Inside Girl (4 page)

“What's it like, living in the Village?” asked Judith. “Are there a lot of rich artists and stuff?”

“Yeah, a few,” I said, thinking of Mickey Pardo, one of Patch's friends, whose father is this famous sculptor. A whole team of kids in soccer uniforms came barreling down the stairs around us, and I held on to the banister. “Wait, I'll follow you down. We can talk while you're waiting for the train.”

Meredith, Judith, and I went down into the subway station. Somehow, subway stations always seem kind of gross and drippy, even when it's not raining outside, and this one was no exception. There were puddles on the concrete, stalactites of peeling paint coming down from the ceiling, and a weird odor that reminded me of the way our basement at the summerhouse smells after a thunderstorm. Ugh. I knew I liked Meredith and Judith a lot, though, because hanging out with them made it worth it to be down there. I didn't have a MetroCard, but Meredith swiped us both through on hers so I could come onto the platform with them.

The three of us walked down to a little newsstand inside the station where they sold candy and magazines. Meredith bought a roll of Lifesavers while Judith picked up a copy of
People
and started leafing through it.

“We'll have to hang out at your place sometime,” she said.

“That would be nice,” I said. “Actually, if you're not doing anything tomorrow—” I was about to invite them over right then and there, but just as I opened my mouth, I glanced down at a copy of
Us Weekly
sitting on the newsstand shelf.

On its cover, Sara-Beth Benny was trying to get out of a taxi, but you could tell she was totally surrounded by paparazzi. Her collar was up to hide her face, and she had on the big dark glasses she'd been wearing the day before. She was holding up one hand like she was trying to shield herself from the photographer's flash. The headline read, “Does She Eat at All?” It was a good thing I saw it when I did, because it occurred to me that it was highly likely that Sara-Beth would still be camped out at my house—and she probably wouldn't like two strangers shrieking and asking for autographs when they saw her there. “Oh, I just remembered, they're renovating the cupboards in our kitchen, and my mom made me promise not to have people over until they're finished.”

Meredith and Judith exchanged a look—or maybe I imagined it. But for just a second, it seemed like they didn't quite believe me. It was gone before I could be
sure I'd seen it, though. I felt awkward, so I looked the other way down the long subway platform, at a guy with an acoustic guitar who was playing at the other end, until Judith finally said, “We can totally wait until after it's finished. No problem.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I'm so glad I met you guys today.”

“Me too,” Meredith said. “Ooh! Maybe we should meet here tomorrow morning, before school? That way we can walk in together.”

Judith nodded. “We got here at about quarter to eight today, so it should be around then tomorrow too.”

“That sounds great,” I said. “Meet up at the top of the steps?”

“Awesome.”

Their train pulled into the station then, and we hugged good-bye. As it clanked away, I felt like I should be waving a handkerchief or something like they do in old movies. But fortunately, it wasn't like they were leaving on a voyage to the farthest ends of the earth. I was seeing them tomorrow—I even knew when.

As I left the subway, I felt pretty good. I'd survived my first day and I'd even made two friends. Or at least I hoped I had. There was still the possibility that they would decide I was a snob when they got to know me
better and found out about all the celebrities I'd met and parties I'd been to, but I was trying not to think too hard about that. With any luck, I'd begun to hope, they'd know the real me before they found out about all that stuff anyway.

It was so quiet back at my house that I thought Sara-Beth had probably gone back to her toxic apartment, and I started kicking myself for having made up that stupid lie about the kitchen cabinets. But just as I was going into the kitchen to make myself a snack, I heard a loud stage whisper from the broom closet by the door.

“
Psst!
In here.”

I looked around, to make sure I wasn't imagining things. But the voice really was coming from the broom closet. I opened the door and there was Sara-Beth, all curled up, reading with a flashlight in the dark. She was wearing this off-the-shoulder Versace top with a pair of my old pajama pants, and she was sitting on top of one of her special woven-hemp meditation pillows. She had a pile of papers on her lap.

“How was your first day?” she whispered.

“Sara-Beth,” I whispered back, “what are you doing in there?”

“Studying.”

“In the broom closet?”

“I don't want to get distracted.”

“Are you going to sleep over again tonight?” I asked, going over to the fridge for a Nantucket Nectar. Sara-Beth had apparently ordered FreshDirect while I was in class, because there was a bunch of weird stuff in there: bok choy and kale and what looked like the biggest turnip I'd ever seen. I wondered why she'd bothered. I seriously doubted that she knew how to cook.

“Yes. No. I don't know.” She covered her face with her hands. “Oh, Flan, it's so exhausting. I tried to check into the Sherry-Netherland this afternoon, but a paparazzo vaulted past these security guards and chased me into the lobby.”

“Really? That's terrible.”

“Well, it goes with the territory, I guess.” She made a face. “And at least I fought him off! I think the only picture he managed to take was of me swinging my purse toward his camera. His lens was pretty much out of commission after that.”

I laughed sympathetically. “So what are you studying now? Self-defense?”

“No, for my meeting with the board. My broker gave me this list of questions they might ask.” She sighed. “But like I said, it's too exhausting. I just can't concentrate.”

“Well, I have to study too,” I offered. “Maybe we could study together.”

“Could we?” Sara-Beth grinned. “You always have the best ideas.”

I convinced Sara-Beth that we'd really be more comfortable in the living room—even as small as she is, the closet is a tight squeeze—so a few minutes later we were sitting on the couch with our notebooks and pens all over the coffee table. I started working on my algebra stuff, but even though I'm usually really good at math, I couldn't focus. Maybe it was because every few minutes, Sara-Beth squeezed her eyes shut and started mumbling to herself, like she was trying to recite something she'd memorized.

“Do you want me to quiz you?” I finally asked.

“Oh, I don't know. I'm not sure I know my lines yet.”

“Don't worry about it. You'll do fine.” I took the broker's cheat sheet out of her hand. “So, pretend I'm the board, and you're you.”

“Wait, wait. I need to center myself first.” Sara-Beth took a deep breath and looked down. Then she
looked up again, with this kind of strange, blank expression on her face. “All right, go.”

“Okay.” I looked down at the sheet. Sara-Beth had doodled all kinds of things in the margins, like her initials in 3-D and big dark eyes crying. I read the first question. “What impact do you think your celebrity status would have on the other residents of the building?”

“I'm not so much of a celebrity, really,” she said, her voice all soft and sincere. “Just think of me as a normal teenage girl … who's divorced her parents and needs a humble little three-bedroom to call her own.”

“Hang on a minute. You divorced your parents?”

“Oh, years ago.” Her eyes narrowed. “Those snakes. They were after my fortune. And after that one party with Leland Brinker and the cast of
Survivor
ended up in all the papers, they wouldn't let me have my friends over to the house.”

I looked back down at the cheat sheet. “Do
not
mention the
Survivor
party,” it said in red marker next to the first question.

“Maybe you should say something else instead,” I suggested. “Like, ‘Oh, sure I'm a celebrity, but I'm not going to, you know, throw huge crazy parties that end up in the
National Enquirer
. That's not my thing anymore.'”

“Oh yeah! That's so much better, Flan.” Sara-Beth's eyes got wide. “Why didn't I think of that?”

I shrugged. “Okay, next question. How do you plan to deter the paparazzi from staking out your residence?”

“Ha! I'd like to see them try. Two words: pepper spray.”

“Mace is considered a concealed weapon in New York State,” I read from the cheat sheet.

“Shoot!” Sara-Beth snapped her fingers.

“Yeah, that's tough.” I looked on down the list to the next question. “What do you think you could offer the community at 820 Fifth Avenue?”

“That's easy. Celebrity spotting. How else are they going to see Nick Lachey in their elevator at four in the morning?” She smiled dreamily. “Of course, my
heart
belongs to David….”

I didn't even have to look at the cheat sheet this time.

“Listen, if you keep telling them how famous you are, there's no way they're going to approve you. I mean, it's stupid or whatever, but that's just how it is.”

Sara-Beth's lower lip got all trembly and she looked like she was about to cry. “So you're saying that if I try to get to know them—if I tell them stories from my life—you don't think they'll like me?”

“Of course they will. Everyone likes you, Sara-Beth,” I added quickly.

She sniffled. “I have a big fan base in Korea, you know.”

“I just mean you don't have to keep reminding them you're a celebrity.”

“But I don't want to lie.”

“Well, but this isn't really like lying.” I thought of my lunch with Judith and Meredith and all the things I hadn't said. “I mean, you're just, you know, not showing them every side there is to you. That's not the same as making stuff up. When you live in the building, they'll probably find out everything else anyway.”

“I guess that's true.” Sara-Beth nodded solemnly. “I'll have to be like Cinderella. Disguised as ordinary, but still a princess inside.”

“Cinderella was an orphan. I don't think she was really a princess.”

“Of course she was. How else did she have a fairy godmother?”

“I'm pretty sure the fairy godmother just felt sorry for her. Wasn't Cinderella, like, a chimney sweep or something?”

“That's gross.”

“Well, after she married the prince, she probably
became
a princess.” I handed her the cheat sheet back. She studied it sadly.

“Poor Cinderella. I hope he didn't make her sign a prenup.” She folded it in half. “Thanks so much for all your help, Flan.”

I shrugged. “Don't mention it.”

“But I mean it, I really do. Before, I was so worried, but now I feel … at peace. I'm sure I'll get the apartment now.” She smiled tranquilly. “Maybe you're like my fairy godmother.”

“Bippity boppity boo,” I joked, and tapped her cute nose with the eraser on my pencil.

Just then, her cell phone started ringing upstairs. Even though the TV show ended about four years ago, SBB's ringtone is still the theme song from
Mike's Princesses
.

“Shouldn't you get that?” I asked after it rang about five times.

“Oh, I'll let it go to voice mail.” One second later, the doorbell rang and Sara-Beth dove behind the couch. “They're here!” she squealed, terrified.

I went to the door and looked through the peephole. Sara-Beth must have been rubbing off on me, because I was almost expecting a team of paparazzi or that creepy guy who'd stalked Jodie Foster to be standing on our stoop. Instead, though, it was a very
cheerful-looking woman in a pink Chanel suit, holding a clipboard. A white stretch limo was parked in front of a fire hydrant outside our building. I opened the door really slowly. Too late, I realized I should have kept the chain on.

“Can I help you?”

“I'm here to collect Sara-Beth.”

“Excuse me?” I crossed my arms and tried to look tough. “She's not here. You have the wrong—”

Before I could even get the words out, though, Sara-Beth was squeezing past me out the door. In the time it had taken me to answer the door, she had changed into a shiny black dress with a big bow on one shoulder, and heels. She looked totally glammed out.

“I'm so sorry, Flan, I forgot.” Sara-Beth glanced back over her shoulder as she scurried toward the limo. “Kisses!”

I blinked. “Wait, where are you going?”

“Photo shoot! Don't wait up for me! And remember, if anyone asks, I'm not even here!”

As the limo sped away, I felt really weird and kind of sad. My movie star friend was sprinting off to some crazy glamorous night out, and the two nicest girls I'd met at school were probably hanging out together in one of their homes, eating Tostitos and being all
happy and normal. Which left me on my own, doing homework. I wasn't famous, but I wasn't normal either. I was stuck in between. As great as it was having Sara-Beth over, it wasn't much fun keeping her secrets. I already had enough of my own.

The first week of school was over, so Meredith, Judith, and I decided to celebrate by going to a coffee shop called the Bean Garden right around the corner from my house. I love that place. It has free wireless and these cute little outdoor café tables that look like something you might see in France, plus every kind of flavored coffee imaginable—hazelnut, banana, even pumpkin pie. That Friday, I was already sipping my cup of white chocolate mocha when Meredith and Judith finally settled on their flavors. Carrying our coffee cups, we walked to the tables outside.