Star Power (9 page)

“See ya, sweets.” Coco air-kissed in Becks's direction, grabbing her camel leather luggage bag as she tugged her navy RL mini skirt. Then she dashed off to class.

Becks watched as Coco disappeared among the throngs of BAMS students, some familiar-looking, others not. She had never realized how much she depended upon Mac for her social life. Why hadn't she made more of an effort with her other classmates all these years?

Standing alone at La Table, Becks scrolled through the contacts in her phone, wondering who she could possibly call. Her finger landed on a picture of the Inner Circle, and she pressed the little text button to type: WHAT R U GUYS DOING AFTER SCHOOL? PINKBERRY?

She pressed send, and three replies came almost instantly:

COCO: SORRYBÉBÉ, GOING TO PROVE FINN WRONG. XO!

EMILY: RECOVERING FROM DISASTER YESTERDAY. WILL TELL U LATER. SIGH . . .

MAC: PINKBERRY IS BANNED. LET'S ALL PRETEND DAIRY DOES NOT EXIST.

What was left of Becks's good mood was quickly evaporating like fog on a Malibu morning. She typed back to Mac, RIGHT! HOW ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE? and silently wished for Mac to write back, COME TO MY HOUSE AFTER SCHOOL! Or even, MEET ME AT THE GROVE.
That's
how desperate she was feeling: She was willing to shop. Her iPhone vibrated in her hand.

MAC: IS EVERYTHING OKAY WITH DIXIE!?!?

Becks' shoulders slumped and her heart felt heavy in her chest. It definitely wasn't the response she was hoping for. But then, that gave her an idea. She pressed reply and quickly tapped the screen of her phone: ALL GOOD. DON'T WORRYABOUTME. L8R.

mac

M
ac sat in an oak-paneled classroom, half reading
Variety
and half listening to the tutor. The set was a New England boarding school classroom, with eighteenth-century reproduction paintings of colonial heroes on the walls and hollow leather-bound books lining the shelves. Davey sat on Mac's right side and Emily sat on her left, which meant that Mac was literally stuck in the middle. The rest of the class was an odd mix: There was Emily's stand-in, Sidnie, whose only job was to stand under lights while the crew adjusted them until Emily came in to film her take; and there was Kimmie Tachman, who had her pink iBook open, probably live-blogging this thrilling scene. Even the teacher was odd: Her name was Christine Calmet (pronounced “Call-
may
”). She was a large woman who wore khaki-colored shorts, a sleeveless sweat-dotted silk blouse with a big bow around the neck, and a visor, even though they were indoors.

“Who can tell me what's
interesting
about the Pythagorean theorem?” Ms. Calmet looked eagerly around the room, as if prepared to fend off answers. She anxiously tapped her fingers on the heavy oak desk. Her bare shoulders slumped forward. “Please, someone answer me?”

Davey wrote a note on a piece of paper and slid it over for Mac to see.
Um, nothing?

Mac giggled and caught Davey's eye. Something fluttered in the pit of her stomach, and she quickly looked away, reaching for the pencil in the ridge of her oak desk. She pulled at it, but it was glued down—right, it was a prop. Davey seriously needed to stop being so flirty, and she seriously needed to stop, well, liking it.

Ever since Davey's confession, she'd been living in fear. After all, if he was forward enough to just come out and basically say that he liked Mac (who does that?!), what was to stop him from saying something around Emily?

“What are you laughing about?” Emily whispered. She looked over Mac's shoulder at Davey, trying to make eye contact.

“Nada.” Mac gently shushed Emily. Emily looked annoyed but sat back in her chair.

Ms. Calmet sighed, pulling a crumpled tissue from her navy blue pleather purse. Mac wondered if she was going to cry, but then she stuck it down her shirt, mopping the sweat off her chest. “Does anyone even
know
the Pythagorean theorem?”

Mac felt bad for the tutor. She'd already once tried to write on the board, only to discover the chalk was a prop, too. “A squared plus B squared equals C squared,” Mac answered obediently. “I guess it's interesting because it means you can solve triangles.”

“Great, thank you Mackenzie,” Ms. Calmet said enthusiastically. She was smiling hugely, like she was thirteen instead of thirty. She reached into her desk and pulled out a sheet of gold stars. She unpeeled one and ran over to stick it on Mac's new Anthropologie halter dress. Ms. Calmet was nutty, but at least she was nicer than the BAMS algebra teacher, Mrs. Earley, who gave pop quizzes that made up 25 percent of your grade.

“A star for the star behind the star!” Davey singsonged, leaning toward Mac. He actually had a nice voice.

“Don't be rude,” Mac scolded him. Ms. Calmet was a freak, but even freaks deserved to be treated like people.

“Anything for the lady,” Davey said gallantly, and at that he sat up straighter and was quiet.

Emily tapped Mac on the shoulder. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Nothing,” Mac mouthed to Emily and glanced down at her paper. It was covered in doodles of flowers and hearts and Davey's name. Emily's pen glided around the page, drawing a big pink heart around the words “Davey + Emily.” Mac rolled her eyes. While there hadn't been any drama since Tuna-Day (aka the Breathalyzer Bomb) Emily's Daveymania compounded with Davey's Attackamac was making her feel like a shaken Diet Coke.

“Would you mind signing my Hollywood scrap-book?” Ms. Calmet interrupted Mac's mental image of an exploding soda can. “I like to take pictures of all my students.” She reached into her desk and pulled out a disposable camera and a red notebook.

“No problem.” Davey smiled sweetly at Ms. Calmet, turning his paper toward Mac so she could see his latest note.
Does she work for TMZ?

Mac smiled, but this time she didn't laugh aloud. She would not encourage Davey. Just then, a text arrived from Emily.

WHATR U GUYS TALKING ABOUT?

Mac bit her Benetinted lip. What could she say? Explaining the non-joke would just be silly. But saying “nothing” would seem suspicious, and the last thing Mac needed was Emily knowing that Davey liked her—not her best friend. Not to mention her biggest client.

There was text silence for several seconds, so Mac assumed that they had moved on, until her phone buzzed again.

R U IGNORING ME?

Mac rolled her eyes. It was hard enough to manage Davey; she needed Emily to trust that she was on Team Ems. And if she was going to text, it might as well be for something
fun
, not a borderline-psychotic crush.

NOTHING!!! Mac shot back.

THEN WHYDIDN'T U SAYSO?

That was the final straw. Emily's crush was officially making her a nutcase. It was time to run Emterference, Mac decided. Her budding star needed a mental makeover, stat. And as her agent, not to mention her two-months-older and therefore wiser friend, it was her job to take charge of this situation. “Excuse me, may I go to the bathroom?” Mac asked.

Ms. Calmet nodded, and returned to writing on the blackboard, this time with a working piece of chalk. Mac reached over and grabbed Emily's elbow, dragging her through double doors that deposited them in the soundstage for
Alien World Wars
, starring Andy Samberg and Sean William Scott. Mac and Emily stood on a moon set, in front of a giant green screen. Aliens milled around, and Andy Samberg, dressed as an astronaut, waved at the girls.

Mac moved over to the corner and held up her iPhone to Emily like a stop sign. “You have
got to cool it, amigo
!” she commanded. “I'm putting the kibosh on Daveytalk right now.”

Emily shook her head in confusion. “Why?”

“Earth to Emily!” Mac hollered. “Time to focus on your work!”

“I'm getting good grades!” Emily stammered. The green screen gave her skin a Shrek-y glow, like she was going to be sick.

“I'm not talking about
class
,” Mac sighed, realizing Emily was still thinking like a civilian instead of a star. Mac pushed her blond hair behind her ears and thought for a second. She knew that Davey liked
her
, which really wasn't surprising if you thought about it, but still—she didn't want Emily to get hurt. Even more than that, she wanted Emily to live up to her Anne Hathaway potential. She lowered her voice. “Listen, you're acting like a starstruck fan instead of a star. You need to snap out of it!”

Emily's deep brown eyes widened, and Mac knew she was somewhere between
making a point
and
being mean
. But she took it up another notch, because she needed this to stop. “You cannot act like a crazy fan from Kansas around Davey. Yes, I get you didn't want to kiss him with bad breath, but this is getting to be too much. . . .” She and Emily had already discussed what happened that first day of shooting, but Mac was beginning to suspect something similar might happen again. “I don't want to have to babysit you.”

Emily stopped fiddling with her zipper. “What do you mean
babysit
?”

“Let me be frank,” Mac said, as if she'd been tiptoe ing up till now. “I signed up to work with Emily Skylar. You've got to leave Emily Mungler behind.” She spoke like she was doing Emily a favor, which she was: She was protecting Emily from herself.

Finally, Emily sighed, like she was giving in. “You're right,” she said sadly. “I can't think straight when I'm around Davey. And my career is bigger than my crush.” Emily pulled her right hand out of the pocket of her Forever 21 hoodie and held it up like she was taking an oath. “I promise not to go Davey-crazy. And from now on you won't have to remind me that I'm Emily
Skylar
,” she finished. There was a flash of determination in her brown eyes, and she seemed to be pep-talking herself into it.

Mac sighed in relief. She wanted to hug Emily, but also wanted to stay profesh. Sometimes being a bestie would have to come second to being an agent. This was just one of those times. “Thanks, babe,” she said simply. “I knew I could count on you.”

“No, thank
you
,” Emily said genuinely, her sweet brown eyes looking positively doe-like. “For watching out for me.”

Mac just nodded and ushered Emily back to class. But Emily's earnest thank-you made Mac feel weirdly unsettled, like she'd had Pinkberry after her weeks-long ban. It was true: Mac
was
watching out for Emily. She was helping her career, and she was saving her from possible, even probable, rejection. But a niggling voice at the back of Mac's head kept telling her there might be other reasons she wanted Emily to stay away from Davey. . . .

As they exited the moon setting and stepped back inside the boarding school, Davey glanced up from his desk. His hair fell over one blue eye and he offered Mac a subtle, barely there wink. If she didn't know better, she would have thought he was just blinking. Or just being friendly.