Reel Life Starring Us (20 page)

But I'm in eighth grade now! This is what eighth graders are supposed to do.

“Hey,” he says, walking into my house like he lives here. “What's up? How was
el ciudad
?”

“Practicing your Spanish?” I laugh.

“Sí.” He smiles. “So how was it? And can I have one of those graham cracker granola bars you're always eating in math? They look soooooo good.”

“Sure.” He follows me into the kitchen, and I start telling him all about the day, how much of a sleuth Dina is and how we actually ended up being extras in the movie, which I still can't believe.

He seems really interested. Interested like a girl would be, not like an eighth-grade boy. It's weird to see him alone, without anyone else around. He seems calmer and less worried about impressing people. “So, how did Dina find out all this stuff? And were you totally nervous about sneaking into the extras scene and into the trailer and all of that?” He climbs up onto one of our kitchen barstools and finishes his graham cracker granola bar in one bite.

“I have no clue how she figured it out.” I shrug and don't answer about how nervous I was. Ross doesn't need to know that. “She's a detective.”

“Really?”

“No. I mean, she's not like a paid detective.” I laugh. “But she can find out anything, probably about people at school, too. Like if Mr. Oliver was really involved in that scandal with the rigged tennis team tryouts.”

Ross throws his head back and bangs his hand on the counter. “That was ridiculous!” He widens his eyes like he's in some kind of spooky horror film. “You think she's found out stuff about me?”

Ross seems really interested in what Dina thinks of him. I think he must be fascinated with new people. We've all been in the same classes with the same kids since kindergarten, for the most part, so we're used to each other. “I doubt it.”

“Why?” He has a stupid grin on his face, and it makes me want to throw something at him. Maybe I can't go out with Ross Grunner. Maybe he's just as annoying as everybody else.

“I don't know.” I look at this colorful painting on the wall. My mom bought it in Spain when my parents were there a few years ago. After I stare at it for a few seconds, it starts to give me a headache. “Anyway, why'd you come over here? What do you want to talk to me about?”

I walk around the island in my kitchen and sit down on the barstool next to his. Up close he smells like he used too much cologne or too much of that men's body spray.

“I just wanted to see how you're doing,” he says. “I mean, it totally sucks that you're, like, faced with this whole new lifestyle now.”

I raise my eyebrows at him, but he keeps talking. “You know, all the stuff you were used to, you can't really get anymore, and everyone knows about it, and it's just sucky. It's like your parents were involved in some kind of scandal.”

“Not really,” I say. “They didn't do anything wrong. If you watched the news, you'd see it's a pretty bad economy out there.”

“You watch the news?” Ross scoffs. “Chelsea Stern watches the news?”

I shrink away from him a little. “Sometimes,” I mumble.

“That's hard to picture.” He laughs. “So, how are you handling it?”

“Well, I'm not exactly homeless,” I tell him, annoyed that he just laughed at me. “I mean, yeah, I'm dealing with fewer pairs of jeans, but I'm not going to school in rags.”

This is what I don't get about Rockwood Hills. In any other part of the country, everyone would know that people are losing their jobs, and it wouldn't be the biggest deal and no one would treat it like you had some kind of highly contagious disease.
I know Ross came over here to help me, supposedly, but he doesn't seem to understand any more than Kendall and Molly do.

“Chelsea.” He lowers his eyes at me, and I suddenly think this is a really bizarre time for a first kiss with someone. “Come on. You know and I know that we were the richest kids in the grade.”

Barf. I want to barf right now. I hate this discussion. How was I ever a person who was okay with talking about that stuff? And when did I change?

I don't respond. Ross takes another granola bar out of the box, and I wonder if we should order in pizza. I look at the clock and see it's after nine o'clock. He must be starving. Alexa must be starving, too.

“Alexa!” I shout down to the basement. “What do you want on your pizza?”

I hear the twinkling sounds of her new dollhouse video game. You get points every time you finish decorating a room. She probably would have forgotten about dinner altogether if I hadn't reminded her.

“Mushrooms!” she yells back, and Ross mouths the word
mushrooms
like it's weird.

“What kind of kid eats mushrooms?” he asks.

“Oh, now mushrooms are for poor people?” I say, mostly
kidding but a little curious about how he'll respond to that.

“I never said you were poor,” he says all matter-of-factly. “I'm sure your dad's severance package was more than most people make in a whole year, maybe even two years.”

How does he know all of this? “Do you read the
Wall Street Journal
or something?”

“I do, actually,” he says, all smug and proud of himself.

Right now he looks so cute, and I start to think I can actually like him like that. It's bizarre how these feelings can change in a second, like turning a car engine on and off.

I can't think of anything else to say, and I guess he can't, either. “Where's your computer?” he asks, out of nowhere.

“Upstairs on my desk. Why?”

“I wanna show you something. I'll be right back,” he says.

“Great. I'll order the pizza.”

As soon as he's gone and out of the kitchen, I start to get a creepy feeling that he's upstairs in my room all by himself. Is he looking through my stuff? Touching my pillows? He's still a boy, after all, and who knows what gross things boys do.

I try not to think about it. Instead, I order two pizzas and two bottles of soda, and the guy on the phone tells me it'll be here in thirty minutes.

While Ross is upstairs getting my computer, I start to wonder if I've really changed, if this whole thing with my dad's job has
turned me into a different person. Because I don't think I can be the same person anymore, someone who only cares about having fancy, expensive stuff and going on exotic vacations every single school break. Maybe that's what makes people change. Things in their life change, and so they have to become different.

Maybe that's really obvious to most people, but it just occurred to me.

Take Dina, for example. Maybe she's become this new person who lies to her parents because she had to move, and she'll never be the same as the girl she used to be back wherever she used to live. Maybe at the end of the year, she'll be different from how she is now. Maybe we're always just changing, and we don't even realize it until after the change has happened.

“Ready?” Ross asks, poking his head into the kitchen.

“For?”

“To watch videos on the
Wall Street Journal
site. Duh. It's not what you think—all boring, financial stuff. There are cool videos on the site, too. Come sit on the couch.” He walks into the den and makes himself comfortable, like he's the one who lives here and I'm the guest.

“Sure, but the pizza will be here in thirty minutes,” I tell him.

He nods and starts the video. We're sitting so close to each other on the couch. Now I'm definitely sure he used too much cologne, and I can't figure out if I love him or hate him or even
like him. I can't figure out who I am and if I've changed, and I have no idea why we're watching
Wall Street Journal
videos on a Saturday night.

None of this makes sense. All my friends are at Kendall's, eating sushi and having a sleepover and pranking people in the grade, and I'm alone with Ross Grunner on my couch. But I don't want to be either place.

What do I want?

“Why are we watching this?” I ask.

“You didn't believe me that I actually read it.” Ross laughs and moves a little closer to me on the couch. His breath smells like graham crackers from the granola bars. “But don't worry, my family makes fun of me all the time for it, too. They think I'm totally right-wing, but they're just super liberal.”

“Your family is super liberal?” I ask. I'm not even really sure I know what liberal means, but I don't think it's how I'd describe the Grunners.

“Here, let's watch this clip about a billion-dollar resort in China,” he says.

So I sit back and watch and try as hard as I can not to think about anything else.

Lately, I'm always waiting for something to happen. Right now I'm definitely waiting for something to happen, but I'm not even sure I know what I'm waiting for.

Video tip: Start with an establishing shot—
a general shot of the subject or location
to help define the project.

At lunch on Monday
, the Acceptables are talking about what they always talk about—Chelsea Stern and Ross Grunner.

“She's so different this year, though,” Maura says. Maura has tuna salad in her braces, and if I look at it too closely, it makes me queasy. “She doesn't even seem to care about the trends, or what everybody's wearing, or anything.”

“I don't think she's that different,” Katherine says. “Her jeans cost more than my whole back-to-school wardrobe.”

Katherine lives in the Spruce section. I think they may rent out the basement of their house to someone else. Her dad owns a lumberyard, and her mom's a nurse. She's always talking about the money situation in Rockwood Hills and how
some people have so much more than others. But Katherine's the one with the sandwiches from the deli every day for lunch, all wrapped up in their perfect white paper. Her mom gets them for her on the way to school. It's a small thing for a mom to do, but I think it's really nice.

I've been sitting with these girls for over a month now, and all they talk about is grades and Chelsea Stern. They're so predictable that sometimes I make up stories about the secret lives they could lead. Like Katherine runs to the city on the weekends to play competitive poker, and Maura secretly plays the electric guitar. Stuff like that.

“Dina, are you coming to my house on Saturday?” Maura asks. “We're going to order in Chinese and study for the science final.”

“Dina's not in honors,” Katherine says almost in a whisper, like it's some kind of horrible secret I've been trying to hide.

“Oh, right,” Maura says. “No big deal. You can still study for yours. Just bring your books and notes and everything.”

Thanks, Maura
, I think to myself.
Thanks for telling me what I need to bring for a study session.

I should be excited about this—the plans, I mean. It's the first time they've actually invited me over. But I don't get why we have to study on a Saturday night. The final isn't for weeks yet.

“Is that okay, Dina? Sorry,” Maura says.

She's one of those girls who say sorry for everything. I don't think she's really sorry I'm not good at science.

“Yeah, it's fine,” I say. “Didn't you say your brother has that new game system?”

She nods.

“Well, I can always just play that.”

“Um.” Maura laughs nervously. “Sure, whatever.”

Across the cafeteria, Chelsea and her friends are talking and laughing, and one of their guy friends keeps getting up to bring the girls' table notes from the boys' table and vice versa.

Chelsea and I had so much fun chasing Sasha. Could these girls be that fun, too?

“Have you hung out with Chelsea outside of school?” Trisha asks, as if reading my mind. “Does she talk about Ross all the time?”

I don't want to tell them about Sasha Preston and our day in the city. They won't get it or think it's cool. They think Chelsea is more of a celebrity than Sasha is anyway.

I'm trying to think of how to answer that question when I feel someone come up behind me and put hands on my shoulders.

The whole table looks freaked out, which makes me freaked out. Almost too scared to turn around. But finally I do.

It's Ross.

“I heard you're a detective,” he says.

All I can think about is that Ross is at our table. Maura, Trisha, and Katherine are just sitting there, staring at the two of us.

I'm worried they may pass out.

“Um,” I say finally. “Well, I'm not like Sherlock Holmes.” I laugh. I can't believe I just said that. How did I just come up with the stupidest response ever?

“I heard you're pretty good,” Ross says.

Now what do I say? I don't know. Talking to Ross would be hard anyway, but it's even harder with the Acceptables sitting here, just staring at us.

Luckily, Mrs. O'Hanlon, the lunch aide, tells us that it's time to clean up, so I just say, “Well, gotta throw out the trash.”