Shooting Stars (25 page)

He nods. “Yeah, I hear you. Hey, I was wondering— speaking of getting out . . .” He looks over at me for a second.

This must be serious. “Yeeeeesssss . . . ,” I say, knowing something is going on in that mussed- haired head of his.

His eyes meet mine again. “I was sort of wondering if you’re going to sell any of your stuff.” I give Mannie a slow once- over, my mouth twisted to one side. I look down all six feet two inches of him. “Think you can pass for eleven like me?”

He laughs again. “Maybe. If I take a skateboard and bend my knees. So . . . ?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Ah well, just thought I’d check.” Mannie shrugs.

I pause for a moment or two until the silence forces him to look at me. And then I quit leaning on the rental car and reach across to give him a good punch in the arm. “I’m not selling my stuff, Mannie, I’m giving it.” Now it’s Mannie who pauses. “What do you mean? To me?” He’s completely, utterly, and totally ignoring the solarium now.

“Of course you, you idiot!”

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“Like your fauxPod and everything?”

“Everything, Mannie. It’s all yours.”

“Wow!” He continues to stare at me.

“Mannie!” I gesture as someone exits the solarium.

Mannie’s attention zips back to the doorway, and he’s shooting before we even get a decent look at who it is. As it turns out, it’s not her. “Phew.” He breathes a sigh of relief and his eyes return to mine once more. “But you could sell it. Your stuff, I mean.”

“I don’t want to sell it. I want to give it to you.” Beside me, Mannie shakes his head as if I’m crazy. “You sure?”

I laugh. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Really sure?”

“Really sure. Though, if you ask me one more time, I might sell it, after all. To someone who annoys me less.” Mannie zips his lips and throws away the key behind one shoulder, which makes me laugh at him. “Sometimes you’re so high school,” I say.

“Well, so are you!” he retorts.

“Yes, but that’s okay, seeing as I’m in high school.

Remember?”

Mannie chuckles. “Huh. That’s true. Sometimes I forget that. Anyway, thanks for the gear, man. Appreciate it.” And I appreciate you, Mannie, I think, but instead of saying the words, I wink. And he winks back. Some things don’t need to be spoken out loud.

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Mannie’s attention returns to the solarium, and it’s awhile before he says anything again. “So what’s your dad think about all this? About you getting out?”

“Is this your roundabout way of asking if I’ve called him yet?”

Mannie fl icks me a sideways glance and grins. “Yeah, maybe. Am I that transparent?”

“Yes. Look, to be honest, I

haven’t told him.” I know I

should. I know I have to. I just haven’t done it yet. “I don’t think you get it. Last time I spoke to him, from the retreat, he basically told me I’d never get out. That I was born to do this.

He just doesn’t know me at all.”

“Nah, he’s wrong if he thinks that. You were born to shoot, but you never really loved this game. Not like your dad.”

“Well, he has problems accepting that.”

Mannie laughs. “Of course he does! You’re his little girl.

He just wants to think you’re like him, that’s all. It’s his way of being your dad. Can’t you see that?”

“If he wanted to be my father so badly, don’t you think he’d be better off supporting what I really want to do?”

“But he is,” Mannie says. “He’s paying half, isn’t he?” I squirm against the rental car, and not because it’s getting hotter by the second. “Well . . . yes.”

“That’s pretty supportive, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” I mumble, glad he isn’t looking at me right now. This is feeling all too much like I’m back in group.

“I know he’s not always here and stuff, not like some 237

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people’s parents who are around way too much,” Mannie says, rolling his eyes. “But you’ve got to give him some credit, Jo. He’s a good guy. I, um, haven’t really told you, but before he left for Japan, he gave me his number. I’ve called him a few times when I’ve needed info on someone or a tip. He always gets back to me. Right away. He’s a good guy, your dad. Maybe he doesn’t know how to show it to you all the time. He’s just not a talker. But you know something?

It was even your dad who gave me this lead. He’s got someone on the inside here who gives him tip- offs.” I take in Mannie’s words silently. I know a lot of what he’s saying is true. Dad has always had a lot of time for Mannie.

But compliments about my dad can be hard to hear when I’m dealing with my own stuff about him. At the same time, if there’s one thing I see now from my time at the retreat, it’s to try and look deeper. There’s always a reason for people’s actions. “It is what it is” is nothing more than a patchy cover- up.

“When you pull this off— and I’m saying ‘when’ not ‘if’

because I know you— you should give your dad a call. Really fi ll him in. Maybe he’s just worried that if you stop papping, he’ll lose that connection with you, you know?”

“Yeah, maybe.” I sigh. In the silence that follows, I change my position against the rental car once more. And I’m just about to tell Mannie that I’ll need to head out soon when I see the rolling glimmer of something black and shiny out of the corner of one eye. Like a meerkat, I’m instantly on my 238

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feet, head swiveling. I can’t see the car anymore, but I know my instincts are still good. That was a town car I saw. I just know it.

“There’s something going on,” I say to Mannie. “There’s no back entrance, is there?” I remember that from the last time we

were

here. Of course we always check the back entrances before setting up shop at the front.

“No,” Mannie shakes his head, but then a look of realization and shock falls across his face. “Oh man. Your dad mentioned the place had changed hands. Maybe they—” Neither of us waits for him to fi nish his sentence. Instead, we’re up and running, pounding the pavement, dodging pedestrians and rounding the corner of the solarium as fast as our legs will take us.

We get there just in time to see a fl ash of fur coat and some brunette braids get into a black town car.

“Oh man!” Mannie stamps a foot and throws his camera-free hand into the air. “Was that her?”

I shrug as we watch the car start to back out onto the street. “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. Chances are, if we missed it— probably.”

Mannie squints at the windows as the car passes us by.

“Did I see what I saw? Was she wearing fur? In this heat?”

“I think so.”

He lets out a big “ugh.”

“I bet it was real fur, too. A kid celebrity, a solarium, and murdered cute animals. That would have made my week.” 239

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20

I hang out and console Mannie until he feels able to run off to another job, then I ride home. When I get there just before 2:00 p.m., I sit on the curb outside my apartment and wait for Jake. At 2:17 p.m. a Hummer, of all things, starts up the street. As soon as I see it, I know it’s him. Even before I clock the plates: ML STAR. I kick myself because now I remember seeing them before. I should have remembered and put two and two together when Wendy gave me my banking information.

By the time Jake pulls up to the curb, I am almost doubled over with laughter. “You can’t possibly expect me to get into that thing,” I say when he swings the door open from inside.

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“Hey, think about how I feel. I have to drive it!” I climb in, all the while freaking out about what to do when I get into my seat. Do I kiss him? Not kiss him? Cheek?

Lips? I am so not used to this stuff. In the end, when I do settle in, I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing when I realize just how far away Jake is in this gigantic monster vehicle. I couldn’t reach him even if I wanted to. “Tell me you don’t have a matching Hummer at home,” I say to him.

Jake gives me a look. “I have a Mini Cooper at home.” Hmmm. Much better reachability. “Now I’m actually jealous. What color?”

“Red and white.”

“Now I think I hate you. That’s my dream car. Exact same colors and everything.”

“Maybe I could take you for a ride someday to make you hate me less?” Jake says a bit too breezily.

“Maybe. That would be great. Make that defi nitely.”

“Good. You’re on. Anyway, um, hi . . .”

Unexpectedly, Jake leans over now and I realize he is going to kiss me. Oh. Um. I lean sideways and we end up bumping noses and laughing. Funny, but I don’t think Jake is really used to this stuff, either. Which is kind of good. I like that. “Yep, hi to you, too,” I say, laughing again.

After we’ve fi nished embarrassing ourselves, Jake waits till my belt clicks and then pulls out from the curb.

The GPS directs us to the psychiatric hospital, which is about a forty- minute drive. As we make our way there, we 241

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chat easily, like we’d done on the plane. We talk about Ned’s treatment, our families, our lives, anything and everything, really.

The

whole time, I’m acutely aware of Jake’s presence beside me. It’s so weird how crazily unstable he makes me feel. One minute I can’t stop smiling just because I’m sitting next to him and have to stare out the window and chew on my cheek, the next I’m petrifi ed that he doesn’t feel the same way about me as I do about him. In the end, I tell myself now is not the time or place to be thinking about Jake and me. I should be thinking about Ned and what kind of shots I’m going to take of him today. Which I’ve already stayed up half the night thinking about, but it’s more useful going over it one more time than praying that Jake will reach out and touch my knee or something.

It’s not until we’re almost there that I truly start to get ner vous. And I think Jake is, too— suddenly we both become silent and the tension in the car rises palpably. “Think we can pull this off?” I ask with a gulp, my mouth and throat scarily dry.

Jake’s eyes remain on the road. “I hope so, Jo. I really hope so. I spent a lot of last night freaking out about what could happen if we don’t. I mean, Dad has orchestrated this whole contract, but Ned actually does want it. He wants to get back out there and see his fans again—

all over the

world. And, let’s face it, they’ve been waiting for him for a while. Ned loves what he does, his phobia just stops him 242

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from doing it. It’s really cruel. And then there’s you, as well.

You need to get started on what you love to do.” I’m silent for a moment or two, but then I have to say it:

“You’re a good person, Jake Hartnett.”

Jake shrugs slightly. “It’s just . . . the right thing to do is all.”

“But most people don’t often do the right thing,” I tell him. And I’m worried now. Really worried. Our plan is a simple plan that makes sense, and, so far, everything has gone off without a hitch. The people we need to meet with have all agreed to meet, and there have been no problems whatsoever. But now . . . well, now

we’re actually

here, I

think, as Jake turns the car into the drive of the hospital and we make our way toward the main building. This is it. Our one big shot to make everything right. For Ned to keep his career and show the public he’s not perfect and that anyone, famous or not, might need help. For me to have my new start— to fi nally do something I’ll love instead of detest.

We’re here and it’s happening.

Good luck to us.

“Nice grounds,” Jake says as we pass by the hospital’s lush grass, leafy trees, and lots of manicured outside areas for the patients to enjoy.

He’s right. It really is lovely. Maybe even nicer than the retreat, which is saying something. And, you’ve got to admit it’s a whole lot warmer— the place certainly has that going for it, too. As Jake pulls in the car a few minutes late, we 243

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both look across the parking lot to see everyone is already here waiting for us— Mitchell, the editor I’d called last night, and two other men, who I’m guessing are Ned’s cola company contacts.

“Well, Jo . . .” Jake looks across the car at me. He reaches out and grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze.

I take a deep breath. “Here we go!”

We both exit the car and make our way across the parking lot to the group of men. “Sorry we’re late,” Jake says as we greet them. “It was diffi cult or ga niz ing this on such short notice. I really appreciate you all making it here today.” I introduce Jake to Mitchell and he introduces me to the two men who, as I’d guessed, are reps from the cola company.

To start with, everyone looks slightly awkward, not knowing quite where this is going, how it will work out, or even what they’re really doing here. But Jake smoothly directs us all to take a seat at one of the tables underneath a nearby tree and then slowly but surely fi lls everyone in. He explains how Ned’s tired of hiding what’s really been going on with him lately and how he’s also tired of the media hyping it up into something it’s not because they don’t know the truth.

Jake tells us how part of Ned’s recovery involves talking about his feelings rather than suppressing them, and that he’d really like to come out in the open with his phobia and maybe in the pro cess even help other people to admit to, and get help with, their own problems.