Mirrored (24 page)

“I don’t know?” She blinks at him and puts her hand on her hip. “Of course I know. But it’s really important to them. They camped out waiting for you. Can’t you at least look up?”

He rolls his eyes and looks up. Through the windows, I can see girls jumping up and down and screaming. Allegra gives him a kiss on the cheek.

“Quit it,” he whispers. He tugs at his pants again. I remember reading about this rock star who actually lost his pants onstage because they were so loose.

“Don’t be such a grump.” Allegra tries to smile as they walk inside the airport. Fans scream.

Jonah puts on a big, fake grin. “I’m not being a grump. You’re being annoying.”

This conversation is painful. I’m just listening because I’m waiting for Jonah or someone to say the name of their hotel. I know his concert’s at seven, and then, he’ll go back to the hotel. I just need to sneak into his room before then and beg him to go with me.

Just.

Just need to sneak into a rock star’s room.

Just need to get this jerkwad with pants down to his knees to do something out of the goodness of his heart.

They’re in the airport now. Girls are thronging to meet Jonah. His bodyguards and the airport police are trying to hold them back. I wonder if they purchased tickets just to get through security, or if this many random fans are just wherever he is. Allegra is trying to interact with them, but most want nothing of her, only him. And he’s ignoring them, talking to the balding guy, one hand firmly on his pants.

Please just say where you’re staying before Drunk Mom comes back and I have to put away the mirror.

“Will the hotel be like this too, Harry? ’Cause I’m planning on breaking up with . . .” He nudges his head toward Allegra, who is hugging a little girl. “. . . so it would be nice to have some privacy in case she screams her head off.”

The guy—Harry—shrugs. “I don’t think there are any leaks, but these girls tend to find out.”

“They’d better not,” Jonah says. “Get extra security.”

“I’ll alert the Cornwallis.”

Bingo. The Cornwallis is a fancy non-Disney hotel on Disney property.

“The Cornwallis?” Jonah shoves past the fans. “Nice British name. Will it be private?”

“We have a floor all to ourselves, you, Allegra, your staff.”

What floor? What floor?

“What floor?” Jonah asks.

“The top floor,” Harry says. “The floor below is a health club. People make all sorts of noise. She can scream as much as she likes.”

“Good. I need to be rid of her. The stress is affecting my voice.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Harry says just as a fan breaks through and touches Jonah. His bodyguard pushes her away.

A few of the kids who didn’t go to the lounge run past me. A blond boy is holding a handheld game, and a redhead tries to get it back. Just as they get to me, the redhead tackles the blond, barreling into my legs and almost knocking the mirror from my hands.

“Hey, watch it,” I say.

“Sorry.” The redhead stares at me. “Hey, how old are you?”

“Seventeen?” I say. “You?”

He ignores my question. “So you’re, like . . . ?”

“A smaller-sized adult? Yes.”

“Cool. I thought maybe you were from one of the other troops.”

“How many troops are there?”

“Three, I think.”

“Come on,” the blond kid says.

“Okay.” And they run off.

I notice a blue baseball cap lying under my feet. I pick it up and start to call after the redhead who lost it. But they’re gone.

I have an idea.

It’s one when the train pulls into the Orlando station ahead of schedule. Thirty little boys in thirty blue T-shirts and twenty-nine blue hats are herded as neatly as you’d expect out of the car. I follow them to their bus and put on the thirtieth hat. I make sure to
move around, not stand by anyone in particular. I pull the hat low. I’m guessing no mom here knows all thirty kids.

“Hey, you!” One of the moms grabs my shoulder.

I freeze.

“Stay with the group.” She pushes me forward into the line.

I follow the others onto the bus and sit in back. I keep my head down.

It’s not a short ride, but I know if I make it, I’ll be on Disney property. I can use their transportation to get to the Cornwallis.

Of course, getting to Jonah himself will be another story.

When we reach the All-Star Sports Resort, I find the red-haired kid and hand him his hat. “Hey, you dropped this.”

Then, I run in the opposite direction.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

An hour later, through a maze of transportation, I have gone from the All-Star to the Magic Kingdom, the Magic Kingdom to the Cornwallis Hotel’s own shuttle. I let myself close my eyes on this one. I picture Celine, the way she looked that day we went to Target, smiling at me. I want her to smile again, even if it’s not at me.

“That boy fell asleep,” the kid next to me says.

“He must have had a fun day,” his mother replies.

And it’s not over.
I open my eyes, and we’re pulling into the Cornwallis Hotel. Parking attendants dressed like Cinderella’s footmen, with powdered wigs and purple hats with giant plumes greet the shuttle. I step out, and they bow with a flourish.

I glance at my watch. Two-thirty.

So far this was easy, too easy.

I’m sure it will get harder.

I take the elevator to the twentieth floor. There’s no lock, no restriction. But when I get off, a guy who looks like an extra on
Game of Thrones—
two feet taller than I am with a scar on his cheek that looks like it was made by a sword—comes at me.

“What are you doing here?” he growls.

“Just heading for my room. Twenty-fifteen.” That’s Harry’s room. I heard them discussing it one of the ten times I checked the mirror while on the bus.

“Wrong!” the guy growls. “No one on this floor but Jonah Prince’s people.”

“I know. I’m with him. Harry, his manager’s my dad.” I start forward. One good thing about being my size. You can get away with stuff because you look nonthreatening.

“Hey, Otto,” the guy holding me says. “You remember Harry having a kid who looks like this?”

He grabs my waistband and drags me over to another, even bigger guy. The disrespect is mind-boggling. He lifts me up. I almost have a clear shot at kicking the guy in the nose, but I’m thinking that might not be a wise choice. Instead, I yell, “Put me down!”

“Pretty sure I’d remember him,” the bruiser says.

Of course, the bad thing about being my size is, I’m also very memorable. I had one shot to walk off the elevator, and I blew it.

The guy turns around and shoves me into the elevator. “Bye-bye, little guy.”

Sighing, I press the button to go down to the eighteenth floor.

Time for another plan. Or a plan at all. Since I didn’t know which hotel he’d be at, I hadn’t been able to research the layout or anything. I’d thought maybe luck would be on my side. Like I could go up with a housekeeper. But even the minute I spent on Jonah’s floor let me
know there was no housekeeper there. They probably cleaned his floor first, so he could check in early.

The housekeeper on this floor is still working. A door stands open. I hear vacuuming. I wonder if I can talk her into sneaking me upstairs. Doubtful. I try the stairs, but the door to the twentieth floor is locked, so I come back down. The hallway is empty.

I pull out the mirror.

“Show me Jonah,” I say.

The mirror does. He’s in a fancy room, talking on his phone, alone.

“I’m seventeen, and I have a hundred million dollars. I don’t need you telling me what to do.” He holds the phone away from his ear to avoid what I’m sure are her shrieks. “Yes, I suppose I do want to break up. After tonight. Let’s just get this tour over with. You’re still coming to the concert, right? What? What?”

He paces back and forth, tugging at his pants even though no one’s there to see him. “Is that a threat?” He nods. “All right, then. Call my mum. She’s in New York, and she won’t care, but go ahead and call her. Oh, stop crying. You know you never really liked me. It was all a publicity stunt. What?” Again, he pulls the phone away. “Just come to the concert tonight. We leave at six-thirty.”

He hangs up. Then, he walks to the window and stares out, shaking his head. “Call a guy’s mum, why don’t you?” He must notice a crowd outside because he backs away and flops down onto the bed.

“Show me Allegra,” I tell the mirror.

It does, switching to a similar-looking room. Allegra is collapsed on the bed, phone in hand, crying, saying, “He broke up with me. He’s so out of control! He’s not the guy I used to know. I had to stop him from giving these little girls the finger.” She stops talking and sobs. “I know. You’re right. Thanks.”

She puts down the phone and sobs some more. I feel bad,
watching something so private. Still, I don’t know what else to do. Also, I feel like I know this girl, having watched a gazillion hours of
What a Girl Needs
with Isabella.

“You’re better off without him, sweetheart,” I say aloud but, of course, she doesn’t hear me. A minute later, she sits up and looks at the phone on her nightstand. She crawls across the bed and looks at it, reading the instructions, then picks it up and dials.

“Hey.” She sniffles. “How do I get room service?”

A few seconds later, she says, “Hello, this is, um, Mrs. Kendall, room 2016. Can you send up, um, a bottle of wine . . . white wine . . . what
kind
? Um, I don’t know. Whatever you recommend. Oh, and a hot fudge sundae.”

This gives me an idea. I tell the mirror. “Show me the room service person she’s talking to.”

As the mirror melds into the person she’s talking to, I start toward the elevator.

“Yes.” It’s a girl with dyed-black hair and a white apron over black shirt and pants. She rolls her eyes. “I understand it’s an emergency. I’ll send up the 2008 Didier Dagueneau Silex right away . . . and the sundae . . . my name. It’s Kasey. With a K. Yes, I understand. It will be there in twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes. I have twenty minutes to work if I’m going to be part of Allegra’s room service order.

“Isn’t that a cliché,” Kasey says when she gets off the phone. “Little teeny-bopper star wants to get drunk. And stupid room service is going to buy that it’s her ‘mother’ calling.”

The second the elevator hits the ground floor, I’m off and running toward the restaurant. I figure the kitchen’s probably behind there. It’s a dead time of day, after lunch, but way before dinner. When I stroll in, there’s only one woman manning the maître d’ station. “May I help you?”

“I’m looking for my sister. She works here. Kasey? The kitchen’s through there?”

She nods and goes back to the game she was playing on her phone.

I keep my back against the wall as I enter the kitchen. The room has an island with high, stainless steel counters. I hide under one near a wheeled room service trolley that is already topped with a bottle of white wine. Kasey’s standing by it. A tall red-haired girl is bringing over wineglasses. “How many?”

“Just one, I suppose.” Kasey makes a tsk-ing sound with her tongue. “Poor little Allegra, drinking alone.”

“And ice cream,” says the second girl. “She got dumped for sure.”

I peek over the counter. Kasey snaps a photo of the wine bottle. “Got dumped, and now, she’ll get drunk.” She takes a business card from her apron pocket. “This guy, he’s a paparazzi . . . paparazzo . . . photographer, he told me to call with any tips. Said he’d make it worth my while. He’ll love hearing about Allegra getting faced.”

I feel a twinge for this girl I don’t know. Well, like I said, Isabella loves her. I notice the trolley’s about the width of the TV in my parents’ bedroom, with a tablecloth over it. I could fit under it if I could get there. Then, if they pushed me up to Allegra’s room, I’d at least be on Jonah’s floor. Maybe they even have adjoining rooms. But right now, both girls are standing by the trolley. If only one would move.

“That’s really mean,” the tall one says. “Kick her when she’s down.”

“You have such a soft heart, Caitlin. How ‘down’ can she be, spoiled little starlet.”

“My kid sister loves her. She’ll be so disappointed. Why do they always turn out to be crazy, drunks, or sluts?”

Kasey shrugs. “Not my fault. Hey, make that sundae. Her majesty said she needed it quick.”

Caitlin moves away. Kasey takes out her phone, starts to call someone. I make my move, sliding under the counter, which requires some knee bending, even for me. I get into the trolley, which requires more. It’s tight. I’m short, but I have shoulders, and I’m not a contortionist who can dislocate them. At one point, the trolley starts to move. I hear the wineglass rattle against the cooler. Kasey doesn’t notice. She’s too busy talking.

“. . . leaving in a couple hours. She should be stumbling drunk by then.”

Finally, I stuff myself in, sitting on my feet, shoulders gathered around my ears. My left side aches bad, and I wonder if I dislocated my shoulder after all. In any case, I can’t move except to give the tablecloth a tug. I hope Caitlin will hurry.

“There we go.” I feel the thunk of a huge sundae above my head. “With extra whipped cream. I’m sort of excited to see her. Wonder if she’d let me take a picture.”

“They’ll kill you if you ask. Have some dignity.”

Caitlin pushes the trolley. It barely budges. “Wow, I need to start working out.” She gives it a big shove, and we’re on our way.

She drives me through the kitchen, where Caitlin manages to ram into every possible counter, and into the dining room, which is carpeted, so the thing will barely roll with my weight on it. Each bump and thump makes my shoulder ache worse, and I grit my teeth to keep from crying out. Finally, finally, we hit a marble floor.

It’s smooth skating for about twenty feet. Then, we reach the elevator, which is another death struggle as we get over the gap.

And off to the top floor. So I have a solid minute to sit and think about how much my shoulder hurts, how both feet are already asleep, how I’d love to clear my throat, scratch my head, burp, fart, or all four.

I try to remember that tomorrow, this will all be over. I’ll have succeeded or failed, but hopefully succeeded.

And, if I succeed, Jonah will wake Celine. Jonah Prince is as close to a prince as we have, and she loves him.

So they can fall in love, and she can live happily ever after.

With that asshole.

I really need to scratch my nose. Why am I doing this again? Oh, yeah. Love. True love. Unselfish love.

And a fascinating topic for college essays about an obstacle I’ve overcome.

If I don’t get arrested and can still apply to college.

Finally, finally, the elevator reaches the top floor.

I breathe out, though I have no idea why I’m relieved. It’s not like I can get out and walk around now. Rather, I’m going to have to wait until Allegra passes out or leaves or, at least gets drunk enough not to notice a guy walking around her room. Depending on her drinking habits, that could take a while.

I could come out of this experience a hunchback. Another good college essay topic.

I really want to crack my neck.

Caitlin wheels the trolley down the hall. I hear her explaining to the bodyguards who she is. They let her through. Finally, she knocks on the door.

“Room service!”

The door opens. “Thank God you’re here.” Allegra’s voice.

Silence.

“Well, aren’t you going to bring it in?” Allegra asks.

“Oh! Sorry.” Caitlin pushes against the trolley. “I was just sort of . . .”

“Slow?” Allegra says.

“Awestruck. My little sister watches your show all the time. She won’t believe I met you.”

Allegra seems to gather herself. “I’m sorry. That’s great! Can you bring the tray in now?”

“Oh!” Caitlin gives the trolley a shove, and I have to grip the bottom to keep from falling out. “Of course. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Maybe set it by the bed.”

By the bed. That’s good because maybe I could sneak out and get under the bed.

In an hour or so.

Caitlin pushes the trolley across the marble floor for a long time, turning to get through a door or something. Finally, it crashes into the bed.

“Really, I’m sorry,” Allegra says. “That’s sweet that your little sister likes the show so much. Would you like a picture so she’ll believe you met me?”

“Omigod! Omigod! Omigod! Really? That would be so awesome. I can get a selfie of us together. Thank you sooo much!”

“No problem.” Allegra sounds happier. “It’s great to meet a fan.”

“You have so many fans,” Caitlin gushes.

“Obviously not enough for Jonah,” Allegra mutters.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing,” Allegra says. “Do you have a phone with you? Okay.”

I wish Caitlin would leave so there’d be one less person to notice if I tumble out of this thing. My legs ache, and so does my stomach. I had a burger on the train. Obviously, a mistake. What if I . . . experience gastric distress? Just thinking about it makes my stomach hurt worse. Actually, there’s no part of my body that doesn’t ache. My arms, shoulders, even my head are pulsing, pulsing, pulsing.

I think of Celine, comatose, feeling nothing. I have to hold it together.

Last night, I printed out some photos of Celine, the one I took at Target, one from the house, and one of her in the hospital. I did it since I wouldn’t have my phone, so I could prove her existence to Jonah. They’re still in my backpack, flattened against my back. I
wish I could look at them, see her face. Maybe it would inspire me. I close my eyes and visualize her. I don’t need the photo. Her blue eyes stare into my soul, and I see every detail, every eyelash, every freckle, every blush. Every time she smiled at me.

It works. I relax and can sit there on my sleeping foot while Caitlin snaps a dozen selfies and Allegra coos about Caitlin’s sister, asking how old she is and if she wants an autographed eight by ten. It takes at least ten minutes before Caitlin says, “Omigod! Your ice cream’s melting! I’m sooo sorry. Should I bring you a new one?”

“That’s okay.” Allegra’s feeling better, it seems. “But I guess I should eat it now.”

“Of course. Sorry. Thank you. I’ll get going. You’re the best!” She stumbles toward the door, and Allegra is left alone.

Almost alone.

I hear her taking the cover off her ice cream, then clinking the spoon. The trolley shakes as she digs into her sundae. Then, she burst into tears.