Imposter (19 page)

I PUT ON A WHITE SHIRT
and blue blazer. The clothes aren't mine, but neither is this life. Seth Crane wears jeans and acts in plays, and maybe it's not the most extravagant lifestyle, but at least it's real. It's also a whole lot better than whatever Annaleigh is trying to escape.

I meet her in the lobby. She's sitting bolt upright in a cream-colored armchair, hands resting on her knees, looking pensive. As she sees me, her expression brightens, the kind of spontaneous reaction that can't be feigned.

She slides off the chair and approaches me. She's wearing a light blue dress that accents her eyes, and high heels that make her legs seem endless. Dramatic black mascara is softened by a hint of blush on her cheekbones. I pull her toward me. Her dress is soft beneath my fingers.

We leave hand in hand. Hotel employees hold photographers back as we climb into a limo. A large tinted panel separates us from the driver to give the illusion of maximum privacy, but I'm not fooled. There'll be a camera here too.

As we pull away from the curb, Annaleigh leans her head
against my shoulder. Her hand drifts across my blazer and up to my face. She wants me to kiss her again, and I want to kiss her too, but not here. Not like this.

She settles for holding my hand. “I've made a decision,” she says. “I'm not going to let my parents mess this up for us.”

She looks so serious, like she honestly believes she can control this situation. Is this how I appeared to Kris when he accused me of being naive?

“They can still take you away,” I reply.

“Uh-uh. I called Mom. Told her, if she breaks us up, Dad won't get a penny from me.”

Annaleigh leans back in the seat, wallowing in the beauty of her logic. Only, her parents are going to get their hands on that money no matter what. More, probably.

It's heartbreaking to see her smile and know that the one I return is a lie. Our movie is about to wrap. We are, it turns out, real-life star-crossed lovers, staring at the final curtain when we should be celebrating our moment of triumph.

The party is in Hollywood, in a place that resembles a European castle. Even the manicured vines suffocating the white walls look painted on. It's Jane Austen meets Disney, a building disguised as a movie set.

The limo door is still closed when the camera flashes start. Not just a few either, but a blinding assault. Evidently America has seen the photo of us and realized that we had sex. It makes our story even more irresistible.

Annaleigh squeezes my knee. “I'm ready to show America the most handsome boy in Hollywood. And you should know better than to keep your date waiting.”

We press through the gaggle of photographers and into the building. A server meets us at the door and hands us drinks—some fruity punch that makes me feel like I'm twelve. I gulp it down and hand the empty glass back to her.

Annaleigh follows my lead. Even forces out a belch. “Strong stuff,” she says.

“It should be. Made from one hundred percent concentrate.”

“What it is to be rich and famous.”

We move from the lobby to the main hall, where a live DJ provides thumping music. Lights rotate above us, bright and disorientating. Nearby couples, talking loudly, are having fun. Several of the teens seem familiar from the party at Machinus, and I don't think it's a coincidence. Maybe they've been paid to be here, extras in a drama more convoluted than they can possibly imagine.

As Annaleigh pulls me in for a kiss, a flash goes off just in front of us.

“Can you do that again?” asks the photographer, a woman with spiked blond hair. “I was late on the shot.”

Annaleigh frowns. “Uh, no, thank you.”

The woman stops us as we turn away. “I'm Kira,” she says. “From the magazine. We're running that feature about your relationship—life imitating art. I'm shadowing you, remember?”

Annaleigh grips my hand tighter, an anxious expression darkening her face. I rub my thumb across the back of her hand to
soothe her. I have no idea if Kira works for a magazine and if there's a feature. Doesn't matter. Chances are, this is just the beginning of the evening's surprises, and Brian and Ryder need to see that we're playing along.

Kira raises the camera again, but Annaleigh covers her eyes. Kira gives her a moment to reconsider this move, and leans closer so that the couples eavesdropping only a few yards away won't hear. “I'm sorry you didn't know I'll be with you tonight, but I will be photographing you, and I will be talking to you, and I do expect you to answer my questions.”

“No comment,” replies Annaleigh.

Kira bristles, but recovers her poise with a deep breath. “Seems like you're buying into your own hype already. Think you own Hollywood.” She runs her tongue across bright white teeth. “Make no mistake, though—tonight, I own you.”

Kira raises the camera and snaps a dozen photos in rapid succession. She works smoothly and efficiently, which makes me think she's a real photographer. But her words remind me of Brian. If she's here to babysit us and keep us in line, where the hell are Brian and Ryder?

“You look tense, Seth,” Kira remarks. She pulls out a tiny recording device. “It must be hard to comprehend everything that's happened to you. From community theater to a motion picture. Rags to riches.”

It's an invitation to open up, but she's not getting that from me. She can have all the photos she wants, but she can't make me talk.

Annaleigh pulls me onto the dance floor and wraps her arms
around me. I can't focus, though. My eyes dart around, searching for movie cameras. They must be here somewhere, forever focused on us, capturing every second.

“Hey.” Annaleigh cups my chin. “I'm sick of being watched all the time. If that's the way it is, so be it. But I'm going to be me tonight. And I want you to be
you
.” She moves so that we're cheek to cheek. Her breath is warm against my ear, voice just the slightest bit husky. “I like being with you, Seth, and I don't care who knows it.”

We kiss. I run my hand over the bare skin of her neck and rest my thumb against her cheek. When I close my eyes, the camera flash pulses through my eyelids. I don't want to think of these photos, or the movie cameras filming in secret somewhere. I just want to enjoy the feeling of being with her, and kissing her, because I'm so afraid it can't last.

Finally, we ease apart. Annaleigh smiles sheepishly. “I think Kira got her money's worth.”

“I'm kind of hoping the camera wasn't working. It'd be nice to do another take.”

“Party's over at one, right? Less than four hours to go.”

“Works for me.” I feel myself reddening. “By the way, you might want to fix your lip gloss. I think I kind of messed it up.”

“Five minutes with you and I'm a hot mess.” She taps me on the nose with her finger. “I'll be right back.”

She takes off for the women's restroom. Kira follows her, snapping photos the whole way. I make my way toward the nearest server. A few steps later, someone grabs my shoulder.

“Seth!” booms Brian. His hand is like an anchor. “Come and have a chat.”

He leads me toward a booth in the far corner. It's not hard to guess why he chose this table to spy on us.

“Sorry we're late,” says Tracie. “We didn't want to steal your spotlight.”

“This is your night,” agrees Brian. “Just you and Annaleigh. The gossip sites say she's really into you.”

My hands are fists under the table. “You shouldn't have put out that photo of us.”

“And you should remember how many more we have lined up. And how much footage we have of you and Annaleigh from last night. You want Ryder to edit this stuff tastefully, right?”

“You're a pervert.”

“Uh-uh. I hardly looked at any of it. It's the people who buy the magazines that are messed up.” Brian takes a sip of his drink. “Come on, you know the drill: No market, no sale. We're all victims of capitalism, really.”

“Sure we are.”

I try to stand, but he digs his fingers into my quad. Pain flares across my leg. “I don't trust you, Seth.”

“I wonder why.”

“You're not going to say something stupid in front of Annaleigh, are you? Try to bring us all down? 'Cause I've got to tell you, she looks radiant tonight. You ought to enjoy her while you can.”

My phone starts vibrating. Not a surprise under usual circumstances, but this is different. Annaleigh is here at the party, and so
are Brian and Ryder and Tracie. The only other people who might call me are Kris or Gant. Either way, it'll spell trouble.

I slide the phone from my pocket and glance at the screen. I've already prepared a nonchalant expression so they won't know anything's up. But I can't keep up the illusion.

It's Sabrina.

“WHO'S CALLING YOU, SETH?” TRACIE ASKS.

“Annaleigh,” I answer quickly.

“Why would Annaleigh call you from the restroom?”

I slide out of the booth. “So she can speak to me without Kira and the whole world hearing.”

Tracie returns an icy smile. “That's ironic. 'Cause some of the world will definitely be listening to this call later tonight.”

I walk to the bar, but don't take the call until I'm sure I'm not being followed. Even then, I glance back to check that Brian and company aren't eavesdropping on another device. They're not, but Tracie isn't kidding when she says they'll be listening to every word later on. I have to keep this brief.

“Are you okay, Sabrina?”

“Did you tell anyone?” she asks.

There isn't time to pretend I don't understand. “No. I swear I didn't.”

She sighs. “I believe you. Kris was on the news earlier. Says I can finally get help now. I think he's the one who did this.”

“Why, though?”

“Gen must've told him everything.”

“
Gen?
What are you talking about?”

“I need to see you.” Her voice is so small that I can hardly hear her. “I left the center.”

“What?” The room seems to shift around me—too much noise and activity. “Why?”

“It was claustrophobic. I need space.”

Brian and the others are still seated at the booth, but their eyes are fixed on me. Sabrina's confiding in me again, and yet again, Brian's going to discover everything she says.

“Hang up,” I say. “This phone's flaking out. I'll call you right back from a different one.”

There are dozens of people milling about. Like well-behaved extras on a movie set, they don't interact with me, but they can't resist stealing glances. I move out of Brian's line of sight, and catch the eye of a young woman.

“My cell phone just died,” I tell her, “and I've got to make a call.”

“Okay.” She hands hers over without hesitation. It's pretty beaten up.

“This is
your
phone, right?”

She looks at me like I'm crazy. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

Sabrina's number is still branded in my memory. I don't think I'll ever forget it. I make the call and she answers immediately.

“How did you get out of the center?” I ask.

“It's not a prison.”

“They let you go?”

A hesitation. “I climbed a wall at the back.” Her voice cracks. “I don't know what to do.”

So much for Kris hoping she'd get help. “Where are you?”

For a few seconds, I only hear her ragged breaths. Then: “Intersection of Laurel Canyon and Hollywood Boulevard.”

She's at least a twenty minutes' drive away. My mind races through different scenarios, but there's only one that makes sense. “You've got to go back.”

“I can't. There's paparazzi at the gates.”

“Then go home.”

“You're not listening, Seth. They're
everywhere
.”

The woman who lent me her phone is hovering, eavesdropping. Brian will be wondering why I'm turned away from his booth. I need to wrap things up.

“Just give me a couple minutes,” I say. “I'll call Kris.”

“No!” Her voice changes—focused and furious. “He's the reason I'm here.”

“I don't think he leaked that story about you—”

“Why not? He's the reason for everything else. You don't have a clue what's really going on, so don't you dare call him.” Like she's flicking a switch, her voice softens again. “I can handle this. You believe me, right?”

Annaleigh emerges from the restroom, lip gloss perfect. She has her life in order, even as her parents conspire to ruin it for her. From their booth in the corner, Brian and company won't be able to see her yet, but soon they will, and they'll notice she's not on her phone.

I try to get her attention. “Look, Sabrina, things are real complicated—”

“Forget it,” she snaps. “I'll call Ryder.”

“No!” I practically shout the word, and Annaleigh's head whips around. She shoots me a quizzical look. “Don't call him, Sabrina. Please.”

“Then help me. I don't think I should be alone right now.”

Annaleigh joins me. I can't tell if she heard me say Sabrina's name, but she knows something is wrong. She glances over her shoulder as Kira emerges from the restroom. It feels like everyone is closing in on us.

It's past nine thirty. I don't want to leave, but I'm scared for Sabrina. If anything were to happen to her, I couldn't forgive myself. Given the state she's in, I have a terrible feeling that something will happen. And soon.

“I'll come get you,” I say.

“Thank you,” says Sabrina, more breath than word.

I hand the girl's phone back and thank her. The party is in full swing now. People are dancing and laughing, but not Annaleigh. She gazes at me, all crystalline eyes and worried brows, waiting for me to explain what's going on.

I lean close and keep my voice low. Our phones are still recording us, even though she doesn't know it. “Sabrina checked herself out of rehab.”

Annaleigh seems to deflate. “Why would she do that? Should we call the police?”

“No. She hasn't done anything wrong. I just want to make sure she gets home safe.”

“You're not responsible for her.”

I can't possibly explain how wrong she is about that. “Who else does she have? Kris? Her parents? The agent she just fired?”

“You can't leave me here. What about Kira?”

“I won't be gone long. An hour, tops. Kira can get all the shots she wants then.”

Annaleigh nods, but she looks crestfallen. As if to remind me what I'll be missing, she runs her fingers across my cheek and pulls me in for another long, deep kiss. Her heartbeat races beneath the folds of her thin blue dress.

“Call me, okay?” she says. “The moment you get her home. Just so I know everything's all right.”

I'm not sure if she means everything with Sabrina, or with me. Or if she's still worried there's more going on here than there appears to be. Doesn't matter—there's no way I'm taking my cell phone on this trip. Brian won't be listening to any more of my conversations.

“Battery's flaking out,” I say, patting my pocket. “That's why I needed to borrow that girl's phone.”

Annaleigh reaches into her fabric clutch purse and pulls out her phone. “Here, then. I'll swap you.”

“How will I call you if I have your phone?”

“On this.” She retrieves her old phone, with tiny cracked screen and unreadable keys. “I only carry it in case my mom calls, but it still has some charge.”

I steal a glance across the room. Kira's looking for us. Ryder is heading for the bar, and I don't think he's after another drink.

I swap my phone for her old one that Brian can't track. “I'll use this.”

She flicks a piece of dust from the lapel of my blazer. “I'm
sorry. I know she needs your help, but it's hard not to feel jealous. She's still Sabrina Layton, you know?”

I can almost feel Ryder getting closer, but I kiss her anyway. “It's only you, Annaleigh.”

“I'll cover for you. Just hurry.”

I check on Ryder. He's only ten yards away. For a couple seconds, we stare at each other. Then, as if he has seen exactly how this is going to play out, he raises a hand to summon help.

I spin around and run. Ahead, a corridor leads to the restrooms. A red exit sign glows above double doors at the end.

“Seth.” Brian's growl carries over the music.

I blunder through the double doors. Ignore the surprised looks of the kitchen staff, smoking outside. I'm at the back of the building, well away from the paparazzi.

“Seth!”

There's an alleyway to my left. Beyond it, traffic crisscrosses at low speed. With Brian's heavy footsteps drawing near, I break into a sprint.

At the street, cars trundle by in stop-and-start slow motion. Brian hasn't given up chasing, so I run along the sidewalk, squinting at the bright car lights. There's a taxi about fifty yards ahead of me, on the other side.

I weave through traffic. Brakes squeal and car horns fill the air, but I keep going until I'm within shouting distance of the taxi.

The driver signals to rejoin the traffic. As the taxi pulls away from the curb, I rap my knuckles against the trunk.

The car stops suddenly. I yank the back door open and slam it shut behind me.

“Go!” I shout.

The driver follows my eyes across the street, where Brian is waiting to cross. “Got you some kind of problem?”

Brian steps into the gap between two cars.

“My dad doesn't like my girlfriend. But it's New Year's Eve, and I want to spend it with her, not him, you know?”

The driver chuckles. “He don't look old enough to be your dad.”

Brian's ten yards away. “Yeah, well . . . back in the day, he sneaked out with his girlfriend on New Year's Eve. I'm the result.”

“Amen to—”

Brian slams his palms against the window next to me. I slide across the seat, hands raised defensively, helpless as he yanks the door handle.