Secrets of My Hollywood Life: There’s No Place Like Home (14 page)

“Sweetie?” Mom is tentative. “Aren’t you going to get out?”

Mom has pulled into the drop-off zone at Clark Hall High School, and I’m glued to the leather seats in terror. Matty slid
out of the backseat as soon as we got here and walked ahead of me to class. I guess even the socially awkward alter-Matty
doesn’t want to be seen with the girl who supposedly ended Austin Meyers’s lacrosse career. A car honks angrily behind us,
and soon a whole symphony of honks is begging Mom to move. She can’t. I still haven’t gotten out yet.

“Go around again,” I tell Mom pleadingly. I clutch the sparkly red bag to my chest. It’s not a school bag, but there is something
I like about this thing that I can’t put my finger on. I’ve taken it everywhere. It’s sort of calming.

“This is the last time, Kaitlin. I’ve already circled three times.” Mom gives me a withering look as another driver lays on
the horn. Then she adjusts her blue scrubs top. (When she first came downstairs this morning in scrubs and rainbow-colored
Crocs, I almost spit my Froot Loops across the breakfast table and started laughing. “What’s so funny?” she’d said defensively.
“I know they’re not the most glamorous threads in the world, but I do my best to jazz them up.” I’m assuming the jazzing part
is the rainbow ponytail holder she has in her hair, but seriously—Mom in a ponytail?)

I watch out the window of “our” car—a 2005 Town & Country minivan, how horrifying. As picturesque Clark Hall moves out of
view again and Mom joins the long line of cars and limos waiting to do drop-off duty, I find myself exhaling a little.

There was a day when I used to dream about coming to Liz’s private school full-time. It reminds me of the colleges she and
Austin are applying to as we speak in some other realm. (That’s my new theory: I’m stuck on a different plane. Hey, it happened
on the
Charmed
rerun I saw last night!) Clark Hall sits on ten acres of rolling hills, sports fields, and super green manicured lawns. The
school itself is made up of five brick, vine-covered mansions (this was once a private residence). Most of the buildings are
connected by brick open-air walkways that are covered with beautiful arches and blooming flower beds. Gleaming silver lockers
line separate covered walkways. Thankfully, since I’ve actually been a student here before—or should I say I was one in disguise
for a brief period—I know my way around.

“Kaitlin, I know facing your peers is going to be hard,” Mom says, “but what’s happened has happened. You can’t change the
past. All you can do is work on making a brighter future.”

I just stare at Mom, my eyes blinking rapidly. “Wow, Mom, that was sort of inspirational.” My real mom is inspired, yes, but
inspirational… uh, not really, unless it involves explaining how I’m going to appear on two live late-night talk shows in
the same hour.

Mom smiles and steers the car around the bend. We’re four cars away from drop-off again. “It’s the truth. Make your apologies,
be contrite, and I promise this will all blow over by the weekend. Your father and I spoke with Principal Pearson and no one
is pressing charges. They know that you hitting the gas instead of the brake was an accident. The fact that you hurt a few
students is a very, very unfortunate mistake, but it was still a mistake. Right?”

I nod unsurely. Who’s to say what this Kaitlin might have been thinking? Whenever someone drops a new detail about how I supposedly
behave here, I cringe.

Mom touches my cheek. “I’m just glad to see you out of your room.”

When I was watching my fourth hour of the
Charmed
marathon last night in three-day-old sweats with an empty box of Oreos in my hands that I couldn’t recall eating, a revelation
dawned on me: I’m not going to figure out what’s happened to me by staying in this room for the rest of my life. If I want
to get out of this dream/realm/coma/purgatory, I have to leave the house. And maybe, while I’m here, I can do some good.
Like show Matty how to use hair gel and get Liz to see that hanging out with the
Jersey Shore
cast is not something to aspire to.

So here I am.

Mom pulls the car slowly to the drop-off point again and puts the car in park. She stares at me expectantly.

“Kaitlin, it’s time,” she says kindly, but firmly all the same. “If you need me, just call. The school nurse has your painkillers
if you need them, okay?”

There is no avoiding it any longer. I grab my crutches (my ankle will be in a cast for four weeks) and open the car door.
If I had two good legs, maybe I could get up and run away.

“Oh, and honey?” Mom rolls down the car window and calls to me. “Principal Pearson would like a word with you before your
first class, okay?”

I nod. It’s absolutely okay. Principal P. is always a welcome face, and I adore her. I take a deep breath and step out into
the cool December air. I pull my Gap peacoat tightly across my chest, sling my book bag over my shoulder, and use my crutches
to hobble down the path. I’m wearing a long green tunic I found in alter-Kaitlin’s dresser, black leggings, and a multicolored
scarf around my neck. I can’t squeeze most of my jeans over my cast till it comes off, so I’m wearing skirts and loose pants
or leggings. I also can’t wear two shoes. My one foot has on a ballet flat. The other has my toes wiggling through the cast.
Still, at least I look decent for my death march. I catch people staring, and I immediately lower my eyes and move swiftly.
It’s a technique I do well after all my paparazzi run-ins.

“It’s
her
.”

“Oh my God! Kaitlin Burke is back.”

“Look who had the nerve to show up.”

Ugh. This is not going to be fun. But what choice do I have? I have to figure out what I’m doing here if I want things to
change. And
change
is the operative word. The first thing I want to do after I leave Principal Pearson’s office is find alter-Austin and apologize.

Austin.

Just saying his name makes my stomach ache and flip-flop at the same time. I’ve called him every night, but no one picks up.
Maybe if I can apologize for being selfish and putting both Austins in harm's way, all will be forgiven, and I’ll wake up
in the real world again.

I find my way to the main office without a problem, but I can’t figure out a way to open it while I balance my crutches.

“It’s Kaitlin! Did anyone tell Lori she’s back?”

Move crutch to the left, try to balance on my right foot without the crutch. Grab door handle. Nope. Doesn’t work.

“I so would have transferred, wouldn’t you?”

Use both hands to grab door handle. Okay, now what? How do I get through without my crutches?

“Go home, Burke!” someone yells.

Great, I’m a leper. How am I supposed to get to the bottom of alter-Kaitlin if I can’t get through a door?

“Need some help?” a custodian asks me and holds open the door.

I smile gratefully and head into the office, but as soon as I do, I wish I could use my crutches to pole vault out of there.
The secretaries stop talking, the teachers who were chatting by the coffee machine stare me down, and I swear even the phone
lines stop ringing. Then I see my history teacher/driver’s ed instructor, Mr. Michaels, and oohh… his face looks like it really
hurts. His left eye is black and blue, he has cuts on his arms, and his right hand is bandaged. Matty said he hit his face
on the dash when I stopped violently short. He uses his injured hand to pull on his salt-and-pepper goatee.

“Ms. Burke,” he says stiffly and gathers his papers quickly, as if I might try to ram him with my crutches. “I trust I’ll
see you in third period.”

I have history third period! Okay, at least I know where to go for one class. “Mr. Michaels, I just wanted to apologize,”
I start to say.

Mr. Michaels pushes his wire-rim glasses up on his long nose. “I don’t want to discuss this in a public forum, Ms. Burke.
If you have something to say to me, make an appointment after class.” He pushes through the office door, practically hitting
the speechless custodian, and disappears into the crowded walkway. Needless to say, I have a feeling I won’t be getting an
A this semester.

“Kaitlin Burke? Principal Pearson will see you now,” says one of the secretaries.

I don’t think I’ve ever moved so fast on crutches. As I hobble through the door, I notice Principal P. ’s office looks the
same as it did when I was a student. Plaques hang on the wall behind her cluttered mahogany desk, and a flat-screen TV is
anchored to the opposite wall. Principal P. is leaning back in her chair, so engrossed in whatever is on TV that she barely
sees me walk in. She looks the same as she does in the real world—short and plump with graying black hair and off-the-wall
style. Today she has on a lime green polka-dot dress, which makes me sort of dizzy.

“I, uh, will be right with you, Kaitlin,” says Principal P. in hushed tones. She waves like an air traffic controller to a
leather seat opposite her desk. I place my bag on the chair next to me and freeze when I hear Sky’s voice.

Oh goodie! Dried-out Entenmann’s cookies. Mom, this blows.

I’ll say.

The second line should be mine, but instead, I cringe when I hear Alexis. My nails dig into the book bag next to me to keep
from screaming.
Family Affair
cuts to a commercial break, and Principal P. picks up her TiVo remote and starts to fast-forward. She does a double take when
she turns and remembers I’m waiting.

“I’m sorry!” she chuckles. “I get so wrapped up in this show sometimes. Silly to love a soap so much, I know.”

“Not at all,” I disagree, feeling the need to defend my legacy, even if, at the moment, it isn’t mine. Here’s what I’ve pieced
together about the alter-
Family Affair
: it’s still running, but the storylines are ones I did back in the past. It’s as if every season is jumbled up. “I love
Family Affair
. It’s never been just a nighttime soap, even though people try to dismiss it as such.”

“That’s what I always say,” Principal P. agrees in solidarity. “I get so mad when people call it fluff !
FA
was the first show to feature a gay couple in prime time.”

“And they did some groundbreaking storylines about transgender couples and climate change,” I remind her.

Principal P. breaks into a huge smile. “I had no idea you were a
Family
fanatic too!”

That’s what
FA
fans call themselves. They were a very loyal bunch. Principal P. could have been their fan club president. She was the only
person other than Liz who knew my true identity when I was at Clark, and she used to pump me for
FA
information.

“I loved this episode, by the way,” I gush, pointing to the screen.

Principal P. beams. “It’s excellent, isn’t it?”

“I feel like Samantha finally got to break out of her comfort zone a bit this season, you know?” It’s a relief to talk about
FA
without someone offering me a straitjacket. “It was one of my favorite storylines when they had her go off the deep end and
refuse to move to Miami.” I smile, waiting for her to respond.

Instead Principal P. just stares at me, her mouth slightly agape. “I, it’s just…they moved to Miami two seasons ago and then
moved back last season. Now the mansion has burned down again and they’re thinking of moving to Malibu.”

Huh? “Oh. I guess I got this episode confused with an older one.”

Principal P. blushes. “It is kind of similar to the episode they did when they toured their new home in Miami, isn’t it?”
She wrings her hands together. “God, my friend Shelly is right.
FA
is jumping the shark!”

I keep forgetting I’m the only one that knows these storylines already. I laugh heartily. “No, it’s not,” I insist when I
see how upset she’s become. “I just got confused. I’ve been reading all these episode recaps in
FA
Fans
magazine.”

She looks hopeful. “Are they not moving to Malibu, then? I feel like the show is at its best when they live in the mansion,
but Shelly said she read online that Alexis is dying for the show to do beach locations again. She gets a better tan from
natural sunlight.”

Now it’s my turn to blink rapidly. “I don’t know.”

She grimaces. “The storylines just aren’t that good this year. Still…” She looks at the TV again as the show comes back on.
“The episode only has five minutes left. Do you mind if we finish it?”

“Of course not,” I say, even though it kills me to watch Alexis playing, well, me.

Principal P. presses play and the two of us watch in silence. Paige is standing there, looking like the perfect mom, as usual.
God, I miss Melli.

Girls, whatever happened to having a big adventure?

I’m engrossed in the dialogue. Some of it is similar to lines we had in the episode when we toured houses in Miami. God, the
writers couldn’t come up with anything new? How do they get away with copying themselves? Other lines are brand-new.
I don’t want to start over,
I hear Alexis say. She is not a good actress, but I freeze listening to the words coming out of her mouth.
I want to keep my life the same
.

As Paige gives what is supposed to be a heartwarming speech, I find myself roped in, listening to her every word as if she’s
giving the advice to me personally.

Yes, your boyfriend makes you happy, and your charity work, but what makes YOU happy, Sam? What needs to change in your life
to bring that smile back twenty-four/seven? Just what I thought. You don’t know. But that’s okay, Sam, because whether you
figure it out in our old home or a new home, I know you will find what’s missing.

“Kaitlin, are you okay?” Principal P. asks me from somewhere far away, but I can’t answer. My mind is racing.

Do I need change in my world? I’ve been so insecure since
FA
ended because I thought it meant the end of life as I know it. But from where I’m sitting now, I can see it really was for
the best. I’ve tried so many wonderful things since
FA
—I got to do Broadway, I am on
Small Fries
, I’m going to do a James Cameron movie. I’ve become so anxious about what isn’t working in my life, I guess I’ve been blind
to how lucky I’ve actually been.