“When’s your mom back?" I ask Cush.
“Saturday night,” he says with a frown, eyeing the beer bottles strewn all around.
"I'll come over after surfing to help you clean up. Cleaning ladies come Sunday?"
Cush gives me a hug. “You know it. You’ve got the code. Wake me up when you get here.” He flashes his sexy grin at me again. “Or, better yet, join me in bed.”
I help Sander stagger out to the gaudy purple Lamborghini he bought himself for his eighteenth birthday. He falls asleep the minute I start driving. I look at him, softly snoring in the seat next to me. With his hazel eyes, great smile, and hair that usually has more product in it than mine, the former child star has grown up quite nicely.
After traveling the world while my mom made movies, living in so many different places, and only having tutors, I was so excited to go to a real high school. I used to spend my days writing scripts for my perfect life. Scenes of becoming popular. Magical parties where I’d meet a cute boy, he’d kiss me, and we’d fall in love. Scenes where the captain of the basketball team would ask me to dance; we’d kiss, and fall in love. Scenes where that popular boy would kiss me in the moonlight and ask me to be his girlfriend. Scenes where we’re in the center of a school dance slowly swaying while everyone does a choreographed dance around us. Scenes where he’d shoot the winning basket and be on top of the team’s shoulders, but would find me in the crowd and blow me a kiss.
I wanted two things from my high school experience: I wanted to be the most popular girl and date the most popular boy.
And it all happened.
Kinda.
High school is a lot trickier than I ever imagined, and it sorta sucks sometimes.
It’s hard to juggle what your friends want, what your parents want, and what the guys want, and still get what you want.
Especially when you’re not sure anymore what you want.
And it doesn’t help that I’ve been starting to think that RiAnne and Vanessa only became friends with me because of who my mom is.
My mom is Abby Johnston. Yeah, that Abby, America’s favorite romantic comedy actress. America’s sweetheart.
And really, now that you know who my mom is, you probably don’t need me to tell you about my sort-of stepdad, action film star Tommy Stevens, or their four-year-old triplets (Avery, Emery, and Ivery) and two-year-old daughter (Gracelyn). They are all constantly photographed as they travel around the world making movies.
I’ve been lucky to avoid that the last few years. I’ve lived here in Malibu, gone to school, taken dance classes, played soccer, and surfed.
Sander came to school the middle of my freshman year. He had been a popular child star who decided to take a break and be a normal kid.
And, as one would expect, lots of girls were vying for his affections.
Vanessa, specifically.
She was popular among our freshman class and lost her virginity to a cute junior boy, but it’s not like she ruled the school. She saw Sander when he was registering and deemed him her ticket to the top. She would date him, and they would become the most popular couple.
Obviously, we had written nearly identical scripts and were both trying out for the same role, but Vanessa was sure she’d get the part. And if she couldn’t win it on her own, she’d buy and scheme her way to the top.
I’ve never seen anyone plan so extensively. She bribed the receptionist into telling her when his first day was. She bought and planned multiple outfits for his first two weeks of school. She even had backup outfits for all the possible dates he might ask her on. She gave the school counselor a spa package she just didn’t have the time to use before it expired, so she could be his new student guide. She had RiAnne and me pore over his old fan sites and quiz her on his favorite food (Mexican), the color of his eyes (hazel), his sign (Sagittarius), and his dogs’ names (James and Dean).
He showed up a day earlier than expected. I was in the office dropping off some Tommy Stevens autographed memorabilia for a school auction when he said hi to me. We hit it off because we had so much in common.
Vanessa was extremely pissed when she found out he’d asked me to show him around. She texted me about my traitorous ways, but she was all smiles and my very best friend in the entire world when I brought him to sit with us at lunch.
Vanessa and I had met at freshman orientation. She and RiAnne had been best friends since grade school, and they were really nice to me. They knew who my mom was, of course, and I was super excited to be part of their group because they were both pretty and popular. As long as RiAnne and I did whatever Vanessa wanted us to do, everyone was happy.
But Sander changed the game. After a few weeks of hanging out, he asked me to be his girlfriend. Vanessa pretended to be happy for me. Or maybe she was; I’m still not sure. But either way, she was going to use our relationship to climb the school’s social ladder.
By the next school year, we were sitting at the popular table with Sander, the hottest senior guys, and the coolest senior girls. Vanessa turned into a bit of a bitch, but I didn’t say anything about it.
How could I? I had written the perfect high school script and was living it.
I didn’t care if she was bossy and always planning our next move, our next party, and our next outfit. I was happy with Sander. He was sweet, a gentleman, and my family loved him.
And I loved the attention and the popularity.
I was exactly where I wanted to be.
I just never pictured him getting drunk at every party we went to.
Saturday, May 7th
Abs to freaking die for.
6am
I sleep for a couple hours, then get up, pull my hair back, brush my teeth, and throw on a bikini. When I step out onto the deck, I feel a cold morning breeze.
Brr.
I run back inside, grab my full wetsuit, and then run up the beach. Damian is already in front of Brooklyn’s house. Damian Moran is one of my best friends. His dad is the director, Matt Moran, and I’ve known him for as long as I can remember. He’s also the voice and guitar behind Twisted Dreams, the band that recently got signed to a label and is going on tour in Europe. Pretty soon, every girl under fifteen will be squealing when they hear the name Damian because his voice is so dreamy.
“Hey, Keats,” he says. “What’s up?”
“Not me.”
“Rough night? You been partying like a rock star?”
“Ha. No. You know I don’t drink much. I was just out until almost four.” I smile at him. “But I couldn’t miss surfing with my two favorite boys.”
“More like one favorite boy,” Damian says under his breath.
“Shut up. I have a boyfriend.” I turn around and see Brooklyn walking out of his garage, carrying my board.
“S’up, Keats,” he says to me. “I just waxed your board to perfection.”
“Thanks.” I smile at the boy who stole my heart the day I met him. He’s eighteen, has shaggy blond hair and eyes the color of the ocean. He’s tan, almost six feet, and kinda thin, but he has the strong core of a surfer.
As in abs to freaking die for.
Drool over.
“Don’t give me any shit, okay. It’s cold this morning, so I’m definitely wearing my wetsuit.” I roll the full wetsuit up my legs, over my waist, and then struggle with one of the sleeves.
Brooklyn grabs the sleeve, turns it right-side out, and smirks at me. “Helps when it’s not inside out.”
Wetsuits are a pain in the ass to get into because they fit so tight. I turn toward Brooklyn, pull the sleeve on, and do a little shimmy to get it up over my shoulders. Brooklyn tries to help me just as I succeed, and his hand ends up sprawled across my bikini top.
I freeze.
I can barely breathe. I think all the air just got sucked off the beach.
Brooklyn removes his hand from my boob, grabs the big wetsuit zipper from down by my crotch, and slowly zips up the suit. His eyes are glued to the zipper as it snakes its wa
y up my body.
I swear, I think he purposely tries to torture me.
His eyes move upward to my face, and he smiles at me, flashing perfect white teeth that contrast with his bronzed skin. That smile always makes my heart beat just a little faster.
“Now that Keats has her skirt on, we can get out there,” he says to Damian.
Damian looks down at his chest. “I’m nipping out just standing here. I don’t care if you think wearing a wetsuit makes me a girl. I’m cold.” He runs back up to Brooklyn’s house, leaving us alone. It’s safe to say that I may have a teensy crush on the boy.
“You look tired,” he tells me.
“I didn’t get much sleep last night. I was at a party.”
“With your boy-friend?” he drawls, making boyfriend sound like a dirty word. For some reason I’ve yet to determine, Brooklyn doesn’t like Sander.
“Yes, with my boyfriend and all my friends from school. What’d you do?”
“Just hung out with Damian. Played some COD. Chilled. You know he leaves in a week?”
“Yeah, I know. I’m going to the dinner his dad is having for him tomorrow night. You’re going, right?”
“I don’t know. You know I don’t like that ritzy shit.”
“B, you live in a house in Malibu. That’s ritzy shit.”
“You know what I mean. It’s at some pretentious hotel. Damian has to wear a fucking suit. How’s that a party for him?”
“Damian looks good in a suit. You would too. And I got the cutest dress to wear. And the shoes I got—ohmigawd, they’re adorable.”
“Your boyfriend coming?”
“No, I’m going with Mom and Tommy. You could come with me.”
Or you could stalk me.
Or kiss me.
Or date me.
Or love me.
Or take me to your room and attack me.
“Will you help me figure out what to wear?”
I smile at him. “That’s practically my specialty.”
He shakes his head back and forth like it’s a tough decision.
“They’re having a seafood buffet before dinner.” He loves seafood. I figure that will tip the scales in favor of his going.
Brooklyn grins at me and then touches my hand. “Bet it won’t be as good as our spicy shrimp.”
I can’t help but grin back. Spicy shrimp at Buddy’s is kind of our thing. Brooklyn and I hang out a lot, but it’s always just as friends.
Sadly.
All guys want in a girl’s pants.
10am
I come in from the beach to find Mom and Tommy having what appears to be a serious conversation. I overhear the words sex scene and know what they’re talking about. Mom recently filmed some very steamy scenes for the movie she’s shooting. The buzz is that this role will finally win her an Academy Award. She had been wavering back and forth about whether or not she should do the scenes and how they might affect her good-girl image.
“Sit down, honey. Tommy and I were just talking about sex.”
I roll my eyes at them. “I really don’t need to hear any more about your sex scenes. Aren’t you done with them by now?”
“I am, but this is a good lesson for you. I’ve been very careful about my image. Although sex sells, the love scenes I’ve done in the past have been very clean. Practically chaste. But for this film, I felt the sex scenes were necessary for me to immerse myself in the role. Now that it’s over, and I’ve gotten to see how they’ve put the dailies together, I know I made the right decision. The scenes make the film more powerful.”
“Oh gosh. Am I going to be embarrassed by them? Are my friends going to see you naked?!”
“Not completely naked. But the scenes are very graphic, pretty erotic. Although they couldn’t show everything and keep the R rating, it’s still pretty obvious what’s going on. I don’t know what will end up in the final cut, but what I saw showed my boobs.” She stops and laughs. “Well, they were stunt boobs, and then pretty much everything except the actual vajayjay.”
“Ohmigawd, Mom, I am not four. You can say vagina. Hell, someone already taught Gracie that word.”
Tommy laughs and raises his hand. “That was me. She walked in as I was getting out of the shower, and we had to have the whole boy- and girl-parts talk. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t bring myself to call it a vajayjay. Plus, I read in some parenting magazine that it’s best to tell them the proper names.”
“You’ve read a parenting magazine?” I ask.
“There was one left on your mom’s set. I was bored. Flipped through it.”
“Back to the subject at hand,” Mom says. “You may be a little embarrassed by them, Keatyn. Like I said, they’re pretty graphic. There’s even a shot of a penis nearing the backside. Although, once again, it was a stunt penis and a stunt backside; but it doesn’t look that way.”
I cringe. “Oh. God. You better win an award for this is all I’ve got to say.”
“If you decide to act someday, you’ll have to make decisions like this. Tommy says he’ll support me and the kids if everyone hates it.”
“Everyone will love it,” Tommy says.
Mom laughs. “Even that fan of mine has been encouraging.”
“What’d the creeper say this time?” I ask.
“Nothing really. Just that he’d heard I was probably going to win awards for the role. Wished me good luck.”
“I guess that’s kinda sweet,” I say. “So you’re sure it won’t hurt your image?”
Tommy puts his hand on his chest and pretends to be serious. “Honestly, I’m a little worried it might hurt my image.”
Mom and I laugh. Tommy used to be the man in Hollywood who always had a different girl on his arm.
Tommy says, “So how’s your life going, baby? Heard the Lambo rumbling in at four this morning.”
“I had to drive, because Sander got drunk. Again. I’m thinking about breaking up with him, honestly.”
“Really?” Mom says with surprise. “You’ve been together for so long, and you’re just the cutest couple.”
“I know. I mean, I can’t do it now. Prom is next week. I have my dress. We have plans. But after prom, I think I might. So, hey, good talk. I’m gonna change, go to the dance studio, then run over to Cush’s for a while.”
Mom looks at me with a shrewd eye. “Is there something between you and Brandon? You go over there a lot without Sander.”
“That’s because Sander thinks he’s too good to have to clean up, and I don’t think Cush should have to do it himself. Besides, Cush is a player; not really my type.”
“It’s very sweet of you to help him, honey, but I gotta say, players can be fun.” She gives Tommy her sexy smile and kisses his neck.
“I know all about your love affair and don’t need to see any PDA, thank you very much.” I roll my eyes again as Tommy pulls Mom onto his lap.
I shouldn’t roll my eyes, though. I totally wish someone wanted to play me.
Like maybe my boyfriend?
I start to walk out of the kitchen, but I stop. “So I don’t get it, Mom. You always warned me about players. About how all they want is to get in your pants. About how I should wait until I’m in love. So what do you do when a guy loves you, but he doesn’t want in your pants?”
“What do you mean?” Tommy asks. He looks very confused. “That makes no sense. All guys want in girls’ pants.”
“Not Sander. He wants to wait until he’s married.”
Tommy scrunches up his nose like he just smelled something bad, but Mom clutches her chest and says, “Oh, that’s so sweet. He’s such a sweet boy.”
“Mom, you had sex in high school.”
“Yes, but I told you that as a cautionary tale. A don’t-get-drunk-and-do-it-in-the-backseat-with-some-jerk tale. A don’t-follow-in-my-footsteps tale. Besides, you’re sixteen. You’re so young.”
“You were fifteen, Mom!”
“I was seventeen,” Tommy grins.
“Really? You?
” Tommy had the reputation of being quite the ladies’ man. The year before he met my mom, he was named The Sexiest Man Alive. The article adamantly stated that no woman would ever tie him down. Obviously, they were wrong. Now he’s got Mom, me, and four daughters under the age of five.
Tommy shrugs. “I didn’t always look this good.” He flexes a bicep for us.
Mom giggles and kisses his arm.
I decide to leave before I have to see any more PDA.
I’ll lick you all over.
1:30pm
I unlock Cush’s front door and let myself in. The alarm beeps, so I punch in his code. I don't bother to check the guest bedrooms and the couches downstairs. If the alarm is set, it means everyone is gone. All’s clear.
I drag my tired ass up the stairs to his room. He is sprawled sideways across his king-sized bed, and has one foot sticking out from under the covers. He says his foot has to breathe at night, which cracks me up. His blinds and blackout curtains are tightly shut, and the room feels cool.
I could so go to sleep right now.
I gently sit down on the edge of the bed.
Cush's arms shoot out from under the covers.
“Ahhhh!!” I scream as he rolls me onto the bed and slowly opens his big blue eyes. “You scared me half to death!”
He laughs out loud. “Ha! I knew I’d get you!”
His arms tangle around me and he throws a leg on top of me to pin me down.
“Admit it. You've been dying to get in bed with me.”
My face breaks into a grin, and I sass back, “Thought you didn't do that stuff in your own bed?” Cush locks his and his Mom’s bedroom doors during parties. When Cush hooks up, even he uses a guest room.
“I might make an exception for you.”
His eyes glisten at me, making my insides feel warm and my stomach feel like it's just spun itself into a knot.
“Doubtful,” I say, but I don't think I'm very believable because I can't help but grin. I know it’s just Cush, but I like the idea of being wanted in bed.
THAT RING Page 29