her.

Becks nodded and waved goodbye without turning around. Just as she entered the sunlit courtyard, she felt her phone vibrate in her Hudson jeans pocket.

It was a text.

From Austin.

Becks almost dropped the phone when she read the message:

CANT MAKEIT 2 DAY.

Her hand trembled and her heart sank.
Why was he bailing?
She stared at the phone desperately, wishing he’d written more. Maybe it was just a boy thing to give bad text?

She took a deep breath to get Zen and typed her response.

NP! TMRW?

 

Becks stood in the courtyard, staring at her phone while people bumped into her, rushing to class. Becks ambled forward, her gaze fixed on the screen. She had exactly three minutes until Mandarin Chinese class, and she needed to get centered, fast.

Becks inhaled deeply through her nostrils and blew out the air as though she were blowing through an imaginary straw. It had worked that summer before she surfed the Pipeline in Hawaii. She lifted up her left leg to focus on her balance on her right leg—to concentrate on anything but her panicky confusion. She was standing in tree pose by one of the Main Quad arches when her phone buzzed again. She grabbed it from her jeans pocket like she was gasping for air.

SRY NO. VRY BZY L8TLY.

Becks shook her phone frantically as though it were a Magic 8 Ball, staring at Austin’s non-words on her screen. Apparently she wasn’t even worth a full “S-O-R-R-Y.” The only
real
word he’d taken the time to write was
no
.

O-U-C-H.

Becks turned her phone off and dropped it into her backpack. She needed to de-text for a while. But even though the phone was out of sight, she could still see Austin’s mysterious message running on loop in her mind. What had happened in the past forty-two hours and thirty-seven minutes to make him change his mind?

Becks wiped the lip shimmer off her face like it was poison. She wouldn’t need
that
today.

M
ac put her purple Mulberry Mabel bag down carefully on La Table in Main Quad. She was trying to carry the bare minimum at all times and avoid being weighed down by a backpack, which was so public school.

To anyone who didn’t know BAMS, La Table was just an ordinary wooden picnic table, carved with initials and hearts. But it had been the Inner Circle’s
après
-school headquarters since day one of middle school. It was located perfectly in the center of Main Quad, an eighth-grade microcosm where you could see all the BAMS cliques. At that moment, Mac had an excellent view of the soccer boys, the awkward girls who were already starting their homework, and the quirky kids who were a little too into blue tights.

Mac reached into her bag to quickly reapply some Chanel Waterlily lip gloss while pretending not to look around her. She spotted Lukas and Hunter playing Hacky Sack on the field. She arched her shoulders back for a glam position, just in case they caught a glimpse of her looking so effortlessly cute in her Team Mac T-shirt, Rock & Republic jeans, and Mella flip-flops. She hoped they had voted for her. She imagined how she would just “happen” to walk by Lukas right after the all-school e-mail landed announcing the new social chair, and how it would feel when he hugged her.
Not
that she was crushing on him or anything. She had much more important things to do than worry about a
boy.
She discreetly spritzed some Vera Wang Princess on her wrist just in case.

Mac was
thisclose
to achieving her dream-of-all-dreams, and she just wanted to not totally freak out. She held her phone above her head and snapped an appearance-check picture. She flinched when she saw her photo. She looked haggard and tired, like the “Stars Without Their Makeup!” pictures in the back of magazines. Except that Mac
was
wearing makeup. Yes, camera phones could deceive, but they weren’t vicious lie-mongers.

Clearly this was Life telling Mac to take better care of herself. She decided to begin with her tan. Mac hopped off La Table and onto the bench. She closed her eyes, leaned back, and let the sun do its magic. (But not for more than four minutes, or she’d do sun damage.)

Mac had racked up a minute of vitamin D rays when she heard Emily’s voice. It was laced with panic.

“E-Tach’s definitely mad at me,” Emily hissed.

Mac opened her eyes and realized that Emily, Becks, and Coco were huddled around her, like she’d just fainted. They were all talking over each other.

“Austin blew me off,” Becks wailed.

“They said I can’t be captain,” Coco said frantically.

“ ’Cause he rolled up his window on me!” Emily yelped.

“But why would I be an
alternate
?” Coco howled.

“And I have no idea why!” Becks’s voice cracked.

Soon it was just a nonsensical earthquake of words.

“Unfair!”

“Blows!”

“Why me?”

Before Mac could get into it, she felt a buzz in her pocket. She held up her phone like a white flag to her friends. “It’s Ruby.”

There was insta-silence. The last time Ruby had e-mailed Mac it had been to tell her that Emily had lost a starring role in a major Hollywood movie.

The girls tightened the circle so there was no daylight, and they leaned in to peer at Mac’s screen.

“Let’s just see what this is,” Mac said calmly, clicking on the link. She turned her iPhone horizontally and an online movie began to play. Mac’s nerves fired up when the credits flashed, in the exact same Courier font that Mac had used for her Team Mac T-shirts:

Mac’s heart stopped for a moment and her breath came in short, staccato bursts as she put together the bizarre clues like a CSI detective: Pinkberry . . . Cat Girl . . . Depends. Suddenly, it clicked:
They were talking about the Inner Circle slumber party!
On the tiny screen, Emily appeared, doing her catlike imitation of Kimmie Tachman. Mac’s mind raced back to the prank they’d played on Ruby, and then she remembered with a jaw-dropping jolt: She had never logged out of the iChat! Everything that they’d done after that prank would have been recorded if the person on the other end hadn’t logged off. And of course Ruby had lurked.

Mac looked at her friends, her throat drier than a Palm Springs cactus. Emily was ghostly pale, Coco looked like she was going to faint, and Becks was too angry to speak. Everyone’s face seemed to say the same thing:
Whose fault was it?

“Oh, jeez, did I mix that up?” Emily asked, her hands on her cheeks.

“No, it’s my fault,” Mac said numbly, staring down at her phone. “I put you up to that in the first place.” Mac’s mind was throbbing. How, she wondered, could she have been so careless? This was such an
amateur
move.