Reel Life Starring Us (10 page)

“Oh, we're doing fine,” Dina says. “But you know how it is when you're in the thick of a project. It's hard to discuss it with people.”

I cover my mouth and try as hard as I can not to crack up.
The thick of a project?
Where does she get this stuff?

“Well, I'll need to see something soon. Next week or the week after, at the latest. Good luck, girls.”

He walks away.

“Next week?” I say.

“Whoa.”

“We've got serious work to do.”

“I know.” She looks at me like she's debating about saying something, not sure if she should or not. “But I have to ask you something.”

Oh, no. She's heard a rumor. That's what someone says when they've heard a rumor and they want to know if it's true or not. It's all happening, everything's falling apart, and it feels like it just snuck up on me. “What?” I ask tentatively.

“Why didn't you call me back?” She crumples up the
M&M's wrapper in her hand. “Because in my old school people called me back. In my old school, I was actually someone that people liked.” She stops talking, probably because she realizes how pathetic she sounds.

“I just forgot.” I can't look at her right now. She's this really weird combination of bold and insecure, and I don't get it. She'll just call me out on things that I do, but at the same time it's so obvious that she's desperate to be my friend. “Okay? Can we just move on and focus on the video?”

“I have it under control.” She packs up her notebook and her cool pens and ties her hair back into a low ponytail. “Okay?” She mocks me but not in a cruel way.

As we walk out of the library, I realize that I hate her a little bit less than I used to, and I think it's because she just said that she has it under control. That's all I really want, to have things under control.

The project keeps my mind off of everything else, and I like that.

And when I'm nice to her, I just feel the tiniest bit better about things.

Video tip: Cut shorter as opposed to longer.
People get bored by long interviews.

“Stop staring at him, Maura,”
Katherine says, flicking a piece of macaroni off the table. “He's such a jerk.”

“I know he's a jerk, but a jerk can still be cute.”

We're at lunch, and the Acceptables are talking about what they always talk about: Chelsea and her friends and Ross. It's either that or what test they have to study for. But I try not to complain about it or think about how boring they are, because they're all I've got. And they're actually not that bad. We've been sitting together for a couple of weeks already. I'm used to it.

“Chelsea Stern has the perfect life,” Maura says. “It's like she doesn't even try at all to get Ross Grunner to talk to her.”

“I know. And she doesn't even look excited when he does
talk to her. And he talks to her, like, all the time,” Katherine says. “It's not even a big deal to her.”

I just sit there quietly eating my lunch and observing this conversation. I should probably say something, but I have no idea what to add.

“You're working on that video project with her, right?” Trisha asks.

I nod.

“The thing about Chelsea Stern,” she goes on, “is that you really want to hate her, but you just can't. She's not mean like that Molly creature. Molly isn't even human.”

“I really don't know her well at all,” I admit. “You may be right, though. We didn't have that kind of creature back in Massachusetts.”

The whole table laughs, and for the first time since I've been sitting with them, I feel happy with where I am.

Soon they're asking me all these questions about life in the Berkshires, and I tell them about going to concerts at Tanglewood and sitting on the grass and getting to meet all these famous musicians since my dad was the head of finance there. I tell them about being able to ski all winter long. And as I'm talking, I realize how much I miss it.

But even as I say all of this, and feel okay about being friends with these girls, I realize they're all totally fake, saying
this stuff about how awful Molly is. Because the truth is they all want to be friends with her and Chelsea and Kendall as much as I do.

Lunch is almost over, and I can't waste an opportunity to get some footage for the video. Mr. Valakis is serious about wanting to see progress. And we haven't made much.

“I'm gonna get some footage,” I tell the table. They look at me confused and kind of scared.

“Here?” Trisha asks. “In the cafeteria?”

I shrug. “Sure.”

They nod, like kids who are waiting in line to go on a roller coaster after their parents ask them if they really want to go.

I try to ignore their fear and just get up. There's so much hubbub, what with people walking around, throwing out their food, scrounging up extra change for an ice cream, that I doubt anyone will notice me.

I just walk around, getting shots of people at the garbage cans, at their tables, finishing last bites of their lunches.

“Hey, video fanatic!” I hear Kendall yell, and I take that as a positive sign. I walk over to their table.

“Hey,” I say to them, still filming.

“Why are you doing this?” Molly says, shouting so loud that the tables around us turn to look at me.

“For the thingie—you know, the fiftieth-anniversary event.” I smile with the camera still on. I'm not going to let her get to me. If I act cool and calm and relaxed, then she won't bother me. “Just trying to get some casual cafeteria shots.”

The whole table cracks up, definitely in a laughing-
at
-me kind of way. I smile again and keep shooting. I like being behind the camera; it feels natural. In a way, I feel protected by it, like no one can really bother me while I'm filming, because whatever they do will be captured forever on video.

It's odd but comforting.

Ross Grunner comes over from the boys' table and stands behind me looking at the display screen of the camera. “Good work,” Ross says and pats me on the shoulder. “I can't wait to watch it.”

I smile. Does he really mean that? I can't tell what type of shots I'm getting. I'm just proud of myself for having the confidence to walk around the cafeteria.

But then, just as I'm leaving the cafeteria, Molly trips me. It's so obvious that she's going to do it, too, so I don't even really fall, I just stumble and drop the camera. Luckily, it bounces a little on the rubbery linoleum floor and doesn't break.

“You probably have enough
casual cafeteria shots
,” she says, totally mocking me.

I pick up the camera, and say, “Thanks, Molly. I'm grateful for your editorial input.”

Chelsea calls me later that night. Apparently, miracles do happen. At first, I assume she's going to say something about the tripping incident, but she doesn't.

“How's the Sasha search going? Are you going to sign up for one of those services that tell you who her agent is?” she asks me.

“No, those sites are total scams,” I tell her, wondering why she's suddenly so intrigued with the project. “I told you—I can find her myself. Celebrities are on Twitter all the time saying where they are. It's not that hard. I'm looking right now, actually.”

“Okay, if you say so … Actually, hold on a sec,” Chelsea tells me.

While she's gone, I click all around the Internet searching for Sasha Preston stuff. A lot of it is fan pages and random sites about people obsessing over her. So weird. Imagine if I had people obsessing over me. I bet it would be kind of awesome in the beginning but would start to get kind of awkward after a while.

In the background at Chelsea's house, I hear yelling. At first, I think it's a joke or maybe people yelling at a TV during
some kind of sporting event. But then I realize it's actual, serious yelling.

I can't totally make out what the people are saying, but suddenly I can. A woman's voice says, “You need to fix this! I can't live like this anymore!”

And then the male voice says, “I don't see you making any changes!”

Too bad Chelsea didn't put me on hold. This is awkward. I wonder if I should pretend that I didn't hear anything. Or ask Chelsea if she's okay. That is, if she ever comes back to the phone. What if she just leaves me waiting forever? When should I hang up?

I take a break from my Sasha Preston searching and try to do a little searching on Chelsea's parents. Maybe if I knew a little more about the situation, I'd know why they're fighting and I could help more.

Do most people Google their friends on a regular basis? Probably not.

Do I care? Not at all. If I don't become a movie director, I'll probably become a detective or an investigative journalist. I just like finding out stuff about people. And it's always more exciting if it's stuff I really shouldn't know.

I don't know what Chelsea's parents' names are, so I go to the Rockwood Hills Middle School website and search
for last year's PTA Ball. One of the Acceptables mentioned that her mom was in charge of it.

I pull up a link to photos from the event, and at the very top are Chelsea's parents.

They're beautiful people. They're old and stuff, but they still look good. I hope I'm like that when I'm old and a parent.

Bruce and Dayna Stern.

I copy/paste that into Google.

Nothing comes up except for pages having to do with Rockwood Hills Middle School.

I can't believe Chelsea hasn't come back to the phone yet. I feel like I should hang up, but I'm not sure. I put my phone on speaker and lay it on my desk. It's hard to type and hold a phone at the same time.

I type “Bruce Stern” into Google and get a million hits.

I type “Bruce Stern Long Island” into Google and get a lot fewer.

This stuff pops up about one of the most successful investment bankers in the New York area. “Worked for the same bank for over twenty years.” “Bruce Stern, one of the brightest minds in the banking industry.”

“Hi, Dina, sorry.” Chelsea's back on the phone just as I find the missing clue: “Bruce Stern let go—A shock to the industry.”

“Hi.” My voice is crackly.

I hear the voices of Trisha, Maura, and Katherine in my head.
Chelsea Stern has the perfect life.
Obviously, she doesn't. Obviously, things aren't always what they seem.

I have no idea what to do now.

“So did you find her yet?” Chelsea asks.

“Um—I'm getting closer, I think.” I feel like I can't speak. I don't know what to say. I wish I hadn't been so nosy and searched for her parents. Why did I think Googling her dad would be a good idea? “I gotta go, Chelsea. Sorry! My mom is mad at me for being on the phone so much.”

“You're on the phone so much?” Chelsea asks like that's really hard to believe. I try not to get too offended. After all, she's going through a lot. “With who?”

“Well, yeah, with my old friends and stuff. See you tomorrow. Meet in the library after school?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Well, I'll see you in social studies anyway.”

“Right.”

“G'night.”

“Night.”

I'm still holding the phone after we hang up because I'm so shocked about this thing with her parents. Does anyone else know about this? People lose their jobs all the time, but it seems like it would be a big deal for Chelsea Stern.

I sign into Gmail so I can quickly video-chat with Ali before bed. She said she has a lot to tell me about the benefit at Tanglewood this past weekend. She said all sorts of people were there—Susan Sarandon and Bruce Willis and Oprah.

Ali's dad worked with my dad there, and we would go to all the benefits together. We'd get dressed up and schmooze with classical musicians like Yo-Yo Ma.

See, I should play that up more when I talk to Rockwood Hills people. I should have been doing that from the beginning. But I didn't want to appear arrogant and artsy in a snobby way.

As soon as I click into Gmail, I see that I have Facebook friend requests. It's too bad real life can't be more like Facebook. You can't just request for someone to be your friend and then they will be. Life would be much easier if it was like that.

But these aren't any old friend requests—they're from Kendall Rogers and Molly Settlen! Maybe they felt bad about the cafeteria incident earlier today. Maybe they're realizing I really am cool. I didn't get frazzled, and I didn't let them see me upset. Maybe they know that Chelsea's calling me now, and that's making them like me, too.

I quickly accept their friend requests and then click open the video-chat from Ali.

She tells me all about the Tanglewood event, the turquoise dress she wore, how Isaac Mizrahi complimented her on it,
and how she thinks she can get accepted into the Boston junior symphony orchestra.

But it's too hard to focus on all of that after I've just uncovered something big, something about Chelsea, something I'm not sure I should tell anyone.